# Rule of Darkness -Book II Chapter 3 Last Update 19 June 2008- Book I Completed



## Ghostknight (Feb 21, 2007)

*Prologue*


In a world ruled by fiends, knowledge of the past is jealously guarded; hoarded and doled out to the young as a warning, as a weapon to arm them against a hostile world.

Common knowledge: the Duke of Hell, Jelial, ruled above, his demesne the immensity of the world, perhaps even unto some of the worlds that swarmed in the aether above.

Common knowledge: the elves are dead, the halflings farmed like cattle, the dwarves locked within their fortresses of stone, perhaps the last open bastions of defiance to the fiends.

Common knowledge: once race fought race, arbitrary distinctions of philosophy seemed to be of massive import and territorial squabbles over who lived where enough to ignite a war.  Now, who cares?  Either you serve the fiends and are thus an enemy, or you hide, form part of the vast network of hidden cities, secluded strongholds that harboured all, old feuds forgotten, the strengths of each a supplement to the community.

It all began millennia ago. Jelial was summoned, brought into the world by someone, or something.  Sick, twisted, demented and insane, even by fiendish standards a creature best avoided.  Jelial may have been Insane, but he was also a genius, a patient genius. He saw the world around him, the strife amongst the inhabitants and the ease with which he could manipulate those that had brought him forth.  He saw that this world could be his, made his plans.

His armies rolled over nations, pulled dragons out of the sky, razed cities and then built them anew in the image of hell.  Before they could react, before the heroes that always appeared to stop the triumph of evil could rouse themselves, the world was conquered.  Some races, those construed to be troublesome, were annihilated - genocide on a grand scale.  Other races fortified their homes, closing their massive doors, invoking the aid of their gods and of their greatest magicians.  Caverns deep within the world became the last refuge of many.  

A seeming peace descended.  Above, the devils seemed content to build their cities, establish their order; the time of The Rule had begun.  Below the cities started building up, people coming to terms with their loss, generations passing that never saw the light of sun, moon or stars, generations that knew only the comfort of a cavern, its roof protectively above their heads.

Trade sprung up amongst the hidden cities, those brave few that were prepared to venture out between the cities earning immense wealth, but not without risk of capture, and capture by the devils meant death.   It was never a quick death, but a slow, an agonisingly slow death, meant to punish as well as entertain.  Where there is reward, there are always some willing to take the risk, and around these traders grew the Outwalkers, defenders of the cities, scouts, guardians, guides and specialists in the outdoors- in surviving them, and in helping others to survive.  

It took a thousand years before the greater plan of the fiends started to show.  It took that long for the first of their taint to be noticed, and felt.  Small plants and mammals felt it first, their shapes twisting, their natures changing.  Mild animals becoming vicious, carnivorous and the tainted ate the pure.  Fruits eaten from tainted plants making people sick, poisoned, producing reactions in some cases akin to madness.  People learnt to look out for it, for the veins of red, the bloodshot eyes, the sharp bark that only dripped sap once it tasted blood.  People now learnt why the fiends had not destroyed the fey.   The tainted fey changed to become as evil as the devils.  They became lookouts and spies, ferreting out hidden locations and communities, soon becoming the best source of information the fiends had access to.

Hope began to fade, to die.  Then for the first time the words of the prophecy of Gerogh were heard, brought down by a Monk of the Peace into the hidden cities.  He wandered the hidden paths and passed by cities and communities, spreading his message of hope.  He gave no name, only relating the prophecy of Gerogh.  Many wrote it down as he recited it, three thousand verses, seemingly nonsensical, but understandable after the fact.  People began to hope, for the end related how the fiends would be destroyed, how it would happen, who would do it brought down in the insane riddling style of the rest.  But if the rest were true, why not this?  

With hope came defiance, yes the devils were not yet defeated, or even defeatable, but it brought hope for the future...  In time various organisations started, one of the better known ones being the House of Souls, dedicated to freeing slaves, to bringing them to safety.  Many in the cities know of them, amongst the slaves they are a whisper of hope, always awaited.

So the world exists, so it persists, the prophecy of Gerogh driving towards its completion as the world degenerates into a fiendish heaven on earth.

_Please let me know what you think- feedback is valuable!_ The Rogues Gallery for this story hour is  here


----------



## Ghostknight (Feb 21, 2007)

*Rule of Darkness- Part1: Revelations Chapter 1*

Jeria sat in his niche near the roof, looking over the city, watching as the floaters faded into darkness, the streets emptied and the calls of the cave beasts faded into silence.  The city glowed in the dark as each house, each building lights from within, as the lights from below reflect from the ceiling above, the hanging guard posts like stars in the sky.  Jeria sat thinking, reflecting on his time as a mere guard, a mere soldier.  He knew his relief would arrive soon and that his last watch ended as his time with the Outwalkers began.  The Outwalkers, the city's elite, the only ones to go beyond the gates on a regular basis. To venture outside and not just deeper under the earth, the ones who patrolled the world under the sky and ensured the city stayed safe, hidden.  

He thought of his history lessons, of how it was now.  Once, it was said, that half-breeds such as him were rare, that half-fiends were unknown to most; now the world above was filled with them, and many filled roles of authority in the cities of the fiends as they matured into their powers.  It had been different for him; in the cities below, half-fiends were viewed with suspicion and many doubted their loyalty.  Who could blame them?  Cowed, living in hiding, they had been taught by three thousand years of the Rule the value of suspicion.  Ah, Jeria thought, if only the legends of Gerogh and his prophecy were true!  But he was to be an Outwalker, soon he would show his worth to those who doubted; he would be one of the elite, a guardian and protector of the city.

***

The day was the same as any other.  The floaters brightened, the city awakened, and the streets filled with people as they moved to shops, to work, into the darkness of the cavern edges to collect the mushrooms and lichens which supplemented the diet of all.  With the rising light Jeria rose with the others in the barracks.  The quiet movement of those around him was purposeful, guided, as each dressed in their uniform for the day.  Those who shared the barracks were members of the City Guard and donned the blue surcoat and chain hauberk of their uniform.  He watched as they left one at a time, and gathered his belongings.  He would not be returning here.

His grin, a frightening sight on his red face, which made his fangs clearly visible, grew as he stood and donned the plain leather armour, ring and cloak of the Outwalker.  They may have looked benign, but their magical nature made them more powerful, more protective than the heavier chain hauberk that those who looked down on the city, stood at the gates and patrolled the streets, wore.  He stood in front of his barracks' mates, as they teased and derided him.  His red skin, fangs and heavily muscled torso looked out of place in the light leather armour, far more so than it ever had in the chain hauberk.  The teasing was good-natured, There was no resentment amongst these guards, men who had lived in the barracks with him for years.  Laughingly he slapped Kyl, once a partner on the watch, on his back, his clawed hand clanging on KYL’S mail.  He sauntered out the door, waving farewell to the rest as he left.

"Jeria, apprentice to the Outwalkers, reporting."  The half-fiend stood before the diminutive halfling, looking down at the deceptively frail woman.   She, too, was wearing the leather and cloak of the Outwalkers, with rapier and dirk at her side, and a bow appropriate to her size on the chair beside her.  Jeria knew her name well, as he knew the stories told of her.  The halfling Delire was the captain and master of the Outwalkers, a legend in the city; her small size belyied her deadly nature, not hinting at the speed of her swords or the deadliness of her bow.  She looked up, the tall half-fiend towering over her, and addressed him, her words coming out in a light, mocking tone.

"You're the new one?  Rumour has it your mother lived on the outside, was raped by a fiend and died as you were born.  What you got to say about it, any truth in that, new boy?  Do I need to worry about you going over to the other side when you're out there?"

Jeria stood in shock.  His mind whirled as he looked at the diminutive woman, her words sharper than her rapier, stinging adding more fuel to the fire created by a life of sideways glances and surreptitious whispers.

"Yes, my father was a fiend.  No need to worry about me going over to their side though, I hate them as much as anyone here!"

Delire looked at him, seeing the fury and anger rising. She chuckled as she saw his rising fury, she had expected this reaction; in truth, any other reaction would have worried her. 

"Ahh, don't take it so hard, you wouldn't be here if anyone thought you were a security risk.  Take me for example   Now I'm one of the very few of my race that exist outside of the fiends breeding farms, one of the few that doesn't exist just to be fattened up and used as an hors de oeuvre at some fiendish party.  When I first arrived I got asked if I would be willing to watch my cousins being eaten, do nothing while they screamed, just look on, to take no action but to report back on what had happened."

She stopped, sighed, looked at Jeria.

"Gotta do this properly I suppose, it's expected and the powers that be like to know that we are all bound by oaths.”  She stood, and even at full height barely came to Jeria's waist.

"You are hereby inducted into the Outwalker's of Weald Hall.  From this day forth you are a brother to us all; do not betray that trust or your city, thus say I, Delire, Captain of Weald Hall."

She sat, sank back into her seat, waiting for Jeria to reply.

"I, Jeria, soldier and citizen of Weald Hall, do hereby accept a commission in the Outwalker's of Weald Hall.  I swear to be brother to all, to protect the city, to die before revealing the secret of the city to any that would speak before the fiends."  He drew a small dagger from his belt, slitting his thumb, spilling a drop of blood into a bottle placed on the desk in front of Delire  

Delire smiled, "Welcome, Jeria.  Your blood will stand sentry for you here.  When you are ever in trouble, we will know.  If you are ever caught, if you are ever put in a position in which there is no hope: speak my name, your name, and a word only you will know.  Whisper it into the bottle now.  When you complete that formulae, the blood within will burn, as will the blood in you granting a quick death rather than the slow, agonising hell the fiends concoct for the combined goals of enjoyment and information extraction."

She leaned back.  "Now that the formalities are over, let me let you in on a secret.  Jeri, you would not be here if I had not checked you out a long time ago.  Now whisper into the bottle and go out back; your travelling partner and mentor is waiting."

Out back was an exercise yard, with the ground cleared except for some targets at the far end and practice dummies in the centre.  An ogre stood in the middle, the Outwalker uniform tight across his massive chest.  Jeria wondered at him, there were few enough ogres within the city since most were happy servants in the fiendish regime above, but never had he heard of one trusted in such a position.  At least that is what he thought until up close, then it was obvious, he just was not large enough for a full ogre. His voice, when he spoke, was deep, gruff, yet surprisingly soft.

"Jeria, right?  I'm Gruzz.  Delire said to take it easy on you, that people tend to deride you because of your father.  Guess what?  I have the same problem."  His smile came quickly, broadly, sharp fangs visible as he smiled, the massive broad mouth below the broad nose producing a smile that was infectious.  "Now come here, let me see that axe you're lugging around."  Gruzz beckoned Jeria forward, holding his hand out for the axe that Jeria carried across his back.  Taking it, he turned it over carefully, examining the head and the haft.

"Cold iron.  Good, with what is out there you're going to need it if we get into trouble.  If we do our jobs properly that shouldn't happen."  

***

Passageways should define their destination, let the traveller know to where they are going.  Not this one.  The route to the outside was rock smoothed bare, leaving no place to hide.  It was tough going for the half-ogre; the path did not leave much space on either side of his large frame.  The door at the end was iron, faint magic sigils visible, glowing gently in the dark.  They passed through the door and came to an unexpected corner, after which the path changed.  The walls were covered in roots and sand, brackish red water seeping down onto the passage floor.  Jeria felt elated, buoyed, every step of the trip a revelation.  The air slowly filtering down from above carried scents of an outside world never looked upon, smells that never reached the city hidden below, the two days journey down a rocky path shrouded in darkness.  Gruzz turned to look at him when the passage started widening.

"We'll rest here.  It's not far to the surface and you need to prepare for it.  You've grown up in Weald Hall, in the cavern city.  You have never seen the open sky, smelt the open air, felt a true wind or been caught in the rain.  Therefore, we will go slowly.  Tonight we go out and sit tight; feel the air, look at the sky and if, and that's a big if, you are ok, tomorrow we take a walk."

The final cavern was huge.  Stalactites and stalagmites formed a treacherous maze, the entrance into the cavern but a small sliver in the rocks.  The half ogre looked back at Jeria.

"I'll go first, you follow after."

Jeria watched as Gruzz disappeared.  He could feel the wind blowing through a gap in the rocks, carrying unknown scents from what lay beyond.  He moved forward, touching the rocks at the edge, taking deep breathes, his heart pounding, sweat pouring off his brow despite the cool night air.  He felt the starting of panic panic within, the thought of the sky, nothing above him, no comforting ceiling overhead, just the sky going on forever.  With the moment upon him, he suddenly realised his fear: The loss of the comforting, embracing presence of the cavern, a womb of comfort to those within its halls.  He steeled himself, taking one last deep breath before stepping out, before looking up.

The sky.  It was a clear night, cloudless.  Overhead no moon shone, but the stars spread across the heavens like a blanket of white lace, a canopy of diamonds that glittered in the night.  Jeria looked up, marvelling at their beauty- no, they were not comparable to the guard post lights shining down, the stars were so much more.  He stood, staring up into the night sky, looking at their beauty and felt the breeze across his lightly scaled skin, and the hot tears that slid down his face as he sank to the ground, his hands reaching up to the unknown, uncaring sky.  For an age, he just stared up, until a huge hand landed on his shoulder.

"Yes, it is a wonder.  And we must live hidden, never seeing this.  Generations live and die never knowing, never feeling the wind or seeing the moon and the stars.  None except us, we lucky few, the Outwalkers that guard, protect and keep watch on an enemy that draws ever closer.  We are lucky, these sights, this knowledge, more than enough compensation for the danger we must face."  He stood over Jeria, giving him more time to absorb, to feel, to taste the air of freedom.  Eventually he lifted his hand, "For now we move away from the gate.  It is the first rule, never camp by the gate and never leave by the same path.   Come on; let us go to where we can await the rising of the sun."

The wonder did not cease for Jeria as he followed behind Gruzz.  The massive trees another wonder, their leaves soft beneath them, the grass, brown and dying from the onset of autumn, felt  strange beneath him as he sat, the feel of the bark of the tree, upon which he leaned, rough on his skin.

"Careful there.  Many of these trees are tainted.  Cut yourself on this bark and you run the risk of being poisoned."  A pause and Jeria just caught the last part muttered under the ogres breath "or worse."

Jeria settled down under one of the trees, his back touching the arm of Gruzz.  Together they sat, waiting for the dawn, for Jeria to see his first rising sun, his first dawn without a sky of stone overhead.

_Please let me know what you think- feedback is valuable!_ The Rogues Gallery for this story hour is  here


----------



## Ghostknight (Feb 21, 2007)

*Rule Of Darkness:  Part1, Chapter 2*

Chapter 2

In the valley below slaves, bent to their work.   Their backs marred by scars, by fresh rivulets of blood inflicted by the whips of their taskmasters, by the sun that shone down onto skin never offered protection against its burning rays.  In unison, they bent and rose, depositing handfuls of reeds into the buckets behind them before they bent down again.  The sun overhead was not hot today, the heat of summer long gone, the coolness of autumn a relief to those who toiled.  Gyv sat staring down, her bow bent, the arrow centred on a fiend that strolled through the field below, and its fearsome visage observing the slaves and taskmasters alike.  This fiend stood tall, thick bony ridges running down its back and along its arms, bony ridges that were as sharp as any sword.  The fiend's face sported the same bony ridges, hard and angular; none who saw that visage would ever imagine asking it for mercy or compassion.

Above, Gyv pulled back the string of her bow, the yard long arrow sporting a viscously barbed tip.  The arrow lay tight against her arm, a piece of loose blonde hair weaving across her face in the gentle breeze.  Gyv sighted along the bow for a long moment, making sure of her aim before releasing the shaft, and watched it streak down to pierce the fiend's chest and send a brief fountain of blood into the air, but it was all in vain if killing the fiend had been her desire.  A heartbeat, an intake of breath and the arrow fell out, lying on the ground steaming slightly from the heat of the body that rejected it.  

"Get up there, you fools   Find the one with the temerity to shoot at me!"  The voice is deep, rough, and amazingly loud across the fields.  The fiend speaks a guttural language, well suited to its voice, a language native to the lower planes of Hell, not to this world, this place.  His words create a frenetic bout of activity, men running in the direction from which the arrow came, whips in hand.  Some of the better-armed guards waved their swords in the air as they ran, a few guards remained behind to watch over the slaves.

The lack of attention on the slaves satisfied Gyv.  From above, she watched how, in the distance, slaves are slipping away, helped out of sight by a group of green clad men.  With a few gestures and quiet words, she slipped away into the forest, the plants closing behind her, leaves patterning themselves to hide her tracks from those busy storming up the hill.  Today, she could feel content, almost happy.  Today some would breathe free, but the happiness of the moment was marred by the frustration that her arrow had been no more than a fleabite to the fiend, the wound already healed and forgotten.  Her thoughts wound round her, like a poison on the success of the day.  We need to know what will hurt them!

She circled around the fields, making her way to the group that had assembled beyond.  Twenty of her men stood there, along with 20 slaves.  A simple rule that always observed- no more slaves rescued than rescuers; many times newly freed slaves needed shepherding, and attention divided over too many could lead to mistakes.  The group moved out, heading through the forest towards a cleft in the jungle floor, the chasm that led to safety.  Behind them, commotion broke out, the chasers had returned empty handed, the slaves had been rounded up and counted and the missing number noted.  Gyv turned to her companions.

"Take them to safety.  I am going back to make sure our tracks are properly hidden."  She did not wait for an answer, but darted backwards, heading back along their trail, carefully erasing any signs that they had inadvertently made.  

"I tell you they must have come this way, the other parts of the fields would have been noticed."  The voice came from beyond the trees, the edge of the field just out of her sight.  She lay against the trunk of the tree, its red tinged bark irritating her hands, making her skin itch.  At times like these, she cursed her height, her wide shoulders, and the difficulty of hiding when one stood taller than many of the soldiers who reported to her.  Above her, looking down, sat a squirrel, its eyes red flamed, the madness of the fiends within.  Chattering, it started down the trunk towards her, soon to be joined by two more.  The trio approached her, their red eyes gleaming, their mouths foaming as they looked at her, prepared to jump.

By the Celestial hegemony blast the fiends and their accursed luck, just what I did not need at this moment in time; tainted squirrels to attack me when I want to remain hidden.  Carefully she started backing off, her hand reaching out, grasping the hilt of her sword.  The squirrels' eyes followed her, their chattering rising, their movement-keeping pace with her own.  As they approached, the smell of rotting meat came off them, the bits of dead skin and bits of meat stuck in their fur creating a nauseating miasma of smell around them.  

Gyv, concentrating on the squirrels, nevertheless kept her eyes and ears open for movement from those outside the forest, listening to the occasional snippets of conversation that drifted towards her.  The guards were not entering, to her relief, but twenty slaves were to be offered as sacrifices for the twenty that had escaped.  There were always plenty of slaves, discipline was more important than a few extra field hands.  Also, it seemed that some of the guards were to join the slaves, an object lesson to those who remained:  NEVER let a slave escape alive!

Damn them.  Damn their discipline, their hierarchy.  We will defeat them, someday, somehow.  Even as her eyes stung knowing the torture, the pain that the twenty slaves would suffer before their deaths, the first of the squirrels jumped at her.  She twisted away just before it reached her, her blade slicing across its stomach, creating an eruption of intestines and blood.  In the moment she twisted, the other two jumped at her.  One latched onto her thigh, digging its teeth into her, its claws trying to rip through her leather clothing, the third met with her boot, its head splintering from the metal capped toes that staved in its skull.

Her side felt like it was on fire, her blood pumping around her body like boiling lead penetrating every segment, every pore.  She moved to detach the fiendish creature, only to watch in horror as it fell off, lifeless.  The pain in her blood increased, her senses blotted out by a wave of pain.  She could not hear herself scream, she could not see where she was going; all she did was flee, heading blindly, panicked into the depths of the forest.

***

Darkness had fallen when she came to her senses.  Gyv found herself lying on a bed of leaves under a massive oak tree.  She sat up, feeling the burning in her side, the wound not visible in the dark.  She felt around the area, noting that it had scabbed over, that the skin felt normal and that nothing was swollen.

Have I been lucky enough to escape the taint?  What happened when that fiendish thing bit me?  She stood up, her legs sending messages of pain as she placed her weight upon them.  Damn, how far have I run?  Where am I?  She looked around trying for a landmark, for anything that would point out to her a way home.  As she looked, she saw she was on the edge of the forest, the mountains rising up nearby.

The forests edge, at least three days travel from where she had been, where she should be.  The moon had been a full disk, lighting the sky the last time she had seen it, now it was completely absent.  She looked around, noting the details of the landscape, dying inside all the time.  Taint.  She was tainted, it must have grown within while she had been senseless for so long- for in the starlight she was seeing as well as she could on the brightest of days.

With a deep breathe she pulled out the pin.  Made of cold iron to penetrate even the hide of a fiend, it pulsed with the power of the poison within, a poison that would kill any of fiendish blood.  She sat beneath the tree, feeling the wind, the cool night breeze.  She looked over the canopy of the forest, knowing that within its depths stood the safe house and encampment of the House of Souls she had served so long.  She thought of her children that would miss her, her husband that served under another commander, of the friends and the freed slaves that treated her almost like a goddess.  For a while she sat, tears coming to her face, evaporating in patches of cold.  She took a deep breath, a swift movement and the pin pierced the flesh of her thumb.  She waited for the burning, for the fire to consume her blood, boil her skin, pop her eyes as the poison destroyed the taint within, and took her life.  Better to die pure than live a slave to the fiends, the last thought as she prepared for the end.

She waited, and the burning came, along with her screams that ascended into the night, carried on the wind to two who sat nearby, awaiting the dawn.

***

"Any idea who she is?"  Jeria knelt over the woman who lay unconscious on the ground.  She was beautiful, at least in human terms.  Tall, with blonde hair that had been cut short, arms which were well muscled and marked with scars from where a bowstring would chafe across them as it sent an arrow on its path.  She wore leather armour, coloured green, which hid the shape of her body.  Copper bracers covered her wrists and an empty quiver rode on her back.

Gruzz stood a short way off, examining the ground and the area in which she lay.

"She has been convulsing- see how the grass and plants in this area have been crushed and broken.  Probably from this," he held up the pin, its dull colour almost lost in the dark but easily seen by ogre eyes that can see in the darkest of caves.  "A testing pin, very rare these, the city guild of alchemists can never produce enough.  The gate guards go mad whenever a caravan must be admitted and there is no pin."

He walked over to Jeria, looking at the woman.

"Get her armour off.  Let's see what is beneath."

Jeria gave Gruzz a look, one that spoke volumes about what he thought of undressing a strange woman lying unconscious in a forest.  Gruzz laughed at him, swatting him on the back, sending him staggering a few paces.

"Don't be foolish, boy.  We need to know who she is, what her affiliation is.  I suspect I know, but it is from rumour, old tales, half-whispered news told over mugs of ale in the smoky light of a tavern.  Now get that armour off her.  If she is our friend, she will thank us.  If she is an enemy, it will be easier to kill her."

Jeria bent to his task, carefully untying the laces that bound the armour, the overlapping lengths of leather coming away easily.  She smelt of sweat and dirt, as if she had not bathed in a long time.  Underneath was a plain brown shift, sleeveless and with an open neck.  Around her neck, he could now see a medallion.  He lifted it, trying to get a better view, his own fiend enhanced vision, not the equal of the ogres but still good enough in the dim starlight.  

The medallion shone with the reflected light of just a few stars, the silver in it highlighting the engraving of a man standing with a plate of food outside a house with open doors.  He took the medallion of her neck, handing it to Gruzz.

"I thought they were just a story, something to soothe children when you need them to sleep at night."

Gruzz took the medallion, hefting it in his hands, letting it slip through his fingers before catching it again.

"The House of Souls?  Nah, they're real enough.  The closest bunch we know of is at least a week's journey from here."

Gruzz knelt down, gently turning the woman's face to the light, placing his face close to her mouth.

 "I know who she is.  Goes by the name of Gyv, a legend in the House.  They say she has freed more slaves in the last five years than anyone else did in the fifty years before that."  Gruzz saw the look that he was getting from Jeria and laughed.

"I ran into her band escorting some slaves back to safety a couple of years back, when I was till partnered with Mistel, Gods grant his soul peace.  Now I want to know what brings her out this way, lying exposed outside the forest with a testing pin nearby."  He lifted the body heading back towards the cavern and the city.

"Sorry Jeria, but you're going to have to wait to see your first dawn and go on your first patrol.  Something like this right by the city gate has to be reported before anything else."

Jeria watched as Gruzz pushed his way into the cavern, then followed.  A last glance, at a sky that seemed to be changing from black to royal blue in the distance, and he dived inside, to safety, to the warmth of the caves embrace.

_Please let me know what you think- feedback is valuable!_ The Rogues Gallery for this story hour is  here


----------



## Firedancer (Feb 21, 2007)

Interesting setting, I think we've got a feel for the world!
Off to a good start, keep it coming.


----------



## Ghostknight (Feb 21, 2007)

Thanks for the comment- more will be posted soon ( I have this done up until chapter 33, I just need to edit each chapter- so there is at least 10 weeks worth of stuff to come before it dries)


----------



## Ghostknight (Feb 22, 2007)

*Rule of Dakkness- updated 22 feb 2007*

Chapter 3

The journey out had taken two days, the trip back four.  Jeria felt the comfort of the walls, roots, dirt and rock of the path comfortingly close after the openness of the outside.  For Gruzz, the path was complicated by the tight confines and having to carry the body of the comatose woman.  He sweated, ducked beneath entangling roots and took twice the time to move each pace as he had when making for the outside.

"So, Jeria, now you see the glamour of being an Outwalker; a few hours outside, then you get to carry unconscious strangers on your back.   A glorious existence indeed, being a pack horse for the city."  He grinned, giving a small laugh as he adjusted the body of Gyv on his back.  

As they walked, the two Outwalkers listened to the unconscious form of Gyv moaning incomprehensively, her voice alternating between high-pitched screams and guttural mutterings in a voice so deep they could not hear the half of what was said..

The end of the fourth day found them at the turn in the passage, heading along the smoothed rock of the final stretch to the city.  Both breathed a sigh of relief, glad to be back home; maybe it was the proximity of the city, maybe the relief of the two that bore her was palpable, but as they neared the city Gyv relaxed, her breathing deepening and her face relaxing.

"You can't escape me that easily."  The face was mocking, handsome, the red flesh, green eyes and sharp fangs enhancing it, not detracting from the visages appearance, despite their alien nature. "Come now, Gyv, life is not that bad, you are strong, far stronger than most of your puny race.  You could be a ruler, a wielder of power over vast parts of my realm.  Think of the good you could do, the changes you could make for the better in the lives of the slaves."  Her mind filled with images, of slaves with food, unharmed backs, clothing upon their bodies, and boots on their feet.  Her mind kept shouting no, but in her dream she heard herself pledging fealty, promising herself, her fealty in the service to Jelial, Lord of the Dark, master of the Rule.  In her mind the mocking face smiled, laughed and disappeared, as in the world outside two strangers carried her into the final corridor, into a city she had never seen, to people unaware of the approaching danger.

***

Gate duty.  Mekior chaffed at the imposition on his movement, on his enjoyment of stalking through the corridors that connected the city to others of its kind, hunting down the enemies of the hidden, taking particular enjoyment in finding fiends that were out hunting.  Mekior was no ordinary guard, no ordinary soldier, but a Fiend Hunter, a specialist in killing fiends, a master with any blade, his very strike powerful enough to hurt those fiends normally immune to even the mightiest blow of mortals.  Today, he stood at the gate, guarding the path from the outside world, the most valued power of the fiend hunter in this position- their instinctive ability to detect a fiend regardless of how it disguised itself.  Even magic could not stop their ability.

Mekior saw the two Outwalkers as they entered the well-lit final stretch, easily seen from the guard post that stood slightly elevated above the path.  As they came closer, and details resolved themselves, he saw that the half-ogre carried another on his back.  Quickly he consulted the log and saw that only two had left a mere six days ago, and those two were not due back for another week.

"Open the gate, it looks like Gruzz found something interesting out there and cut short his apprentice's first patrol."  He left the lookout point, going down into the receiving area, wanting to check on the person being carried in.  He stood there, just within the open gate, his short, lithe figure clad in plate armour, its tabard decorated with the city crest; the joints articulated and protected by their own under layer of chain mail and leather padding.  

Jeria, walking slightly ahead of Gruzz and saw the gates opening first, and a grin broke out on his face.  Home, they were home.  Gruzz, looked up, saw the fiend hunter standing and waiting for them, and heaved a sigh of relief.  In his mind there was the utter certainty that if were not Gyv, not the person he supposed it to be, Mekior would know.  He came in through the gate, collapsing onto his knees, and placed her gently on the ground.

"Mekior.  Here to check us out?  When you're finished, organise some stretcher bearers for us, I can't carry her any further."

Mekior looked at them all.  The half-fiends in the city always unsettled him.  They always claimed to be loyal.  They said and did all the right things, and this one had obviously proved himself or he would not have been allowed into the Outwalkers.  Still they felt wrong, suspicious, his senses tingling in their presence.  Not so for the half-ogre, or the woman he had placed on the floor, they felt clean, pure.  He came forward, giving the massive Outwalker a clap on his back.

"Welcome home."  He looked at the half-fiend, and gave him a short nod, before waving forward some of the gate guards to perform stretcher duty.

Mekior moved ahead, accompanying Gruzz and Jeria as they followed the stretcher to the House of Healing.

"What's the story, Gruzz?  Who's the woman?"

"It' Gyv, one of the commanders from the House of Souls.  I met her a few years back.  What I don't get is what she was doing unconscious, on our doorstep, a testing pin nearby.  I checked her out on the long journey back- no obvious signs of taint and her only wound a small, already healed, bite."  Gruzz looked ahead at the stretcher-bearers and their burden.  "I hope she wakes up.  I would like some answers to the questions her presence raises.

Mekior's face scrunched up, brow furrowed in intense concentration as he wandered over to the woman, and held his hands just above her body, chanting a mantra beneath his breathe.  He extended his senses to their full, straining to detect any echo of taint, any remnant of a fiend within.  He felt swept up in a maelstrom of sensation, he saw the minute variations in the pigment of her skin, the smell of crushed leaves, of old and stale sweat.  In all his inspection nothing screamed at him, nothing hinted at the taint within; so he turned to Gruzz, his face relaxed, at peace.

"There is no taint within her, she is pure, clean.  There is taint in this corridor, and it walks amongst us."  His barbed comment was underscored by a pointed look at Jeria, the disdain he felt towards the half-fiend obvious.  Jeria just accepted the barbs, absorbing just one more taunt, the likes of which had peppered his life.  Why worry about it- he was an apprentice in the Outwalkers, trusted to leave the city and enter the territory of the devils.  So he just walked, his head held high, ignoring the Fiend Hunter.

Gruzz, walking between the two, frowned.  It was bad enough they had enemies on the outside; there was no need to fight amongst themselves.  He said nothing, at this moment peace seemed to reign, the Fiend Hunter content to deliver barbs within words, nothing more, and Jeria blithely ignoring the taunts.  He resolved that the matter must be discussed with Delire; Fiend Hunter and Outwalker often worked together, and any trouble must be resolved before it erupted in some unknown, and potentially hazardous, form.

***

Delire was sitting, piles of paper spread unevenly across her desk and with no order observable within the chaotic mess.  She looked up when Gruzz arrived, trailing Jeria behind.  

"Heard your patrol was cut short, that you brought an unconscious stranger back with you?"

Gruzz grinned, seating himself carefully in one of the flimsy wooden chairs before her desk. He looked back at Jeria, indicating he should do likewise.

"You asking a question or telling me, Captain?  I am not so foolish as to think you haven't already got a full description of the person and the fact that Mekior has given her a clean bill of health."  He leaned back, carefully; he could feel the chair creaking beneath him, struggling with his weight.

"Dunno if you've heard, but its Gyv.  You've also probably heard of her; from the House of Souls."  He watched Delire, hoping to catch a look of surprise on the face of the canny halfling, but he had no such luck.

"Gyv, huh?  I'm not foolish enough to doubt your information gathering Gruzz, just as you know about mine within the city.  Still, it would be a long way out of her home territory.  I thought her and her band never worked more than five days from their base.  Any idea what happened to her?"

Gruzz closed his eyes, massaging his temple with a free hand.  "I reckon she was testing someone with the pin we found nearby; someone who objected to it and then used poison or something else on her.  Whoever did so obviously thought that she would remain unconscious and get eaten, or found by the fiends.  It fits the facts we have.  Mekior says she is free of taint, she has no obvious wounds, and would have been dead if we had not found her."  He sighed, bringing both hands in front of him, inspecting his fingers as he continued. 
"We have a different problem though, and it's a biggie.  Mekior.  He and his fellow Fiend Hunters are going to have a hard time with Jeria.  They are all bloody obsessed with killing fiends, and they don't seem to want to be too discriminating when it comes to half-fiends.  It's going to be a problem in the future when they need to trust him."

Delire leaned back, looking at Jeria, rather than Gruzz, when she replied.

"You know Mekior's story Gruzz?  Let me refresh your memory."  She fiddled with a sharp dagger on her desk, one she had been using to open letters.  "He grew up in the slums here.  Ran with a few of the local gangs and got chased by the guards.  Nothing remarkable, nothing beyond the norm for that part of town, nothing that ranked above mere mischief and no one bothered him or the myriad others, clones in the desperation of the starving classes.

Anyways, his parents decided they had had enough of poverty.  Somehow, his father got hold of a shipment of iron weapons, real cold iron weapons.  Instead of earning a few coins by turning them over to us, as is the law, he decided to peddle them elsewhere, try for the big bucks.  He left the city with a cart full of weapons, and his wife and son riding alongside.  

The inevitable happened; he took a path that no one had checked in an age, heading deep into the darkness between here and Fort Livian.  In the darkness, they were found.  By fiends."  She paused, letting the facts sink in, captured by fiends smuggling weapons designed to hurt them.  "Mekior saw his parents punished.  His father faced torture over the period of a week before he died.  His mother, abused and used, by the fiends during that week, then suffered her own fate at the hands of the torturers, but did not last as long as his father.  The brutal treatment of the fiends in the week before had weakened her.  It was Mekior's turn next.  He has never spoken about how long he survived or what was done to him, in either the period before his torture, or during his torture, but when we rescued him he was close to death.  The sadistic nature of the fiends meant that in order to increase his suffering, the length of the torture, they had not inflicted any gross injuries upon him, rather using their knowledge of pain to cause him to scream for days, never allowing unconsciousness, or the accumulations of wounds to prevent them from enjoying a long session with their victim.

I was the leader of the group that found them.  I saw his face as we released him, the pure hatred that drove him to beat on the corpses of his captor, the drive that led him to dig graves for his parents, bury them gently, and all the while swearing vengeance."

She turned to Jeria, addressing him now directly.  "He looks at you and he sees that fiend torturing his father, raping his mother, doing whatever was done to him.  What happened to him out there in the darkness is locked inside, never spoken of, never told.  He will learn to trust you, but only after you have proven yourself to him.  It will come in time, I am sure of that.  Meanwhile, I will see what I can do to defuse the growing tension.  Now both of you go, get some rest.  Be back here in two days time."  She looked down, ignoring the two, waiting for them to leave.

Gruzz stood, giving her a sloppy salute before walking out her office.  Jeria sat, unsure of what to do, until he realised that she really was ignoring him.  He, too, left; his salute sharp and perfect.  Outside the office Gruzz stood, waiting for him.

"Enjoy the time off, kid.  Not too often you get two days furlough after a mere six days out.  Now get out there and enjoy yourself.  Just remember, keep your mouth shut and don't correct the rumours, or tell anyone any details.  This stays with us until we are told otherwise."  He put his hand on Jeria's shoulder.  "I'm off to see my mother, I'd advise you do the same.  Go off, see your family, say hi to your friends, and show off your new threads.  He smiled, "it's the first time you get to wear that uniform as a member!"  

With a smile and a wave, the half-ogre left, leaving Jeria watching after him.  Family, yeah, I'll go visit my dad in some fiend hall, or my mom in the Halls of the Dead.  He wandered through the city, watching the people at work, and smiled as the children in the marketplace followed behind pointing at his uniform.  It felt good, but the loneliness of his life followed even closer than the children.

***

In the Halls of Healing, Kiarta leaned over the outsider.  Her hands glowed from her healing charms as the energy flowed and removed the last remnants of the bite.  She looked down at the sleeping woman and smoothed her hair before placed her hand upon her brow.  The healing energy filled Gyv again, flowing through her, touching her in her sleep.  She smiled and opened her eyes, and grinned, silently, as she saw a human, not the face of her dreams, looking down at her.

Her mouth felt dry, thick, her tongue a plank of wood not wanting to move, yet she managed to croak out, "Where am I? What is this place?"

Kiarta's smile was broad; her voice echoed the pleasure in her smile.  "You are in the House of Healing in Weald Hall.  I am Kiarta, one of the healers here.  Rest you are safe here,"

Safe, the thought rushed into her head.  As she felt herself drifting back into her sleep, she thought she could hear mocking laughter in the background.


----------



## Ghostknight (Feb 23, 2007)

*PLEASE Comment*

I would like to get a feel for what people think of the story - please comment, make suggestions etc.

Thanks


----------



## Ghostknight (Feb 26, 2007)

*Rule of Darkness- Updated 26 February 2007*

The four sat in silence; Gruzz, Jeria, Gyv and Mekior looked at each other with no one willing to break the silence.  The creaking of the door as it opened caused all heads to turn in its direction; four pairs of eyes followed the halfling that entered the room.  Instantly recognisable to them all as Delire, her small steps carried her across the room rapidly.

Delire took a seat opposite them, looking at them one by one before talking.

"Thanks, all of you.  By now the three of you have heard Gyv's story, how she was bitten by a tainted squirrel, found herself outside the forest, and tried to commit suicide by using the testing pin."  

"It would seem that the pin did not kill her, but did destroy the taint.  Mekior, you inspected her, tested her, would you agree?"

From where he sat, Mekior leaned forward, a large smile on his face.  "Oh, yes. I can happily confirm that I detect no trace or taint of the fiends about her."  

At his side, Gyv cringed inwardly, but remained outwardly calm.  She saw all the faces around her; Delire who had come to interrogate her and find out her story; the two Outwalkers that had found her and brought her into the city; and the Fiend Hunter that had inspected her and declared her free of taint.  If I'm so pure, what is the laughter I hear every night?  Why can I not speak of that face, that voice, the laughter that resounds within?

Gyv came to, noticing that the conversation had stopped, that everyone was looking at her.  "Sorry, I, uh, just lost track of what was being said."

"It's ok Gyv, you're still recovering.  I was just asking if you wished to return home or remain within the city?"  Delire got up, stepped forward to pat her hand, her child size hands rough against Gyv's skin, the calluses from training with the sword spoiling any illusion of childlike innocence.  "You are welcome to stay here as long as you need.  Knowledge of your work has come to us, and we are honoured by your presence."  Delire backed off, sitting back down on her chair, her short legs swinging above the floor.

Gyv bowed her head, thinking.  Could she go home when she was unsure of herself, when she did not trust herself or her dreams?  She was better off here, in a city with all the protections that her simple home in the House of Souls lacked.  She looked up, opening her mouth to tell them her decision, and then unbelieving, listened to what her own mouth was saying.  "Thank you; I miss my home, my husband and children.  I do not know where I am, though.  Your city is but a rumour where I live, and I do not know where I left the forest, how I got within, or how I will get back."

"That is why we are gathered here.  Gruzz volunteered to escort you.  He offered his skills in your service; my guess is that he just wants to get out of the city.  Jeria is apprenticed to Gruzz and will go where he goes."  She turned to Mekior, looking him in the eyes, "I need to know if you will accompany them.  Gruzz is knowledgeable on the outside, as is Gyv, but if there is trouble an extra sword may be needed.  I want you to go with.  Provide your skills with sword, and, more importantly, your ability to detect the fiends before they can be seen."

Mekior looked at Delire, and than at Gruzz.  He knew them both by reputation and trusted their instincts.  The woman and half-fiend were unknown quantities.  He trusted the woman's reputation, but he doubted the half-fiend and feared facing the unknown with one such as him at his side.  Then there was the outside.  The tunnels were comfortable enough: known, sheltered, part of home and the environment he knew.  The outside was, well, the outside.  Unknown, dangerous, fiend ridden, the last decided him.

"I'm in.  Lets hope we do run into some fiends, I have some scores to settle."  He settled back, letting the others talk, plan the trip.  He would go along with them; his bow at the ready, his sword there to cut through fiendish skin should any show themselves.  The conversation washed around him as he dreamed of fiendish blood pooling on the ground below.

***

The gap to the outside stood before them.  Gruzz had gone first to check on the area outside, to ensure its safety.  The rest stood and watched Mekior as he stood before the gap.  Sweat came down his face, his hands gripping either side of the gap, knuckles white.  He looked back at them, his eyes showing panic.  He backed off from the gap, shaking his head.

"I can't do it.  Outside.  It's too big, too much."

He collapsed, head held between his hands, tears of frustration falling from his face.  "I can't do it.  Forgive me."

Gyv stood, looking at him, frustrated.  Jeria pushed forward, moving Gyv out the way, knelt beside him.

"I went out for the first time a mere six days before I met you.  I stood at this gap, felt the air from the outside and wondered how I could exist without the comfort of the cavern, the soothing presence of rock around me."  He stopped talking as he saw Mekior turn to him, look at him.  He started again, aware that the Fiend Hunter was fixated on his words.  "I don't know how I did it, I took that one last deep breathe and forced myself out, breaching the gap, entering the world outside the way a babe must leave its mother womb.  Once out, it was a revelation.  The air is different, sweeter.  And the trees, they are wondrous, not the small little things that you find within; out there they are amazing, huge, beyond your imagination.  Just stand, walk to the gap, breathe in and walk out."  Jeria stopped, hoping that his speech had been effective.

They waited, watching as Mekior stood slowly, gathered himself, breathed in deeply and virtually dived out the gap.  Jeria followed quickly, knowing he was breaking the exit order they had agreed on, but deciding he needed to be there to see how Mekior handled the outside.  He found him hugging the ground, rigid in terror; eyes wide open at the empty sky overhead.  Behind him, he heard Gyv coming out, stepping up beside him.

"Just chuck him inside and let us get moving.  He's going to be useless to us."  

Jeria looked at her, saw Gruzz come up to the couple standing over the rigid Mekior.

"Jeria, take his arms, lift him up.  Get him under cover; we’ll give him until morning to get out of this.  If he's still like this in the morning we'll send him home."  Gruzz watched as Jeria lifted the close to catatonic Mekior to his feet, half dragging him to the cover of the trees.  Gyv followed, automatically erasing the tracks they left.  She felt cleaner, safer under the trees, once more on her way to her home; but she feared the voice that had spoken for her, that had changed her choice to stay away from those she would not endanger.

***

The morning light arrived.  Jeria had climbed into the upper branches of a tree, from whence he watched as the golden orb lifted above the canopy of the forest, as the sky went from black, to turquoise to alive with golden fire.  He watched, elated, loving the way the sun reflected off the clouds, the way the trees changed colour in the light.  He watched for as long as he could and then, with a sigh, descended to the ground, to where Gruzz stood with Mekior and Gyv.

With the light, and the canopy of the forest overhead, Mekior had recovered.  He looked at the rest of the group, his face a mask of misery knowing how these people had all seen him in his moment of weakness.  Worse, the half-fiend had been the one to push him, to move him, to get his courage up.  Mekior felt shamed, a failure, one of his enemy better than he.  He walked behind Gruzz, his mind working on the problem, worrying that if they should leave the canopy of the forest he would be paralysed by the sight of the open sky yet again.

The group stepped quietly through the shadows, the occasional beams of light that shone through the leaves overhead illuminating the forest floor in patches, giving it an eerie quality.  They travelled mostly in silence, their thoughts company to their silent march.  Mekior worried at his weakness, fearing his fear of the open might betray him, Gruzz worried about the path, unknown, moving into territory he did not know intimately.  For Jeria it was fear of the fiends, never met but always lurking on the edge of perception.  And Gyv?  She feared the voice she heard every night, the laughter that haunted her sleep and stole her will.  She looked back over her shoulder, at the mountain peak that was fading behind her.  If you asked her why, she would not have been able to tell you, it just felt right, a compulsive action that helped her to orient herself as they moved deeper into the trees that soon hid the sight of the mountain behind them.

***

Two days travel passed uneventfully beneath the green canopy, ears strained for the sounds of movement, for a glimpse of anything that may prove threatening.  They saw nothing and the silence was only occasionally broken as Gruzz took time to point something out to Jeria, to teach him some of the vast lore and knowledge of the outside world he had accumulated over years of travel.  Gyv fell into the same pattern, pulling Jeria aside, pointing out plants, small insects and creatures, and telling him of their properties; which were useful and which to be avoided.  Even Mekior occasionally dropped his hostility towards the half-fiend to point out the minute details that provided clues as to what was, and was not, tainted.  The other three often thought him crazy, not seeing what he said was obvious, but never doubted his word.

Jeria absorbed it all, his thirst for knowledge of the outside world insatiable.  He found himself lying awake at nights, peering through gaps in the trees trying to catch a glimpse of the stars above.  The world was a revelation to him, so much more than the stone halls of his world before; so much more alive, more bewildering.  His ancestry meant that he did not need the same amount of rest as his compatriots; he used this unnatural stamina to stay awake for long hours, conversing with Gyv and Gruzz as they sat on guard duty.  He used the time of Mekior's watch to get the sleep he needed, knowing that this, too, marked him as different to the Fiend Hunter, and added to the sense of otherness that the Fiend Hunter hated within him.

It was just after midday on the third day when it happened.  Gruzz led them through a thicket of thorn bushes.  The group was careful to make sure no one was scratched; Gruzz had noted the reddish sap clinging to the points of some thorns as they approached, and Mekior had agreed with his assessment that the bushes were tainted.  None noticed that Gyv, as she went through last behind the rest, carefully placed a thorn just under her nail, her eyes gleaming slightly in the dim light as she did so.  Gyv herself did not notice, forgetting a scant few seconds later that she had done so.

Beyond the thorn bushes was a small clearing, all entrances similarly covered by the tainted plants.  Within the centre of the clearing was a small altar, the sides stained with blood, the ground around it reddened from a recent sacrifice.  The smell of dried and rotting blood reached their nose, and they instinctively stepped back, looking about the clearing for whoever tended to the site.

Gruzz knelt down, scanning the area, carefully noting the placement of every strand of grass, every root that he could see.  The silence remained unbroken save for the sounds of small insects rasping and the occasional bird calling out its territory.  Everything seemed in place, peaceful; only the altar and its bloody remnants any indication that this was different to the myriad other clearings they had marched by, and through.  Eventually he stood, moving forward slowly, the group following behind as he skirted along the edges of the clearing, keeping his distance from the bloodied altar. 

Half way round the circle, with the altar to his right, the air shimmered, and the temperature in the air rising as if a curtain had been lifted into Hell itself.  Standing on the altar, with a smile upon its face, stood a fiend. Easily nine feet tall it had massive, heavily muscled arms, thick gold and platinum bracers upon its wrists, and an armoured skirt around its waist.   Faint flames danced around him, dying away as he jumped down, landing with catlike grace on the grass.

"What, passing by without saying hello?  How rude!"  The fiend's voice was melodic, cultured.  It looked at the group, its face betraying no warmth, though it stood with a smile upon its face.  Then his lips moved, to reveal rows of sharp fangs, his hands came up in front, claws rhythmically clacking against each other, making an odd noise.  The stand off did not last long.

From where he stood Mekior saw the fiend, saw the hated enemy standing there, a cold smile upon its face.  His war cry was inarticulate, but his actions more than eloquent enough!  In one smooth motion, he jumped forward, closing the gap to the enemy, his sword being drawn in mid-air, striking down at the fiend as he landed, the momentum of his movement providing devastating power to his blow. 

And from behind he heard laughter, the image in front of him flickering, dying away.  He moved just in time, he ducked and rolled away, nimble despite the confines of his armour; his sword spinning round with the rest of him, blocking the claw that had appeared from behind, that had been swung with enough force to decapitate him with a single strike.  The claw clanged off his sword as he twisted his body around, and brought his sword back to a ready position before him.  Mekior saw Jeria charging forward, his axe at the ready with Gruzz close behind and Gyv drawing her bow.

The fiend moved, it flipped itself over, striking with its feet at Mekior while, somehow, managing to twist itself so that Jeria’s axe passed harmlessly by.  Once again, Mekior found himself forced onto the defensive, his sword sweeping up to block the taloned feet, keeping the wickedly sharp edges from his face.  Gruzz’s axe crashed into his sword, sending vibrations up his arm.  With a look of despair, Gruzz caught Mekior’s eye; the devil had manoeuvred the two to perfection; Gruzz blocked the line of sight from Gyv, stopping her from releasing her arrow for fear of hitting the massive half-ogre, Mekior's blade had done double duty as shield for the fiend.

Frustrated, Gruzz reversed his swing, sending his axe low, while Jeria cut high, Mekior's sword slashing through the centre.  All hit nothing, stumbling off balance as the fiend disappeared, laughing as it reappeared atop the altar. 

"Ah, all the poor little heroes can't hit one little devil?"  It spread its arms wide, releasing darts of flame that shot out at the three.  They dodged aside, scattering in all directions, Gruzz cried out in pain, engulfed in fire as three of the darts shot into him.  Mekior ducked beneath the darts that shot towards him, rolling beneath them and feeling their heat as they passed above him, setting alight some of the dry thorn bushes behind to send billowing sheets of foul smelling smoke into the air.  He came up with his sword and stabbed into the gut of the devil, spilling its entrails to the ground, leaving the altar slick with its blood.  Jeria, in turn spun out, allowing the flaming missiles to pass him by.  They singed his hair, leaving red, inflamed skin in their wake.  He swung out with his axe, the momentum from how he had dodged the missiles imparted to the axe, the blade a blur as it chopped into the fiend and sent its arm, trailing a stream of blood, into the night.  

Gyv, her bow lowered to the ground, watched as the fiend collapsed and felt a clutch of horror.  She was sure it had looked at her, had winked as it went down.  She felt cold, fearful and still could not tell the others her fears, how the face laughed mockingly at her in the night.  She looked at them, hoping that they would see the despair, the inability to communicate, upon her face.  Neither of the two said anything, engrossed with the damage done to Gruzz; they moved across to where Gruzz’s body lay and they looked at the body burnt and blackened, unrecognisable if they had not already known who it was.

The three stood there, Gruzz’s burnt body at the feet of Mekior and Jeria, the gutted, dismembered corpse of the fiend just a short way off.  They moved off into the forest, stripping the devil of its items, taking the corpse of Gruzz to bury nearby.  The night was cold, the stars uncaring as the three sat, contemplating their loss; and the altar in the forest that seemed to have no reason for existence.


----------



## Mahtave (Feb 26, 2007)

Well,

I'm hooked.  I can't wait for the next installment.  Too bad about Gruzz, looks like Jeria and Mekior will have to get along now more than ever before.

Nice job here GhostKnight.


----------



## Ghostknight (Feb 28, 2007)

Thanks for the feedback.  As for Jeria and Mekior- well, the future has lots in store for them!  And now for the next chapter!

Chapter 5
As had become usual, dawn found Jeria up a tree, his face turned to watch as the sun appeared over the horizon, lighting the forest, reflecting off the sea of green made by the forest canopy.  He watched the sunrise and imagined he could see the soul of Gruzz rise; the song of the birds, the lonely cry of a hunting eagle in the distance, the light pouring down from above, his accompaniment to the afterlife.  He thought he caught the moment Gruzz' soul entered the realm of the Earth Mother, to hunt and wander for eternity amongst the plants and animals he had loved, as a flock of birds headed up, disappearing into the sunrise.  He sat awhile, in silence, his thoughts on what Gruzz had spoken of and taught him.  Back on the ground he moved to where Gyv tended a small, smokeless fire and Mekior sat wrapped in his thoughts.

Mekior looked up, giving him a wary gaze.  "Spoken to your family from up there?"  The Fiend Hunter's voice was low, anger and sorrow evident within.  "Did you let them know where to find us next?  Where they should send their minions to intercept us?"  Mekior stood; belligerent, provocative; pushing his face into the face of the half-fiend, his shorter height no hindrance to him in his attempt to intimidate Jeria.

Jeria looked at the Fiend Hunter and saw the haunted look in his eyes.  "It was not my doing.  No more than it was of your or Gyv's doing.  I grieve for Gruzz; he taught me much in the short time we were together."  He stepped back from the tension created by being in close proximity to the hostile Fiend Hunter.  

"I grieve, Mekior; it was not my fault, nor the fault of any other that stands here.  Gruzz himself warned against the unknown, the seemingly random actions that the devils perform; their plans and strategies beyond those of us mere mortals."

Gyv quailed inside, her face hidden as she leaned over the pot of boiling water oats would soon be added to.  Am I blameless?  Did I somehow lead the enemy to us?  She gazed into the water, into the rising bubbles, wishing that, like the bubbles, her memories would float to the top of the surface of her mind.  What happened to me out there?  It takes a week to get to where I was, so where was I the other seven days? I have to know!  Where was I?  Am I blameless?  She peered into the bubbles, wishing she could speak of her fears.  And as she looked, the face appeared in the water, laughing, winking at her as it disappeared in a rain of oats.

***

The companions journeyed onwards.  Gyv moved to the lead, as the one most familiar with the outdoors and the only one of the three that knew how to survive away from the rock and stone of the great cavern.  They travelled in silence, the desultory conversation that rose to the surface on occasion always bitter.  Mekior blamed Jeria for Gruzz' demise and Gyv, too absorbed in her own fears, her own world, failed to try and defuse the growing tension.

They walked for three days.  Clouds gathered, growing laden and heavy with grey, growing darker each day as winter approached and the snow gathered overhead.  At each dawn and dusk, Gyv looked at the clouds and saw how they gathered, the red tinge they cast when the sun passed through them.  On midday of the third day, she looked up, looked at the clouds, and drew in her breath.

"Mekior, look at those clouds, tell me what you think?"  Her voice carried an urgency that grabbed both men's attention, sending their gazes into the sky.  Mekior frowned, not understanding what he was feeling, what it meant.  Jeria looked at the clouds and felt comforted, as if the clouds called to him, to his blood, summoned him home.

Mekior's voice was soft, barely audible. "I feel it.  They are wrong. But how can anything so huge be in the sky?  Whatever those clouds are hiding takes up the whole sky.  What is that large?"

"Nothing.  Its not that something is hiding within the clouds, it is the clouds themselves.  I have heard of this, but never seen it near here.  Travellers from the south, bringing tales of warmer lands, have told us of rains; rains that fall and burn.  We must find shelter.  If the rain is as lethal as the stories have described, we must not get caught in the downpour."  Gyv started searching, desperate to find somewhere safe, somewhere they could secure themselves against the coming storm.

It was Jeria who found them shelter, following the hard to see markers that Gruzz had shown him, at the time nothing more than an interesting bit of outside lore.  The signs of an underground tunnel of a man-ant colony, the entrance through a dried out, dead tree; subtle but easily found by those with the knowledge to do so.  They worried they might come across the strange, hybrid creatures but the tunnels were dry and completely devoid of any signs of habitation or use.  Throughout the tunnels the smell of old, dried sand mixed with some strange, bitter smell,

They moved deeper within, turning corners, relying on the navigational sense of the two cavern dwellers to lead them back later.  They descended a short ramp, and wandered through corridors that wound round in wide spiral, eventually coming to an area of rooms.  Here they found signs of devastation; doors ripped from their hinges, holes gouged into walls, areas of sand that cracked underfoot, fused and melted from some intense heat.  They wandered through the rooms, finding nothing more than the signs of some great conflict, the war that had destroyed this nest.

They continued down the spirals; the scorched areas increasing in frequency, with more and more of the sand-fused-into-glass areas occurring.  Eventually, they reached the bottom of the spiral.  The chamber was huge; the centre taken up by an elevated dais, pillars reaching high, their tops lost in the darkness above.  They wandered through the room, finding the scratches and chips made from weapons crashing into the walls around.  

"This was recent."  In the silence of the hall, Mekior's voice seemed loud.  "There is no dust as yet, but the rooms here have earthen walls."  He walked round the room, trailing his finger along the walls, scuffling at the dirt by his feet.  "The walls are well made, sealed; probably with the saliva they use for building.  I would still expect some dust if this was long abandoned."  He stopped suddenly, bending down.

The others watched as he felt around the floor, evidently trying to find something.  With a look of disgust, he gave up, turning to Jeria.  "Come here half-fiend, make those devilish claws of yours useful.  There's a crack in the floor here, get your claws in there and heave."

Jeria came over, sticking his claws into crack, feeling a switch towards the back.  A bit more effort, and some skin scraped off his finger, and there was a distinct *click*.  By the dais, they saw a trapdoor fall away, leaving stairs going down.  Gyv immediately raised her bow, making sure that the area would be covered if anything approached.  Mekior, too, had turned to face the dais as the stairs were revealed. Only Jeria, raising himself from the floor, thought he saw flames dance within Gyv's eyes.  He shook his head, convinced that he must have imagined it, after all, Mekior had said she was free of taint.

Time passed, and, convinced that nothing was going to suddenly jump out at them, the three moved forward, looking down the stairs into the depths below.    From below came the stench of burnt, rotting flesh, something bittersweet mixed in with it. The eyes of Jeria and Gyv penetrated the darkness, but Mekior had to accept their description of stairs going down, until they met a corner.  Mekior took the lead; he descended, headed into the darkness, his sword at the ready, trying not to breathe too deeply as the stench assailed his nose.  So it was that he was first to see it, the first to face the horror that the hive had become.

The pile of bodies was immense.  What had once been a room filled with warmth, a womb within which eggs grew to maturity and hatched their contents under the watchful eye of nursemaids and breeders, was a vast charnel pit.  Every egg was broken up, the contents spilt and left rotting on the floor.  In some, they were too new, too young and there was nothing more than the liquid of the egg; in others, they were almost fully formed babies, their antlike hindquarters still soft, their babyish, human faces sublimely peaceful in death.  Over all this, the bodies of the adults had been thrown, a pile of those who sought to protect the heart of their people.  The bodies had been burnt, dismembered or simply cut down, they ranged from those of healthy warriors who had stood up to the invaders; to the old, the babies and small children, amongst them a little boy clutching a toy sword he had thought to use against the fiendish soldiers.  On top, lay the mother of them all, her massive body carved up, dismembered, cruelly placed over a pile of dead babies.  The queen of the hive was disfigured, defaced and mocked in her death, a message to all that came this way, a demonstration of the cruelty of the fiends above.

Mekior saw the carnage and charged back up the steps, heaving along the way, not wanting to defile the chamber with his weakness.  Tears streamed down Jeria’s face as he gazed on the scene.  He followed Mekior up the stairs, rage building within, and his hatred against those who could perpetuate such carnage fuelling his desire to strike back.  Gyv stood, looking at the carnage.  She wanted to feel the sickness of Mekior, the sadness and hatred of Jeria, but instead she heard the laughter, the face leering at her, challenging her.  She ran, past the two men who were ascending the stairs, into the hall above, sinking to her knees, waiting for something, but not knowing what.

They sat out the storm in silence, occasionally one of them going high enough to look out, to see if the storm had abated, and passed them by.  Jeria sat staring out for a long time and watched as the red tinted water fell from the sky, and saw how those plants free of taint smoked, their leaves browning and shrivelling under the deluge.  He watched, and his thoughts on the bodies within, the fiends without, and the hopelessness of fighting when the world itself turned against life.


----------



## Neurotic (Feb 28, 2007)

*Feedback*

Here is some feedback as requested 

The story is excellent ! Setting is refreshingly different, history of the world detailed, writing descriptive and evocative.

Don't get discouraged by lack of user comments, the story is too young to have attracted too many. Try having link to it in your signature and post comments in some established story hours.

My recomendation for reading are: 
Blackdirges Metamorphosis and Assassin's Tale, 
Lazybones' Shackled city and Doomed bastards: dungeon of graves
JollyDoc's Shackled city, Age of Worms and Savage Tide

Some are conveniently sinister so you might maybe even incorporate some ideas from them. Altough I don't think you need such, if this few chapters are any indicators.

Keep writing, all things come to those who wait. Such as faithfull readers


----------



## Ghostknight (Feb 28, 2007)

Neurotic said:
			
		

> Here is some feedback as requested
> 
> The story is excellent ! Setting is refreshingly different, history of the world detailed, writing descriptive and evocative.




Thanks.  I am trying to not be too derivative and to do something original.



> My recomendation for reading are:
> Blackdirges Metamorphosis and Assassin's Tale,




Excellent, aren't they?  I am up to date on both, though I have nly posted in Metamorphosis



			
				Neurotic said:
			
		

> Lazybones' Shackled city and Doomed bastards: dungeon of graves



 Once again Excellent - I am up to date on "Doomed bastards", but giving Shackled City a miss since I'm about to start playing it.



			
				Neurotic said:
			
		

> JollyDoc's Shackled city, Age of Worms and Savage Tide




I'll check it out- its the only one of the three authors I haven't read anything of.



			
				Neurotic said:
			
		

> Keep writing, all things come to those who wait. Such as faithfull readers




Ahh, as Lazybones is want to say, writers have frail egos, thus the plaintive calls for feedback!   Nothing like regular, faithful readers to keep things going.


----------



## BLACKDIRGE (Mar 1, 2007)

Excellent start, Ghostknight.

You have a knack for writing combat scenes, which can be very difficult. Good detail, with an eye on keeping the action moving. 

Don't worry about acquiring readers, the subject matter alone will attract people, and you have some definite talent to boot.   

BD


----------



## Ghostknight (Mar 1, 2007)

BLACKDIRGE said:
			
		

> Excellent start, Ghostknight.
> 
> You have a knack for writing combat scenes, which can be very difficult. Good detail, with an eye on keeping the action moving.




Hi praise coming from you Blackdirge!  Your story hours got me started on thining of just a pure fiction write, rather than a module or campaign write up.  Thanks for cheking my SH out.


----------



## Ghostknight (Mar 1, 2007)

*Chapter 6*

I posted tomorrow's update today- I'm not sure if I will be online tomorrow.  if I am- then this is a bonus and there will be another updtae tomorrow!

The forest had changed when they emerged from beneath the ground.  It was silent, still.  Dead leaves crunched underfoot, brittle and sharp despite having been soaked in the rain.  Most of the trees stood stripped of their leaves, and many small animals and birds lay dead on the ground.  They found many more of these testaments to the lethal, tainted rain as they progressed.

They travelled for two more days, with Gyv leading them confidently as she approached her home.  For the most part they travelled in silence, they did not have much to say, their thoughts on the massacred ant-man tribe and the devastation wrought by just one deluge of the red rain.  They all thought it, but none said it, "How many more rains before all is tainted, before life is all but impossible for those who want to remain free of the fiends?"

On the last day of their trip, they descended a deep ravine.  Broken rocks were scattered across the ravine floor, with roots and vines hanging down the sides.  They made their way through the rocks, going up to what looked like a solid wall of stone.  Gyv took her medallion from around her neck and held it in one hand.  The other she placed upon the rock, chanting in a tongue taught only to those sworn to the Divine Mother.  The rock glowed, revealing a door which opened to her touch.  The three stepped within, into a well-lit, plain white room with arrow slits cut into the walls, allowing observation, and, if necessary, attack, from all angles.  A single door was on the far wall, at least fifty feet away.  

"Welcome to the House of Souls.  Someone should open for us soon, we are being watched."  Gyv's voice was light, her happiness at being home apparent.  They all stood and waited, unsurprised when the door flew open and a tall, brown haired man came forward.  He was clad in a simple, open necked shirt that a farmer might wear, and pants made of homespun cotton.  His face radiated a huge smile as he approached Gyv, clasping her to him.

"Welcome home, my love."  He looked down into Gyv's eyes, expecting to see his love, his desire reflected within, yet he saw dancing flames and a fiendish face instead.  "Wha..."  The sentence was never finished; Gyv's blade exited his throat, ending his life in that moment.  The blood shot out, drenching the front of her shirt.  She turned, blood drenched, her husband's body crumbling to the ground behind her.

Horrified Mekior and Jeria draw their weapons, but too late.  The wall behind them crumbled and massive fiends entered the room, charging the two down and pinning them to the ground.  More fiends rushed past, heading into the complex, laughing and calling out to each other, anticipating the blood shed to come.  Gyv stood over her companions, her eyes no longer bearing any resemblance to anything human.  She stood aside as a massive devil entered.  Tall, well muscled, covered in armour designed more to impress and intimidate than to protect.  His face was almost human, handsome, the fangs but a small blemish amongst the perfection.

He came forward and stroked Gyv's face.  "Many thanks, my puppet.  I have sought this place for an age!"  As he stroked her face, her features smoothed, her eyes blanked, and she fell slowly to the ground.  Only then did he look at the two held down by his minions.

"What is this?"  He knelt down, his massive hand lifting Jeria's head, inspecting it.  "A rogue pup!  I wonder whose?  You bear the look of an aristocratic father.  It is a pity about the weak human blood.  Never mind, we can find out quite easily to whom you belong."  He looked at Mekior, lifting his head up by his hair.  "You are already marked.  Have you ever told the humans your little secret?"  He laughed, releasing his hair, watching as his chin bounced on the floor, split open and released a small stream of blood.

"Bring them to my chambers later.  For now, immobilise them all."  He left, not looking back as his minions produced strong ropes and expertly tied up the three captives.  

***

The line of slaves stretched back far.  The devils had been thorough and, behind them, thick black smoke poured out from what had once been the refuge of the House of Souls.  Above the ground devils wandered, seeking stray smoke, indications of exits they may not have yet found.   

The three companions were kept separate from the rest.  They were strung up on wooden spars, carried aloft by massive, powerful devils.  They hung from above, arms burning in pain, as their arms were forced to bear the weight of the body hanging down.  From above, they had no choice but to watch as the inhabitants of the House of Souls were marched away, with whiplashes being doled out senselessly and continuously.  Gyv, still in shock, could still feel her husband's blood spurting onto her; and see her children paraded in front of her, the collar of slavery placed upon their necks.  Was it worse that her memories had been restored in the moment the devil had withdrawn his presence from her mind?  Or would ignorance and the blackness of death been better?

She hung there, weeping; crying, continuously whispering to herself, begging for forgiveness, imploring the Gods to help.  Mekior and Jeria hung alongside her and listened to her prayers, her mutterings, but remained silent themselves.  Mekior was numbed by what had happened, the half-fiend proven blameless, the heroine proven to be the weapon of their demise.  

"I ran for three days."  Gyv's voice had changed, the edge of madness had left it and now it sounded rational. "That was when they got me.  I ran blindly, non-stop for three whole days."  She shook her head, eyes blackened from crying, tearstains streaking both cheeks.  "They started torturing me, but then HE came.  He told them to stop, ordered them to leave me unmarked.  I didn't understand, not until he started to torture me, and he proved subtler than the others by far!  I did not know magic could be wielded in such manner; in many ways his intelligence, his inventiveness could be admired.  Eventually I lost all sense of what he had done and remembered nothing; my first memories after my flight from when I came to so close to your city."  She paused, "one of you must escape, warn them.  He must be planning to destroy it now that he knows it is there!"

"Oh, indeed I am, and will!"  He stepped into the light, an intimidating figure, not just for his immense twelve foot height, but for the ease with which he moved; the authority he just assumed as he approached.  "But I have something more immediate to resolve.  He came up to Jeria, and once again cradled his head in his hand.  He withdrew a small knife, its blade razor sharp and made of cold iron, the hilt decorated with platinum inset with gems.  Quickly, deftly, he sliced down Jeria's cheek, collecting the blood into a goblet.  He drew the blade across his own hand, and added three drops of his own blood to the goblet, throwing the mix into a nearby bowl.

"Show me, tell me!  Let the devil's blood call to the devil's blood!  Show me the father of this scion!"  He peered into the bowl, waiting, wandering.  When the results did show themselves, his face changed, surprise vied with amusement.

"Say hello to Dad, little one, guess your mother must have been one of my whores!"

A gesture, a smirk, and the fiendish lord watched as his underlings cut Jeria down.

"Leave his arms trussed for the moment; I'm not ready to risk his escape."  The devil looked down at Jeria. "You will learn to call me Master, as well as father, though that is of little consequence.  All these around here bow to me.  I am General Gerion; I rule this area and report to the great lord himself, letting him know how things go within his domain.  You shall address me as Master, or Lord," he paused and then laughed, "unless you want to call me Dad!"  He walked off, leaving two devils to watch over the bewildered Jeria.

For Jeria everything seemed to be going past through a fog of bewilderment.  From the moment that the devil had announced him his son, to the pain of renewed circulation within his arm and the little speech from his father, all seemed a nightmare.  He had known his father was a fiend, but this!  Stories of the General Gerion were plentiful; countless atrocities lay at his door, thousands of deaths, mutilations and depravities spoken about in hushed whispers.

From above Mekior looked down and then closed his eyes. Concentrating, calling on what little magic he knew.  Hear me Jeria.  You cannot help who your father is, but you can help the city.  Get away; you are the only one who can.  Warn them, get them to flee into the under realms and seek out shelter elsewhere.  Tthe city is lost.  And kill me and Gyv if you can; don't leave us to face the wrath of your father when you get away!

Jeria looked up, bewilderment on his face.  He heard Mekior within his mind, no words had been spoken, the fiend hunter had always struck him as a man comfortable only with magic that would let him hurt, rend, bring pain onto his foes, lead him to his foes, not with anything this subtle.  Stop, don't ask how I can do this just accept it.  Get away, escape when you can!  Once again the voice of Mekior rang in his mind, but even with such an exhortation, how would he escape?

Jeria stood and looked at his captors, and then his companions hanging above.
I will escape, I will get away!  The encampment around him was filled with devils celebrating, their human soldiers getting drunk and gouging themselves on food stolen from their latest conquest.  You will all die, so swear I!

One of the devils watching him, grabbed his arm and dragged him roughly through camp.  He threw him into a tent, atop a pile of furs.  "You will sleep here.  In the morning the General will see to you."  The voice was guttural, hard to understand, though the language was the common one the devils enforced onto all.  The devil stepped out into the night, leaving Jeria alone within.  

Jeria sank onto the furs, emotions overwhelming him.  The stress of being captured, seeing one of the safe houses of the House of Souls destroyed, of finding out who his father was, and the as yet unabated pain in his arms, all combined to defeat his stoic control.  He was wracked him with sobs, the likes of which he had never experienced before.  He stopped immediately the door began to open, the discipline of a life of facing bullies and those who would see him weakened, enough to allow him to hide his emotions at but a moments notice.  

A woman entered; naked but for the collar of slavery she wore around her neck.  She was beautiful; dark hair flowed down her back, and her blue eyes pierced his.  Her full red lips melded to him, and her warmth was a balm against the cold of the night air.  No words were spoken, the offered physical release obvious and quickly accepted.  For Jeria, rejected and derided his entire life, the experience was new; never before had he been with a woman and this image of beauty guided and taught him, before they fell asleep, wrapped together under the thick furs that formed both mattress and blankets.

They were awoken in the morning by the sun from outside lashing across their faces as the flap at the entrance was thrown aside.  The massive figure of Gerion stood there, smiling.  "As you can see, my son, there are advantages to being my offspring.  You want Sianar back tonight, or would you like another?"  The smile came across as warm and friendly, but Jeria did not trust it.  He remained silent and Gerion continued speaking in the absence of any reply.  "Not ready to say?  No matter, I shall send her and some friends over.  Have one or many, they will do as you wish.  Willingly.  You see, my son, some have accepted their place, their role, within our great society.  Some fill the ranks of my army; others serve as we desire them to, but all serve to the greater good of Jelial’s Empire.  You, too, shall find your niche, your place in society.  Already, you are above the rabble."  He turned and left.

Jeria rolled over, ashamed of how he had used the woman, and had not even know her name until it was spoken by a fiend!  He stared at the walls of the tent, not hearing as she left, only knowing of her absence by the closing of the flap.  Alone once more, he wept, this time from shame and self-pity.  His thoughts were clear when he finally regained control of himself: I must get away before I am destroyed!


----------



## Neurotic (Mar 1, 2007)

*Analyzing...*

JollyDoc's one of gfunk group of players, they alternate in their campaign write-ups.

Back to your story:
One thing bugs me a little and it's Jeria's obvious fiendish nature. I find it hard to believe that a being with taint would be allowed to live within the city or even to survive first hours after birth. There probably would be some organisation to handle less then palatable things such as baby killing. I would thing that the risk of being discovered/betrayed far outweighted rights of an tainted infant to live. After 3000 years of Rule one didn't survive without some sort of ruthless pragmatism in that only pure may live within the city. Regardless of race or alignment, I can see that Rule would unite all against It, but not regardless to the Taint.

Makes for good reading, but I would think fiendish blood should be discreete and once proven (Outwalkers) he would remain. And Mekior would have revelation only when the Blood manifested somehow or he concentrates very hard.

My two cents. It's your story and I'm enjoying it, you can of course write it as it suits you   

Read you later...


----------



## Ghostknight (Mar 1, 2007)

Neurotic said:
			
		

> JollyDoc's one of gfunk group of players, they alternate in their campaign write-ups.




Hmm- now THAT must be quite a group!



			
				Neurotic said:
			
		

> Back to your story:
> One thing bugs me a little and it's Jeria's obvious fiendish nature. I find it hard to believe that a being with taint would be allowed to live within the city or even to survive first hours after birth. There probably would be some organisation to handle less then palatable things such as baby killing. I would thing that the risk of being discovered/betrayed far outweighted rights of an tainted infant to live. After 3000 years of Rule one didn't survive without some sort of ruthless pragmatism in that only pure may live within the city. Regardless of race or alignment, I can see that Rule would unite all against It, but not regardless to the Taint.




Ahh, but fiendish blood isn't taint- taint is basically a fiendish poison that alters the infected person/being into something that is not a fiend, but bears their mark of evil- be it squirrels that become cannibals, or trees which grow posionous thorns.  In intelligent beings it results in insanity and evil behaviour, but it is not always physically manifested or obvious- tus you get a being with their loyalties magicly altered and their mental state such that they are easily manipulated into betraying thei rown families and friends.



			
				Neurotic said:
			
		

> Makes for good reading, but I would think fiendish blood should be discreete and once proven (Outwalkers) he would remain. And Mekior would have revelation only when the Blood manifested somehow or he concentrates very hard.




The fiend blooded are not that rare, but most end up on the edges of society as outcasts.  Jeria is an exception in that he has broken free from that environment and gained enough trust to be accepted into the Outwalkers.  So Mekior and the other Fiend Hunters have known of him, and avoided him as they would avoid others with fiend blood, but now they are confronted with the fact of having to work with him closely- and that is where the conflict arises.



			
				Neurotic said:
			
		

> My two cents. It's your story and I'm enjoying it, you can of course write it as it suits you




Comment away- it helps to get me to put down what is in my head but may not be coming out in the text.  Hope my explanations make sense.   



			
				Neurotic said:
			
		

> Read you later...




Thanks


----------



## Neurotic (Mar 1, 2007)

Ghostknight said:
			
		

> Ahh, but fiendish blood isn't taint- taint is basically a fiendish poison that alters the infected person/being into something that is not a fiend, but bears their mark of evil ...
> 
> ...confronted with the fact of having to work with him closely- and that is where the conflict arises....




I understand that Taint is not taint, as in one is poison other is blood, but then why should Mekior detect him and reffer to Jeria as "there is one taint and it walks among us" if he only detects evil ... or devil taint ?!

Anyhow thanks for explaining the difference. I'll just accept it as part of the world without questioning too deeply.

Poor Jeria, son of legendary general    
And "strong" and "independant" Mekior showing what hollow shell he is behind that tough mask...


----------



## Ghostknight (Mar 1, 2007)

Neurotic said:
			
		

> I understand that Taint is not taint, as in one is poison other is blood, but then why should Mekior detect him and reffer to Jeria as "there is one taint and it walks among us" if he only detects evil ... or devil taint ?!




Thats called prejudice!  He doesn't detect him, but ya know those barbed comments you  make to irritate other people? 



			
				Neurotic said:
			
		

> Poor Jeria, son of legendary general
> And "strong" and "independant" Mekior showing what hollow shell he is behind that tough mask...




Ah well, Mekior has his own secret, which will come out in time...


----------



## Ghostknight (Mar 2, 2007)

*Chapter 7*

Gyv massaged her arms that still ached from bearing her weight overnight.  Even now, hours after she had been cut down, her arms screamed with pain, their circulation restored but they were not yet fully healed.  Beside her, Mekior seemed fine.  She did not understand it.  He had been hung up for the same amount of time as she had, yet it had taken mere seconds for him to recover and the pain had hardly even shown on his face, though he must have felt the same pain of returning circulation, of muscles and tendons stretched beyond endurance.

"Mekior."  Her voice was soft, just loud enough to reach him, yet not loud enough to carry to the guards standing outside their wooden cage.

"Gyv."  His voice carried to her, yet she felt uncertain as to whether he had spoken, or if the message had just arrived, carried on a breath of wind that licked gently at her ears..

"What did that bastard, Gerion, mean?  What did he mean when he said you were marked?"  She turned, staring at him, watching as the dappled light patterned his face, lending him an air of mystery, an effect that highlighted the sharpness of his nose, his deep, dark, sunken eyes.

Mekior stared at her for a while, not talking, then blinked and rolled over.  She reached over, touching his shoulder.  "Mekior, it's OK.  I've been a puppet for a devil, killed my husband by my own hand, destroyed my home, and sent hundreds into slavery.  Please, talk if you wish.  I can no longer judge, no longer can I sit and hold my head high, proclaim my success.  In my betrayal of those I loved, I have destroyed more than I ever saved."

He turned, looking at her, his hands reaching out, his fingers gently wiping away the tears that were beginning to fall.  "Never let them see you cry.  In all the time they had me, I never cried, never shouted out.  Maybe that's why I survived, why they kept me alive, even shoving healing potions down my throat to keep me alive; even when I tried to reject the healing and escape from the pain they were inflicting."  He looked at her, at the bewilderment on her face.

"They didn't tell you?  How the Outwalkers rescued me from the clutches of the fiends when I was still a child?  I suppose I forget that not everyone knows; it is common knowledge amongst the Outwalkers and Fiend Hunters of Weald Hall."  He stared into space.  "Why we have been cut down, left to recover, I don't know.  Maybe they are just hoping to soften us.  Just remember, scream and plead if you want to die quickly."  He fell silent, listening to the sounds of the camp outside, watching the sky through the gaps in the wall of the cage and wished they had a view of more than a rock wall and the tents of sentries.

Gyv listened, and watched the Fiend Hunter, wondering at what kind of man, what child, could resist torture for so long and show such determination to survive.  She wondered what had been done to him, what effects their attentions had taken.  Yet for all he had told her she realised that he had not answered her question.  He had used the shock effect of his revelations to quiet her and avoid her question.  

She gazed out, following his gaze, watching the guards, the comings and goings in the tents beyond.  She gazed out, wondering, Why have they taken us down, why dump us here, leave us unchained, unharmed?  She turned over, staring at the sky above.

"How sweet, two little, lost travellers relaxing in the sun."  Gerion's mocking voice came in through the bars, his massive form outside the cage, staring in.  Gyv sat up, shocked.  How did he get so close, arrive without them seeing him?  How powerful is he?  She stared at him, knowing that physical size and might must be a minor part of his arsenal, that he was powerful beyond any in her experience, her past run-ins with fiends were with ones that were mere shadows of his might.

Gerion stepped back, watching as the door was opened, and food was brought in by a small devil, no taller than a small child whose arms strained to bear the weight of the tray, even though it bore only two bowls, each filled with a steaming bowl of stew.  The smell was enticing to the two that had not eaten for over a day.  Mekior reached out, not for food, but for the childlike devil.  Gyv watched, saw what he was about to do and in a panic shouted out "No!"

Mekior paused, his hand stopping just before the small fiend.  "Why, one less fiend is always a good thing?"

Gyv hesitated, not wanting to use his name and then realised that the fiend lord had heard, seen everything she had for days.  "Mekior, it's a shifter.  Touch it and you'll be facing a monster that will pull your arms off before you realise what has happened."  She stopped as she heard Gerion chuckling.

"Ahh, you spoiled my fun!  It wouldn't have hurt him, much.  In case you're wondering, the food is fine and free of poison and taint.  You two have one value only, hostages to my son's good behaviour.  You'd best hope he behaves himself, you're the whipping boys!"  He laughed his voice fading as he walked away.  Gyv looked at Mekior, happy she was not facing more torture, but wondering at what the future would hold.

***

Jeria walked through the camp.  Behind him, his ever present guard followed, their presence felt only as a shadow, unobtrusive, yet constant.  Three weeks of captivity had not softened his resolve.  Since the first night, no favours had been accepted, no slave used no matter how willing.  He was allowed the freedom of the encampment, even up the hill to the cage beyond the sentries' tents in which Mekior and Gyv were held.  He headed up there now, watching the movement of the sentries; their movements predictable, clockwork in motion.

He came to the cage door, his fingers wandering over the lock, wishing he had the key.  Mekior came up to him, a small smile twisting up the corners of his mouth.

"Jeria.  It's time for you to leave, Jeria; its time for you to go, get out of here, and escape from the fate that is slowly enveloping you."  His lips were close to Jeria's ears, his voice too low for any but Jeria to hear.  "The word is Sh'kuctu.  The word will freeze your guards, let you escape from them."

"How do you know this?  What is this word?"  Jeria's low voiced whisper reached Mekior who just stepped back, his smile in place, saying nothing more.  Jeria looked at him, frustrated.  Mekior had not spoken to him mind to mind, since that first time.  The Fiend Hunter knew more than he was telling, and Jeria longed to know from where this knowledge came.

He went down the hill, guards trailing, walking to the edge of the encampment, and sat  at the verge of the forest and listened to the birds calling, watching as peace descended over the forest, the noises of the day replaced by the sounds of the night insects and the distant howl of some creature that hunted by night.  He beckoned his guards forward, waiting for them to come up to him.  He turned, faced them his mouth moving, clearly enunciating the word "Sh'kuctu"

He had not known what to expect, but the results were unexpected.  The two came to attention, their eyes glazed over, and arms by their sides.  He walked over, easily removing their swords and tied a scabbard to his waist.  The other sword he strapped to his shoulder.  He turned and walked off into the forest, changing direction frequently, doing the best to hide his trail as he had seen Gyv and Gruzz doing.

Jeria walked through the night, adrenalin and his fiendish blood keeping him going.  He looked about him, perpetually worried that the pursuit had started, that at any moment he would hear the sounds of pursuit and find fiends coming up from behind.  Just after dawn, he rested for an hour, enough time for him to recover before he started moving again.  

Behind him, the frozen guards were finally discovered, and executed.  General Gerion had no forgiveness or sympathy for those who failed.

***

In the cage, Mekior watched Jeria walk away and turned to Gyv.  "We must try to escape tonight; tomorrow our lives will be worthless."  He looked over the cage and nodded.  "Yes, we can escape."

Gyv looked at him, leaning forward.  "How?  What, you going to make the guards open the cage and let us out?"

"Actually, yes, that's exactly what we are going to do.  You've freed slaves, how much do you know of the command tongue?"  Mekior looked at her, contemplating what to say next.  "You do know about the command tongue?"

"I've heard of it.  Rumours only though, never hard facts.  I have heard that there is a language that is known to only a few, the slave lords, the commanders of armies and the like."  She looked at him.  "Rumour also says it is conditioned into all slaves, they cannot resist it, are forced into obedience by key words."  She paused weighing her next words, "Rumour also says that it will control the weakest of fiends and that it has never been taught to a human.  So, Mekior, how much of the rumours are right?"

"All of it, except the last, of course.  After nightfall, we will leave.  Give Jeria time to get away, head towards the city.  We will head off west, leaving a hard to find, but follow-able trail.  We'll make it enough of a trail for three people."  He looked at her, "Jeria can travel almost non-stop without us, and knows enough about the outdoors to survive on his own.  Us, we're expendable.  We just have to make sure that Jeria gets enough of a head start to get away."

"Why now?  Why have you waited?  Should we not have done this when we were first captured?"

"No."  Mekior's voice was firm.  "The first few days they watched Jeria too closely.  If he had tried to run he would have been captured and brought back, our advantage lost."

He turned away, not looking at her.  Not speaking, leaving her with her questions.  How had he learnt the language?  What was the mark that Gerion had seen on him?  She looked at him, and could see nothing untoward, his short, heavily muscled body unremarkable in anyway beyond the ordinary, save, perhaps, in his nimbleness that seemed uncanny at times.  She sat down, waiting for the night, for Mekior to speak in a tongue that there should be no way for him to know.  

***

They moved through the forest, Gyv carefully bending and blending their tracks, fixing them just enough that a competent tracker would pick up the trail.  She longed to call on the Goddess, use her magic to hide them, let them move like the wind, but she knew that Mekior spoke the truth; Jeria was the only one able to make it all the way- if he was given the chance.  

Gyv and Mekior heard the horns behind them, the baying of hounds, their very howls enough to freeze the blood.  "They've got Dirian hunting hounds!"  

Mekior looked at her, "What are Dirian hunting hounds?"  He looked at her; saw the fear on her face, worried that perhaps they had made a mistake that Jeria was not safely on his way to the city.

"They're from the regional capital, Diria; Gerion's fortress is based there, as are his breeding dens.  The rumours of what happen in there are stomach turning: fiendish magic used to blend man and animal, devil and animal, or all three.  The hunting hounds are one of his successful projects; a blend of fiend and dog, able to follow any trail regardless of the skill of those who make it, even able to ignore the magic that the Earth Mother can cast over a path to hide it from pursuers!"  She continued walking, moving faster, not bothering with the useless task of trying to conceal their trail.  "There are stories about what they do to their prey, of how they rip the pursued apart, piece by piece, not just their bodies but their very souls."  

The two started running, Gyv calling on the Earth Mother to speed their passage, send them fleeing from their pursuers.  A thought struck her, and she asked a question, breathlessly. "The command language, will it work on the hunting dogs?"

Beside her, neither breathless nor flagging, Mekior answered without breaking stride, "No.  It is specific to each creature, each race.  I have no idea what commands would be effective, I could think I was ordering them to stop only to discover that I had ordered them to attack!"  He carried on running, heading deeper into the forest, looking for an area they could use for an ambush.

Gyv, running at his side, turned abruptly, heading between two giant trees that stood out from the others.  "This way, the trees mark the route through to a supply cache.  I've led freedom runs into this area.  The cache should have weapons and food."

Mekior followed her, watching as she headed between the trees and stopped a few paces beyond.  She knelt down, pulling up a rock, exposing a hole beneath a massive root.  From beneath it she pulled out a treasure trove of armaments, enough to arm her normal squad of twenty.  

"See anything you like?"  She appropriated one of the bows, a quiver full of arrows and a vicious looking sword, its edge serrated and barbed.  Mekior looked over the selection, shaking his head at the weapons.

"The House of Souls doesn't know about cold iron?"  He picked over the weapons.  "You want to hurt one of the lesser fiends, cold iron will do it for you.  Unfortunately, for the greater fiends you need something more powerful.  Either way I can hurt them, all Fiend Hunters can imbue their weapons with magic to cut the fiends, but you can't.  Concentrate on the hounds, only the most powerful of the fiend-tainted share the fiend's immunities.  I'll take care of the handlers."  He bent over, taking a short stabbing sword, pairing it with a longer duelling sword.  He tested their balance and smiled.

Gyv looked at him, speaking bitterly.  "Oh yes, we know about cold iron, but the traders are too scared to bring it to us, and the cities hoard it.  We keep trying to lure an alchemist away from a city, to come and turn our ordinary iron into cold iron, but none will come.  Why should they, the cities fete and treat them like royalty!"

They prepared themselves and waited, listening as the baying came closer.  The abrupt silence as the animals fell silent was far more chilling than the approaching howls had been. Gyv leaned over to Mekior.  "They're close.  The baying stops just before they attack."   

Gyv's bow stayed steady, with string drawn back and an arrow ready to be loosed when the beasts finally showed themselves.

The hunting pack came into sight and gave Mekior his first sight of the beasts.  They were large, easily the size of a man, their bodies sleek and muscular with large paws striking the ground, pulling them across the intervening space at a frightening pace.  Their heads, which had the worst features of the devils combined with those of the dog, sharp fangs along both sides, their ears tiny nubs lost behind their over developed muscular jaws, hung down, the nubs of their glowing eyes coals of hate directed at the two.  The first of Gyv's arrows streaked out, felling one of the beasts, piercing it deeply in its side, finding the beasts heart.

Two more went down but there were three more still in the pack to reach the two who stood ready, swords in their hands.  Behind the hounds came their handler, a fiend that Gyv, with a shock of recognition, knew from her last raid.  It stood there, encouraging the hounds, its guttural language lost to her but not to the hounds.  She struck out at the hounds, keeping two of them at bay, seeing only a blur of movement from her side where Mekior had been.

Mekior waited for the hound, spinning aside, sending the stabbing sword into its back, while the longer sword swept underneath, chopped off a leg.  It fell, howling in agony, sending pitiful, puppy like yelps into the night.  He immediately moved towards the fiend, watching its bone protrusions carefully, wary of their sharp edges.  

Gyv hacked out with her sword, cursing the proximity of the beasts, she preferred the distance of her bow.  The blade cut across the hound's skull, biting deeply as it pulled away muscle and skin as barbs grabbed hold and ripped out chunks of meat.  The hound dropped, one eye hanging loose, blood pumping out onto the cold ground.  The other hound had circled round, came in low, biting at her feet.  She jumped, landing awkwardly, getting the sword up to block its teeth, feeling the pain as its bit deep into her arm.

Mekior still fought the devil.  His twin swords flashed, bouncing off bone protrusions, unable to find a vulnerable target as the devil twisted and turned, using its natural armour and weapons skilfully.  The dance had to end at some point.  The fiend turned, sending its tail round in an attempt to impale Mekior.  But, he wasn't there anymore; he had followed it as it turned, punching forward with both swords, sacrificing defence for offence, both swords piercing fiendish flesh even as he let one of the bone spikes pierce his arm.  

He left the fiend, wounded, bleeding.  Yet, somehow, his strength was still there and e was able to ignore the bleeding wound.  He sent his sword into the juncture between head and spine of the beast that savaged Gyv, killing the beast that had left her arm, and part of her shoulder mashed and bloodied.

Mekior dropped down next to Gyv and saw she was unconscious.  He looked at his bleeding arm, held it so that the blood dropped over her wounds and smiled as they knitted closed.  He picked her up and headed west; leading pursuers ever further from the trial that Jeria would be following.


----------



## Need_A_Life (Mar 2, 2007)

You've definitely got talent!

I am so subscribing to this thread!


----------



## Ghostknight (Mar 2, 2007)

Need_A_Life said:
			
		

> You've definitely got talent!
> 
> I am so subscribing to this thread!




Always nice to have someone new onboard!  Enjoy the tale, and feel free to comment.


----------



## Ghostknight (Mar 5, 2007)

*Chapter 8*

Five days.  It had been five days of sweat, of running non-stop with stolen, quick snatches of rest between hours of movement.  Jeria stopped and wiped sweat from his forehead, sweat that flowed down his face and stung his eyes even in the cool weather.  The trees loomed large around him, their tops shrouded in the early morning mist.  He moved forward, stumbling in exhaustion, five days of travel taking their toll.  He was exhausted when he stumbled out of the forest, and looked up at the mountain before him.  He sank to his knees, home and the protection of the deep caverns, almost within reach.

Jeria walked through the maze; dazed, his parched mouth dry from having only a few sips of water when he could find some on his journey.  The path down to the city gate passed in a blur, he didn't know how long it took, he just felt himself sinking, falling into the arms of a guard, whispering "Delire, get Delire."

Jeria awoke in a simple room.  The light from the floaters shone through the window whose lace curtains were open to the outside.  At his bed sat Delire, her face stoic, eyes sunken deep and surrounded by black rings.  She looked at Jeria and noted the time he moved from asleep to awake.  She leaned forward, her small childlike hands coming to cover his.

"Gruzz is dead, isn't he?"  Her voice was soft, lifeless.  "Tell me what happened, how it happened."  Her face turned to look at Jeria with dull eyes, an expression on her face that froze Jeria's blood.

Gruzz and Delire?  How?!!  She is a halfling; he was a half-ogre.  Jeria stared at the halfling, fearing her expression, recalling the stories of her legendary martial prowess, lethality hidden in a body whose childlike appearance disarmed a foe who did not know better.  "They're coming Delire.  The devils are coming."  His voice was low, intense.  He tried to keep it unemotional; he did not want to start a spiral into depression that would prevent both of them from being effective.
"Gyv.  She was controlled, they saw through her eyes, heard as we spoke.  We led them straight to the House of Souls safe house from which Gyv had operated."  He stopped, seeing the look of horror in Delire's eyes.

"How did they do it?  Mekior examined her, declared her clean, free of taint".  She stood up, pacing, "How long, how long before they get here?"  She came to an abrupt halt, looking straight at Jeria, "and how did you get away?"

Jeria closed his eyes, knowing that he was going to have to tell her all of it, tell her of his father.  "General Gerion was the mastermind behind the whole thing.  It was he that controlled Gyv, set us up."  He stopped, looked at Delire, took a deep breathe, blurting the last bit out.  "He's my father, Delire.  In the end it was how we got away.  It seems he had plans for his son.  He was grooming me, trying to get me to defect to their side.  My whole life I always wondered what fiend, what monster, was my father.  Now I know, and the truth is far worse than I could have imagined.  The monster that is renowned for his genocidal rampages, his excesses, the one who started the slave farms for meat, the..." 

Unexpectedly, his head exploded in pain; he had not seen the fist coming, could not believe the power, and speed in that small fist.

"Shut up!"  Delire's face was almost as red as his, her mouth bent into a snarl.  "More than any the halflings have suffered at Gerion’s accursed hand!  You don't know much about me, I wasn't born into this city.  I was one of those rescued from the farms by the House of Souls.  I have seen brothers, sisters, cousins, gutted and treated like cattle and placed on the table to satisfy the accursed hunger of the fiends and their minions.  I have never seen Gerion, many of the powerful fiends have copied his camps of meat slaves, seen his ways as being worthy of emulation."

She walked away, her back turned.  "Come to my office as soon as you can.  I have to go tell the others, tell the powers-that-be to start evacuating.  Maybe we can save some of our people, who knows how far away they are?"  She walked out, not seeing how Jeria sank back into the cushions, covered his face with an arm, hiding his face from the world around him.

***

Gyv woke to sunlight streaming down onto her face.  She looked around and saw the forest edge behind and the cliff, with waves crashing below, in front.  She sat up, pulling the ravaged edges of her shirt together.  She stopped, her hand exploring her shoulder.  It bit me, I felt it eating me! Is Mekior a healer as well as warrior?  He has never hinted at such powers.  She looked to her other side, to the sleeping form of Mekior.  What are you hiding, Mekior? What are you?  Who are you? 

They moved on, sticking to the ocean's edge and staying near to the eaves of the forest.  They travelled on, Gyv taking the lead, her knowledge of the outdoors, of how to move through the wilds essential.  Slowly they turned to the north, their travels a massive arc that would slowly take them back towards the city.

They sat together at night, huddled next to each other, trying to warm each other in clothing inadequate for the weather that was turning, from the cool freshness of autumn, to the true cold of the winter winds.  Gyv seemed to feel the bite of the cold worse than Mekior and shuffled her body closer to Mekior, feeling the heat of his body against hers.

"Why are we heading to Weald Hall?  We have no hope of reaching there before Gerion's army."  She turned; her face against his where they huddled under a tree.  "It will be gone; abandoned if Jeria got their in time, a charnel house if he did not.  We can continue along the coast.  It will take time but we could make our way to Fort Livian, seek refuge with the dwarfs."

"I must know, Gyv.  I need to know if Jeria was successful, if the people I loved are still living, enslaved, dead or worse.  And there is a promise to be filled, a duty I cannot deny or abandon."  His fingers reached out, stroking her cheeks, pulling her face towards his.  They came together, two lone humans beneath a tree seeking comfort; the tension, the stress, the close proximity of the last few weeks enough to dissolve the barriers between the two.  The kiss was sweet, the actions afterwards frenetic, almost desperate; they slept soundly, the night passing peaceably around them.  It was a moment of idyllic peace, the world seemed to stop let nothing come to destroy the perfect moment, a momentary pause in the pain of existence for those caught in the world created by Jelial.

The morning sun woke them, and they moved forward.  The silence between them a connection as meaningful as a full conversation could have been.  The days of travel had created a familiarity, an understanding, between the two.  It took them close to a month to get home, to traverse the long, indirect route they followed.  To get to the entrance beneath the mountain from which they had emerged so long ago.

Mekior stood before the entrance.  The ground showed sides of battle, stained with blood soaked deeply into the loose soil.  Skeletons, pecked clean by the vultures and other scavengers lay scattered about.  He wandered through the remains and identified the remains of both human and devil littered the ground.

"What do you make of it Gyv?  To me it seems that a battle must have been fought, and if so the city must have had time to prepare, the number of dead here is too many for a rushed deployment."

Gyv wandered through the area, up the sides of the mountain, finding bodies, burnt and blackened, behind any shred of cover.  The remains of a massive catapult, its remnants charcoal from the fierce blaze that had engulfed it.  A short distance away its operators lay dead next to a large pile of massive rocks, made her mind up. 

"They knew the devils were coming.  This ambush was exceptionally well planned and organized.  I would say they lost anyway, the bodies go all the way to the entrance, and only a few fiendish bones are mixed in with the human ones."  She clambered down, coming to stand by Mekior.  "I think the battle is still raging inside.  They didn't come out to clear away their dead since they obviously cannot spare the manpower."  She looked at Mekior, her face triumphant.  "The city is fighting, they must be!"  Gyv headed for the entrance.  "Come on, maybe we can do something from behind them to aid the city.

The two entered the cavern, which would lead them back to the city, the stalactite and stalagmite maze destroyed before them.  Piles of bodies lay before them, rats and other cave dwellers scurrying for cover as they entered.  They walked through, holding their noses, the smell of decaying flesh still strong within the cavern though the bodies had been stripped clean by the cavern scavengers.  They started down the pathway to the city, picking their way carefully, until they came to a dead end.  Overhead the roof had collapsed; piles of rock lay across their path, cutting off any travel.

"This is why they did not come back this way.  The city must have activated this trap as their last defence.  Come, I know another way in, though it is not a route I would have chosen, or used."  Mekior laughed at the end, attracting a curious glance from Gyv.  "It is nothing, really.  I was just thinking of my initial fear, the way the outdoors seemed so much worse than many of the enemies I have faced.  It seems I forgot my fear, and I wonder if this is the reason the other entrance is abandoned, too open, the outside too close and painful for many."
Mekior turned, headed back up the passage, leaving the massive pile of rocks and the bodies of uncounted devils and their minions to rot behind them.  He wondered how many, if any of the more powerful devils lay within, trapped and destroyed beneath tons of rubble.  He grieved for those who had defended the city; fighting, falling slowly back, making the trap look too good to resist, giving their lives to make sure the bait would be taken.  Behind, Gyv followed, her thoughts in the same pattern as Mekior's, her guilt gnawing at her, almost a physical pain as she looked at the effects her betrayal had wrought.  She knew that the General was not there.  Somehow, she felt connected to him, that if he were to die she would know it.  One day there would be a reckoning.  I will face you again you slimy, fiendish bastard.  Face you and kill you.  But not yet!  That day will only come when destroying you will be eternal, not just an empty act rectified by some coddled mageling who can summon you back.

***

Deep under the ground, Delire and Jeria huddled together.  They watched the march of the people through the underground tunnels, massive wagons pulled by cave beasts that bellowed their protest at the load.  The wagons were loaded down with food; enough to feed every refugee for another week.  Around the refugees, pairs of guards and scouts kept a lookout for danger.

Two weeks had passed since the city had been abandoned, Delire still mourned for the many Outwalkers and soldiers that had stayed behind to fight the devils, to lure them into the trap that would destroy their army and block them from following the column of refugees.  She spoke little these days.  She gave orders, taking command and ignoring the city leaders who now walked below amongst the commoners.  All had been brought low.  All were now equal in their poverty and destitution.  When the city was abandoned, so was everything else, each person carried only their clothes and two blankets.
"Jeria, go out wide, find the next guard pair and bring them back here.  You and I are going forward.  The next lake should be coming up soon and I want to see who is in possession."

Jeria scurried forward; eager to follow her orders and prove himself worthy of the badge of the Outwalkers he had been given.  He still remembered the ceremony, taking place as the first of the refugees stepped out of the back gate, herded in the direction they hoped refuge would lie: Gunder's Hall. 

Five Outwalkers stood before him, each in full regalia.  Delire stood up, pulling his head down to her level, affixing the badge to his cloak with a pin.  She stepped back, turned to the other five present.  "In the absence of his Master, Gruzz, killed mercilessly in action by a devil, I stand and present the apprentice Jeria.  I recognize he has passed the solitary vigil, survived three days on his own on the outside and passed the test of necessity, returning with information essential to us all.  Does anyone challenge my right to recognize him as an Outwalker?"  One by one each of the masters stepped forward, proclaimed him acceptable; each affixed their own mark to the badge he wore.  Then they left, the city needed them and there was no time available for celebration.  Delire simply looked at him; nodded and walked away.

***

Delire and Jeria lay hidden behind a pillar, peering down at the lake before them.  The entrance in would be large enough for the food and water wagons, just.  What worried them was the checkpoint set across it.  They looked, Delire cursing the distance to see them better.

"We're going to have to go forward, and they WILL see us approaching.  It doesn't look like devils or their stooges, but this deep there are plenty of others to worry about.  Best case it will be some of the blasted dark dwarves, worst case we will have to deal with the slaves of those ruddy grey faced, blood sucking crabs."  She saw Jeria's look and added, "Right, they're not crabs, but those mouths always remind me of a crab.  I'm talking about the Aeliogh.  You've probably never met one; we didn't allow them in the city for all the peace that prevails down here.  Nobody trusts them, who can trust a brain eating creature that uses the rest of the body like a zombie when it has finished?"

The two stood up, heading down the passage, sticking to the sides to try to avoid being seen for as long as possible.  Uselessly, as it turned out.  As they passed a black crystal globe set in the wall it flared up, bathing them in a strange purple light, Jeria's skin shining oddly beneath it.  From the barricade, a man stepped forward, coming into the light himself.  He looked at them, and at this distance his black skin, grey eyes and pointy ears gave some comfort, that and the badge of the trading house of Serlius.
"I am Keral, commander of this post and watcher of the gate.  What brings you two here?"  He examined them, noting the badges they wore.  "You are from Weald hall, or so your insignia mark you?  Have you heard what has happened?  Rumours have come down but not much more."

Delire stood where she was, looking the Dark Paeon in the eyes, "I am Delire, Chief of the Outwalkers of the by now destroyed Weald Hall.  I lead the refugees.  They follow behind me.  Three thousand people will be coming through here within eight hours.  Is the lake area clear?"

Keral stared at her, taking in her face, her badge and her claim.  "Your reputation is known.  My men will move the barrier and make the path easier for those behind you.  No doubt, many of them will be tired, worn out from their journey.  I will send word ahead.  The lake has a trading post but they will need to send out for a lot more provisions than they normally have."

***

Gerion stood within the encampment, fuming.  Gibbets stood in lines, the bodies of his pathetic officers strung up by their arms.  He walked down the line, disembowelling some of them; his choice at random, seeming a chaotic pattern, known only to him and not to those forced to observe..  He came to the end of the line and looked back at the gibbets, at those pathetic ones that screamed, staring down at the loops of their intestines hanging the ground.

"Release those I spared; bring Khiss to me."

Soldiers hurried to carry out his bidding, knowing that those officers freed would look kindly on them and reward them, if they did the job quickly and efficiently.  One of them went running into the camp, into the centre where a small tent sat surrounded by pickets and the tents of the most powerful devils.  The creature that emerged from the tent was no devil though.  It was small, its features those of a bipedal lizard, arms in place of the upper set of legs.  Khiss approached Gerion and bowed.

"Summon Ber'lia back.  I want to know what happened to him and his hounds."  Gerion's voice was soft, but everyone nearby recognised the muted fury it contained.  Khiss wasted no time, thankful that Ber'lia was but a minor devil and the toll exacted on his power would leave him bedridden and in pain for no more than a few days.

Those around Gerion and Khiss watched as Khiss started his summoning; dancing and chanting in the sibilant language his kind used.  Faster he spun, his feet falling in a set pattern, the ground slowly brightening, the summoning pattern burning into the rock.  Eventually he dropped, his feet worn raw, his blood imparting power to the pattern.  The brightness rose and heat washed across those that stood nearby.  The devil slain by Mekior stood within the circle.

Gerion turned to two devils who stood ready, their forms the same as the unlucky Ber'lia.  "Strap him up and get the torturers to work on him, I will be there shortly."  He turned to Ber'lia

"You lost me my prisoners and my son.  You will pay."  The smile on Gerion's face was cold, bringing fear into the eyes of a devil that had never before contemplated such an emotion, "For a very long time."


----------



## Ghostknight (Mar 7, 2007)

*Chapter 9*

The mass of refugees moved through the gap, heading towards the Outpost by the lake.  Delire stood with Jeria and watched the weary trudge of the tired, worn out, ragged refugees.  Many of the wealthier citizens struggled with bruised, bloodied feet, the more sturdy work boots of the working classes lasting, and protecting, better.  Delire gestured to Jeria; they moved forward, and once again, they left the column of people and wagons behind.

Delire noted happily that the path down to the lake was an easy one, the refugees would appreciate the water smoothed rock, worn enough that it was no longer slippery but containing no major obstacles.  The trip took the two of them two days, the massive caverns walls fading from sight.  When they reached the Outpost, they were amazed at the activity.  Scores of masons and builders were building an outer wall and lines of carts bearing food were coming in; large tents were blooming near the lake, creating a city of their own.  

They wandered nearer and sharp-eyed sentries spotted them as they neared and sent horse mounted troops out to meet them.  The troops arrived quickly with two spare horses in tow.

"Word of your expected arrival was sent.  Welcome."  They were helped onto the horses, the seasoned horsemen around them steadying them and helping them to remain mounted as they cantered towards the city.  After but a short distance, Delire was quickly dismounted and placed in front of another rider to share a horse.  Her short stature left her unable to gain a decent grip on the massive beast.  At the city a man stood; his armour of a finer quality than his men's, a sword with a jewelled pommel at his waist.  

"Welcome, Delire and Jeria.  Our advance units reported your journey and we have prepared as best we could.  Come, there is much to talk about and you will need water and food after your long trip."  The man led them through the outpost, into the main keep and a large office.  One of the Dark Paeons sat behind a large desk, rising as Delire and Jeria entered.  He was tall for his kind, wearing long, flowing, grey robes with a badge in the shape of a harp over his left breast.

"Greetings unto you; May the music of the Gods flower in your ears.  You are welcomed to Lake Harmony.  I am the Master Harpist Darid, the commander of the keep and of those that dwell within.  Let us retire to my private dining area so you may refresh yourselves and rest weary legs, I will tell you what is proposed and the message I would like you to convey to your people."

Darid bowed, steeped forward and opened a door set into the far wall, leading them into a smaller room, containing little but a table carved from some dark wood, its surface filigreed with lines of an unusual purple rock.  Darid took a seat at the head of the table and gestured for Delire to take the place of honour to his left.  Everyone seated himself or herself, and servants dressed in the grey livery matching that of Darid’s colours quickly brought in food.  No conversation began, Darid remained silent until all had food and had started to eat.

"The destruction of your city is known to us.  We mourn its loss, deeply.  The actions of Weald Hall created a symphony that was enjoyed by all.  You and your fellow travellers are welcome to rest in our care, but in these unfortunate events I see an opportunity."  He hesitated, trying to mask the excitement he obviously felt might manifest, and would be inappropriate in front of those that had been dispossessed and suffered a grievous loss.

"This cavern is large; there is space here to build a city larger and better protected than Weald Hall ever was.  In time, we could grow to be one of the most powerful and prosperous cities within the network, that is the reality of our life underground.  The lake supplies fish and ample drinking water for a multitude.  The area is a crossroads, though only three paths lead into the cavern, multiple areas joins into those three paths and trade will automatically arrive and help to build up the city."  He looked at the two Outwalkers, trying to gauge their reaction.  Both sat there, evidently interested but neither looked like they were completely enamoured with his idea.

"Think of this.  We will take all your people in as citizens.  Help to build them homes, make sure they receive food, provide them with clothes and integrate them into our community.  In return we will receive the expertise and wealth of experience for which Weald Hall was renowned; a corps of Outwalkers that was famous, fiend hunters that guarded your gates and kept the immediate area secure and alchemists who knew the secret of cold iron, and produced enough of it that no gate guard was armed without it."  Darid leaned back, hoping he had sold the two on his idea.

Delire looked at Jeria and then pulled herself forward, a smile on her face.  "Who is going to rule?  You, Master Harpist?  Forgive me for being blunt, but your race is not known for its love of others, and its rulers are noted more for their cruelty than their love of sharing power.  You have been most gracious, and your offer is more than fair, but the reputation of your kind makes me reluctant to place our future within your hands.  Indeed, this is not my decision to make; you should have made it to those who have authority."

If Delire had expected anything, it was not laughter.  The Master Harpist's laughter was clear, musical and accompanied by a smile.

"I appreciate your candour, Delire.  Indeed my race is, as you said, noted more for its cruelty than its altruism.  Truly, our reputation often does us justice, too many of our kind are adept at cruelty and are truly vain.  That is not so for those within this outpost.  We are outcasts amongst our own, worshippers of the wind, the whistle and music of its passage.  We share much with our brethren, but not their worship of the dark Gods and their love of cruelty, nor their disdain for others.  In the past, our brethren would have destroyed us without compunction, used us as sacrifices upon their altars, and as commodities to be traded with those that rule above.  Time and necessity has changed them.  They no longer hunt and destroy outcasts like ourselves, but use us to expand their territory.  Small outposts like this are given the bare necessities to survive.  If we make it, they will use us as a conduit to other races, a means of facilitating trade and dialogue, knowing that few will trade with them and none will enter their cities."

He sipped at the goblet of white wine before him. "As for presenting this to those that have authority, you evidently have not taken in the state of your refugees.  How many of your previous councillors and ministers retain any power?  Without their wealth and their holdings, how many of them will be able to muster any respect?  No, Delire.  It is you, the heads of the guards that protect the refugees, the men in charge of the food that wield the power.  If you speak, they will listen."

The three continued their meal, conversation drifting from the serious to the mundane.  At the end, Delire and Jeria left, happy with what was to come and bearing an invitation to a new future and the chance to be part of something new; not just refugees assigned to the slums of Gunder's Hall.

***

Gyv and Mekior worked their way round the mountain.  For four days, they searched for the hidden entrance, finally finding it concealed behind a copse of trees.  The hidden entrance was a dank hole that was filled with the droppings and the smell of some predatory beast. They descended carefully, Gyv looking for clues as to what beast was responsible; scared they might meet it within.  Only once at the bottom did she see it was a ruse, the small chamber's walls not the dank earth from above, but carefully worked rock.  In the rear of the room, they wormed through a small hole, and were grasped by hands as they started through, hands that pulled them roughly through the hidden gap.  They looked up to find themselves facing a group of dwarves.

"What have we here?  Outsiders; question is, who do you work for?"  A dwarf stepped up, his armour dulled by black paint, a large bladed axe strapped to his back.  The others stood watching them, their weapons at the ready, their faces hidden by full faced helms, visors drawn closed.  "No, don't get up.  If you satisfy us that you are allies and not foes, we will allow you up, if not, it will be easier for us to drag your bodies away."

The two relaxed, knowing that they stood no chance from this prone position.
"Now, care to tell me who you are, where you are going and why I shouldn't just have your heads removed from your shoulders as a precautionary measure?"
Mekior looked at him, and spoke, his voice clear, but no louder than necessary to carry to the dwarf that questioned them.

"I am Mekior, a fiend Hunter from Weald Hall.  My companion is Gyv, late of the House of Souls.  We have lost our companions, been attacked by fiends and worked our way through the wilds for close to a month.  Just tell me what has happened to Weald Hall before you chop of my head, so that I can at least die with my curiosity satisfied."

The dwarf looked at the two, their scruffy, damaged clothes, dishevelled, dirty appearances and their gaunt bodies and faces.  He held his hand out, pulling first Mekior and then Gyv to their feet.  "Welcome home.  Come share a mug of ale and rest by our hearth, and I will tell you what I know.  Then you must decide what you wish to do."  The group moved back, fading into an opening in the rocks, invisible from the construction of the passageway.

The room beyond was just a murder hole, beyond that lay a comfortable encampment, a hearth with a roaring fire heating and lighting the room.  The dwarf led them to a table, pulling up a chair as he sat, and watching as two of the dwarves mounted some stairs and took up their watch positions on the entrance below.

He pulled out a large ale skin, filling three mugs to their brims, a welcoming froth on top.  Mekior took a long draught, surprised to find it pleasingly warm, a slight taste of cinnamon coming through.  Gyv was more circumspect, not fully trusting the dwarves and not wanting to impair her facilities should they need to escape.  

"Well, Mekior of Weald Hall and Gyv of the House of Souls, I am Fihor, sergeant of the watch and part of the Gunder's Hall army.  On my word, what I say and what I tell will be only the truth, as I know it.”  He paused, the opening formulae completed.  “An army of fiends came through.  Obviously someone had informed on the city since they headed straight for the gate."  The dwarf, busy with his ale, never the less noticed the slight start Gyv made at these words, watching her surreptitiously he continued, "The city had been warned by one of their Outwalkers, a half-fiend by the stories, but who could believe one of those bastards would turn on their own?  Anyways, the city set-up a welcoming committee, they held that army up for days, while the evacuation took place.  It was the only solution really, once the devils knew where it was, it became merely a matter of time, there was no way to preserve it indefinitely.  It was a good battle; the humans on both sides fought well.  The magic of the defenders easily the equal of the devils, at least until that blasted Gerion and his entourage arrived.  Seems he was delayed with Disciplinary matters, never did find out exactly what that meant."

The dwarf paused to drain his mug, refilling it from the ale skin which seemed to never empty.  "Anyways, Gerion and his entourage blasted the defenders, forcing them to retreat within.  Our spies lost track of the battle once it went underground, but it seems apparent that the defenders were a suicide force. Once they had a significant portion of the devil's forces in there with them, they dropped the mountain on the lot of them.  Weald Hall is now solidly encased in rock, the paths from there into the network blocked and rendered useless.”

“Gerion was furious; he ordered his forces home, not even allowing them to recover their dead to bury of burn."  He chuckled, raising his glass, "A toast to those brave souls who gave their lives to score a blow and save their fellow citizens."  They all drank in silence, their thoughts on those who had died to make the ruse successful.

After a suitable time Mekior spoke up. "Tell me, Fihor, where did the refugees from Weald Hall go?"  Fihor stood, pacing, coming to rest behind Gyv's chair.  His hands shot out, grabbing her hair, pulling her tight head back over the top of the chair, exposing her neck.

"How much do you know of your companion Mekior?  Did you not see her guilt when I spoke of a traitor, an informer?"  The dwarf's voice a low growl, the fury and pain within obvious.  "Her kind, the lowly, traitorous scum, have led us into the trouble we have these days.  I give you your informer.  Take your revenge; strike her down, in memory of your city."  

Mekior stood slowly, seeing the fear in Gyv's eyes, the way she let her hands hang down; she knew that to reach for a weapon was instant death.  He looked at her wondering how much to say, how much of the truth was needed to convince the dwarf to let her go.

"Fihor, my friend, she is no traitor.  No more than any other who has been controlled by devils against their will.  She bears no guilt.  Her actions were the ones that led to the cities destruction.  Gerion himself rode her consciousness, controlled her.  More than my city was lost to the wiles of Gerion; she was forced to kill her own husband, betray her own people and strung up to be a mere pawn for Gerion when he no longer needed her."  He stopped, looked at the dwarf, and knelt down. "Kill her, and then me, if you must; though it will not change what has happened.  I will not strike at you or your fellow sentries, but if you kill her then you must kill me as well."  He bowed his head; not daring to look up until a soft hand took his chin, lifted it and placed a kiss upon his lips.

He turned and saw that Fihor watched them.

"Make your way to Lake Harmony.  A new city is under construction there.  The Dark Paeons and the refugees corroborate to build a new city, a new society.  A strange mix, but it seems that much is happening within the realms of the Dark Paeons and they, too, produce outcasts.  We will give you provisions for your way.  Go well and in peace."

The two rested, sleeping that night in the comfort of the dwarven outpost.  The trip to the lake took them another week, but they moved quickly, eagerly, the journey a happy one now that they knew most of the city had been saved.  Gyv and Mekior talked often, rejoicing in their new found love, the fact that Jeria lived and the city, though destroyed, lived on in a new place.  They were awe-struck when they entered, amazed at the cavern's size and the massive wall that enclosed much of it, nothing visible beyond its high ramparts.  They gazed in wonder, and followed the guards that arrived happily, into what they hoped would be a better future.


----------



## Neurotic (Mar 9, 2007)

*Rogue gallery*

Could you post Fiend Slayer class and Mekior along with small bit of history of House of Souls and/or any connected classes and Gyv stats? 

Oh, and maybe Gerion too...

Tnx and keep it coming !


----------



## Ghostknight (Mar 9, 2007)

Neurotic said:
			
		

> Could you post Fiend Slayer class and Mekior along with small bit of history of House of Souls and/or any connected classes and Gyv stats?
> 
> Oh, and maybe Gerion too...




Mekior- nope, not yet, the reason for that will become clear later.  I'll put up the Fiend slayer prestige class though, and stats for Gyv- who is a typical ranger with bow focus.  Gerion: I haven't stated him out- he is a target for characters in an epic campaign I'm running (the campaign is set as the invasion is starting- rather than at this point. ) so he's going to be between CR30-32.  Todays inmstallment will be posted shortly.


----------



## Ghostknight (Mar 9, 2007)

*Part Ii- Chapter 10*

*Five years later…*

Jeria ran his fingers through the loose earth.  The sand was dry, fine particles and bits of leaves and mulch could be felt, moisture still evident within.  He looked back at the squad lined up behind him, the trader looking nervous despite his guards, and the squad that the leaders from Harmony Lake had sent with him.  Jeria stood, loosening his axe that hung down his back.

"We have visitors from the surface somewhere ahead, probably two or three days ahead of us."  Jeria looked directly at the merchant who sat fidgeting, panic on his face.  "I advise you to still your fear, Radogoff.  We will move ahead slowly, carefully.  Hopefully we will avoid whoever has preceded us within this passage."  He waved the group forward, waiting till the sergeant in charge of the squad drew level and he could talk to him quietly.  "Keep the men alert, whoever made these tracks tried to hide them, and I don't like them, they feel wrong..."  

The sergeant clapped him on his back, nodded, and moved forward to his team.  The soldiers all seem to sit tighter and surreptitiously checked their weapons.  The traders bodyguards, not told directly, were professional enough to notice the increased tension and they, too, noticeably upped their level alertness.

It took another three hours before Jeria called another halt, unhappy with the path and the markings he was picking up as they travelled.  Simple hand movements communicated enough that the soldiers contracted, forming a tight defensive perimeter, the bodyguards forming a solid wall of flesh between their client and any hostile creatures nearby.  Silence fell across the group, the heavy breathing and a sudden snort from the cave beasts pulling the carts the only sounds.  

Jeria pulled his axe loose, hefting it in his hand, feeling its strength, its cold solidity a comfort.  The tunnel ahead was dark, their lanterns and torches lighting it only slightly.  The deep darkness swallowed the light and the dull rock walls, devoid of any moisture or vegetation, seemed to absorb the light that fell upon them.  He crept forward, his footfalls measured, their placement exact.  Jeria moved beyond the radius of the light and allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness and let his fiendish ancestry resolve the darkness.  Ahead the passage narrowed and a deeper darkness lay ahead; darkness so deep even his magically enhanced vision was unable to penetrate.  As carefully as he had moved forward, he moved back, knowing the danger that lay ahead.

He moved back to the group, all the time keeping his eyes on the darkness, fearing what might appear from within.

"Start moving back, there's an ambush ahead."  Jeria took a deep breath and looked at the whole group.  "Whoever the group is that awaits us, at least one is either a mage or a fiend."  

Silently they retreated, struggling to get the carts to move, the beasts to remain silent while being manhandled.  The face of the trader was white, even whiter than it normally was considering he had never seen the sun.  Jeria, at the rear with his squad of six, watching out for any pursuit, began to feel they had avoided the trap when a laugh broke out.  From within the darkness, the voice carried no mirth, the very sound of it chilling to the humans that heard it.

"Going somewhere?  I have been waiting for you and you go off and try to avoid me.  If I had any feelings, they would be hurt.  Just as well I don't have any!"  As it spoke, the voice came nearer, the owner of it eventually entering the light.  One look at it and Jeria knew they were in trouble.  The owner of the voice was a fiend, as he had suspected from the darkness and the speech, but it was one of the major fiends, high up in the hierarchy and far more powerful than he, even with the combined might of the squad and the trader's bodyguard.  The fiend was not that large, the height of an average man with skin the colour of burnished copper and compound eyes that reflected the light in every direction.  Sharp, serrated fangs lined its mouth; its chest and four arms were corded with massive muscles.  Jeria had heard of this kind of fiend, knew that they were strong, capable with the twin scimitars that were sheathed and hanging from its waist; but he also knew that its sword were not its primary threat, rather they were renowned for their arcane might.    

"Ahh, what a group you all make; led by one that is a distant cousin, the rest wielding weapons that would harm my weaker brethren.  Question is, what are we going to do now?  We could all try to kill each other, or maybe we should have a nice conversation."  The fiend smiled, no more good will within its smile than within its laughter, yet Jeria felt relieved that it had not simply blasted them.

"We simply wish to pass.  We do not seek confrontation, we do not seek to fight or cause upset."  Jeria watched the fiend, wondering when it would tire of this game, when it would strike out, probably in a way against which they would be defenceless.

"Why, Jeria, how impolite, trying to leave so quickly when all I want is to talk."

Jeria stood there, shocked. _ How does it know me, is it Gerion?  Is my father still after me?_  The silence extended, the group behind him slowly moving off.  The fiend seemed not to care about them, their movements and whether they left or remained.  The two stood in silence and, finally, stood there alone.  Jeria looked at the fiend and spoke, finally breaking the silence. 

"Who are you?  How do you know of me and what do you want from me?"  

"I am the Emissary.  I represent a group that could be very useful to you and your city.  We heard of you from our spies within Gerion's camp.  He seeks you. He is furious at his loss of you five years ago.  Our thinking was very simple, if he seeks you for his own reasons, you could be very useful to us, and in return, us to you.  I hope we are right, it has taken us a long time to track you down!"  The emissary stopped talking, waiting for a reaction, waiting to see what would Jeria would do next.

"An Emissary?  From whom and how do I know you can be trusted, that this is not just a trick to capture, get me off guard?"

The fiend laughed, and then, before Jeria could react, pointed at him sending out a green beam that soaked into him, froze his blood, pinned him to the ground.  The fiend came up to him, breathing into his paralysed face, filling his nose with the stink of decay and fetid, rotted meat.  Another laugh, a quick clap of its hand, and the fiend turned away as, released from the paralysis Jeria crumpled to the ground.

"If I wanted you dead or captured, Jeria, you would be dead or in chains already.  Now, I am here to invite you to a meeting, nothing more. Are you going to come?  I cleared the path ahead so you can be sure that your companions behind you can go about their journey in peace."

Jeria lay gasping for air, the period of paralysis a period of breathlessness and fear.  Gradually he sat up, looked at the Emissary and sighed, "I may as well, seems like you're just being polite in asking me."  Slowly he came to his feet and placed his axe back into the loops on his back.  The Emissary just smiled, took his elbow and, with a couple of words, the world around them changed, a curtain of blackness fading into a room, with red flames providing a dim flickering light.  As he looked around, the flames died down and torches flooded the room with bright light.

***

Mekior paced slowly through the city.  His mind wandered, dwelling on Gyv, her disappointment that they had had no children and then her leaving to go to another city to start anew._ How do I explain it to her?  Can I reveal myself to her; let her know who I really am? _  He walked on automatic, senses seeking out the wrong, the tainted.  In five years, the city of Harmony Lake had grown.  The refugees quickly established themselves, gratefully accepting the assistance and ruler ship of the Dark Paeons.  They trusted in Delire, who now sat on the ruling council, an advisor to the Master Harpist.  

His circuit took him through the great market; crowds thronged its narrow paths, a multitude of scents rising from those who sold food to those who peddled spices brought in by merchants foolish enough to travel just to earn a quick coin.  With all the strangers, the market was always an area of concern, an area that could all too easily hide a spy or an informer.  Mekior moved through, and would have exited in peace if he had not been knocked to his feet by a child darting between his legs, pursued by a man dressed simply in a leather tunic with pants of similar make.  As the man passed, Mekior, even caught up in his reverie, felt a wave of nausea and he turned, sprinting after the man and boy.

"Give it back, boy."  The man stood over the prostate form of the child, arms reaching out for him, the threat evident in his movements and his tone of voice.

"What has the boy taken from you, friend?"  Mekior's voice penetrated the tableau, the man's head jerked around to look at the newcomer, while the boy using the distraction to scramble away, edge around the two men and run down the alleyway, leaving the two alone.

"What do you want from me?  I know you, you don't rule here and I take my orders from another!"  The man’s voice was kept soft, he did not want attention now, "That boy stole my seal; if it falls into the wrong hands my cover is blown!"

Mekior laughed at the man, coming forward so he stood before him, but a few feet separating the two.

"I am the wrong hands!  I will find the boy after this, but first I will deal with you!"  He hefted his sword, stabbing forward suddenly, aiming for the man's stomach.

Deftly, swiftly, the man twisted, the blade passing harmlessly by.  He struck back, claws growing from his hands, his whole body shifting, changing, features mutating into those of a nightmare monster.

"Renegade!  I will destroy you.  Your type fetches a good reward!"  Its claws shout out, striking at the sword, driving it to the ground even as it leaped into the air, legs flashing around to try to rip him with their talons.

Now it was Mekior's turn to duck, twist, shift his form into a scaled creature, his arms elongating with razor sharp fins, claws with metallic tips.  He moved faster than the eye could follow, his hands shooting out, punching through the fiends chest, ripping out its heart, then its stomach.  He stood over the stunned fiend and shifted back to his human form.  Mekior knelt down, leaning close to the fiend who, while mortally wounded, remained alive, sustained by another heart that continued to pump within its body.

"Yes, I am a renegade, one of the native born, and I own allegiance to none!  I am a creature of this world now; I have lived within these caverns, amongst these humans and their allies for my entire life.  You have but seconds to live before I destroy you.  You will not live to betray this city or myself."  Mekior stood, grabbed his fallen sword, and hacked at the fallen fiend, mutilating it so badly that no evidence remained of the wounds that had led to its death.  It was then that he noticed the boy.  He must have sneaked back, watched the fight and seen the transformations of both fiends.  Mekior walked up to him, hand open and held out.

"Give me what you took from him, boy."  He looked down at the boy; saw a scruffy street urchin wearing torn and ragged clothes, a distended stomach visible through a ragged and torn shirt, feet bare on the cold cavern floor.

"Sir, I know you.  You are Mekior, the famed fiend hunter!  That was amazing!  I couldn't believe the fiend's illusion, its ruse to try and make you look like a fiend yourself!  I mean if you weren't Mekior, the Fiend Hunter, I would have thought that you might also be a fiend."  Awestruck the boy walked forward, and gazed at Mekior.  "Here, I stole his purse.  I know I shouldn't but I'm very hungry!"

Mekior took the purse from the boy's outstretched hand and smiled. _Thank the Gods that this one thinks he only saw an illusion.  I have become careless, and I have my answer, I cannot reveal myself to Gyv._ "Thank you, boy.  Come with me, you will be well rewarded for this.  Your actions revealed a traitor and a spy to us!"  Mekior opened the purse, the belt pouch heavy in his hands.  Inside were two handfuls of gold coins, enough to feed this boy for the next ten years, and a lead seal.  Grimly he took the seal and gave the bag to the boy.

"Did you look within this pouch, boy?"  Mekior looked at the boy, trying to judge the truthfulness of his response.

"No, Sir.  I know it must have lots of coins inside, it is heavy!  I think at least ten copper must lie within!"

Mekior's smile broadened.  _A simple solution then, this boy will not want to explain to the guard how he got the pouch. _  "Here, take the purse and its contents as a reward.  Come, boy, take your reward and then let us go to the guard.  They will want to know everything you saw and heard from this man."

The boy took the purse and his eyes widened as he looked inside and saw the glint of gold.  He set off with Mekior, keeping a short distance from him until they entered the marketplace.  As they did so, the boy darted off, losing himself in the crowds.  Mekior smiled, his secret would remain in place for a while yet.  No overly inquisitive guard captain would have a chance to question the boy too closely over what he had seen.

***

Jeria looked around the room.  A blazing fire warmed it from a massive hearth, large enough to hold the two carcasses of cave beasts slowly roasting over the flames that filled the room with the aroma of cooking meat.  Jeria looked around, but saw no one nearby, the torches that lit as he arrived evidently reacting to his presence.  He saw two comfortable, high-backed chairs set in front of the fire and tall glasses with some clear liquid and ice floating within.  Little rivulets of moisture slowly ebbed down their sides, the whole scene comfortable and inviting.

"Take a seat, make yourself comfortable."  The voice was urbane, cultured, as the speaker stepped into the room from a door concealed behind a hanging tapestry.  The speaker was short, looked human, and was wearing an outfit that would the envy of a merchant prince.  Jeria did not trust appearances; the power of the fiend responsible for bringing him was beyond question.  This person was at the top of the food chain, a food chain in which personal power meant as much as power mustered from supporters and factions courted.  

Jeria walked to one of the seats and sat down, the plush padding melding to his body, gently massaging him.  The man sat down next to him, luxuriating in the heat radiating from the fire, sipping from the glass next to his chair.  Jeria followed suite, sipping the liquid and finding it to be sweet, pure, cool spring water.  They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the ambience and the healthy smell of the roasting meat. 

"You must be wondering who I am, what I want with you?  The first question is simple; I am Secheriab, fiend of the first tier and aide to the ruler of the eighth circle.  My master has sent me here for a very simple reason- to get rid of Jelial and stop the conversion of this plane into a mirror of hell."  He stopped, aware of the effect of his words on Jeria who sat stunned.

"I am sure you wonder why the Lord of the Eighth would want to stop this invasion.  Simple really, Jelial was one of his Dukes.  The power Jelial has accumulated, the powerful fiends he has suborned into his service has caused my master great distress and concern.  He does not like this expansion of realms; it brings an imbalance to a system that has been in balance for longer than the human race has existed."  He swivelled his chair, looked at Jeria, and continued.  "Your role is simple, put us in contact with the resisting cities.  They would never accept our overtures openly and you are probably the sole half-fiend trusted enough to even get an audience with the cities' rulers."

Jeria sat still and let the information be absorbed, filter through his preconceptions and ideas about reality.  He thought about how easy it would be for the fiends to have killed him and destroyed the group with whom he had been travelling.  This room, the power of the fiends within, his hosts comfort with dealing with him while he was still armed, and with no fear for any action he might take, were all indicative of a casual power that the wielder took for granted.  He felt drowned, out of his depth, this situation needed those used to dealing with power to deal with it.  He looked at Secheriab.
"What do you need me to do?"


----------



## Ghostknight (Mar 12, 2007)

*Chapter 11*

The small cavern was full.  Representatives from all the major settlements had arrived, complete with bodyguards, assistants and camp followers.  Delire who was assisted by Gattoup, the Dark Paeon captain that led the city militia, led the contingent from Lake Harmony.  Their security contingent was led by Keral, promoted in the five years since the refugees had met him commanding the forward watch post.  They had also brought Mekior, Delire trusted his judgement and he was there as an additional bodyguard as well as being an advisor.

Sitting next to Delire and Gattoup was Vixel, a senior councillor from Gunder's Hall, and Geril, Commander of Gunder's Hall scouts and intelligence network; the two were a strange pair coming from Gunder's hall, as they were both human, though that settlement was mainly populated by dwarves and goblins, the two races that found they had much in common once they stopped trying to kill each other.  Next around the table was D'Wiglo, a prince of the noble dwarven house that ruled Fort Livian with his brother D'Fir sitting next to him.  As with all nobles of their house, they were unusually tall for dwarves, nearly the height of a man but with all the muscles and girth typical of dwarves.  Both these princes were renowned for their strength.  Songs were already being sung of the defence of Firegulf Bridge; of how Prince D'Wiglo had held off an invading army until relief had arrived.  His twin battle-axes described as co-ordinated blurs that hacked the invading kobolds into piles of dead bodies.

Along the other side of the table sat one of the very rare elves that had survived the purges.  Aliat Forest Mourner was in his traditional black, a sign of his mourning, seemingly an eternal mourning since nobody alive could remember him wearing anything else.  As usual, he was representing the Tower Arcane, the simple silver band around his head all that was necessary to show his status as an Archmagus, and one of the Tower's ruling caste.  Whom, or what was seated next to him nobody knew as the being remained silent, cowl drawn over its head.  Evidently, the two communicated via arcane means.  The creature next to the hooded mage was a Dark Paeon, but clearly of a different mold to Gattoup.  Where Gattoup's armour was functional, his face and skin an unmarred, clear obsidian colour, General Ferilice's armour had much decoration, most of it designed to invoke fear and cause distress to those viewing the wearer.  The General's face was also carefully marked; scars and tattoos formed symbols and enhanced the cruelty within his visage.  Some, particularly the mages from the Arcane Tower, had raised their eyebrows when they saw the marks; their subtle meaning and nuance understood by them, their meaning a mystery to the rest gathered around the table.  General Ferilice sat alone, the sole representative of his the city-state of the Hooded Vale, though his security personnel were the most numerous.

The last three at the table were all dwarves, dressed in the brown and grey of the priesthood of the Forge father.  Their leader, Kier, had renounced his royal blood, foregoing the kingship and rule of Fort Livian to rule the powerful Church of the Forge Father instead.  The three had come to observe record and, if necessary, arbitrate between the factions represented.  So Kier stood, his open palms, held above his head then brought down gently to the table, invoked silence, causing all, high-born and low-born both, to fall silent.

"By the power of the Forge Father this cavern has been protected.  None outside this room can seek it out; no magic can pierce its veil’s of secrecy unless I allow it.  By the divine righteousness of the Forge Father I call upon the light of truth to shine upon all present, let no lie be spoken, let no deceit go unveiled."  Kier bowed his head and set a simple silver bowl of water in the center of the table.  As he sat, the silversteel mail visible beneath his robes reflected the light across the room.  A blue light starting from the bowl in the centre of the table and, flowing out, bathed all within the room in its divine glow

The silence remained long enough for the light to envelop all and then D'Wiglo stood.  

"We have all heard the proposal that the contingent from Harmony Lake have brought before us.  Delire is known to us by reputation, and we respect her judgement, but Captain Gattoup is unknown to us, and not even trusted by those of his own people that we have long held dealings with."  At these words, there was a slight stir around the table; a rumour confirmed, but other rumours long dismissed now open to review.  How far did Fort Livian go in their cooperation with the Dark Paeons?

D'Wiglo continued, well aware of the effect of his previous words.  "I speak of our agreement with the Dark Paeons for a reason.  Everybody has always dismissed them as possible allies, but we know, from experience, they can be good allies.  Our invitation to General Ferilice to attend this meeting is proof of our close ties and our history of close cooperation."  He paused, and looked around the seated people, "We have heard the proposal that Jeria, the Half-Fiend, brought forward, and the leap of faith it requires.  If not for Delire, we would not even be here, but we will listen, with open minds and hope that we can find the safest, wisest course to follow.

Opposite D'Wiglo General Ferilice stood, and D'Wiglo graciously sat, giving him the floor.

"I am new to most of you here, at least as an ally."  A wry smile curled his lips, with a quick glance to those representing Gunder's Hall.  "I come to listen to this half-fiend, though it will be difficult for such a creature to convince me of anything."  His gaze swept the room, "That piece of business may well be the least important to me, here, today.  Far more important is the hope that we can forge ties of trade instead of war."

The rush of air as Vixel stood could be felt by those seated nearby, his glare at the General went unreciprocated, but returned with a polite bow as the General took his seat.  Vixel's face was blood red, his rage barely controlled.  "Had we known you would be here, perhaps we would not have!  Never mind, you are here now and the business is too important to let you raping, murdering, slave taking scum disrupt this meeting."  He stopped, took a few deep breaths then continued, his diplomatic training taking over.  "We are keen to hear more from Jeria.  There are stories about him, carried to our city by Gyv, once a travel companion of his and who serves in our city now as a warden that makes us inclined to believe him."  He waved his arm, summoning Gyv forward.  Mekior saw her now for the first time and gave a guilty start.  Their relationship had soured when Gyv had wanted children and he would not tell her the reason for his refusal.

"We are here to listen to Jeria, but are inclined to believe him; his cause is helped mightily by the opposition of that scum invited here by the lords of Fort Livian."
At the head of the table, Kier frowned and banged his hand upon the table, the noise unnaturally loud.  "Lord Vixel, you are sworn to peace within this room.  Hold your tongue on the matters that exist between you and General Ferilice, this is not the time."

Vixel's face said much, but he sat, silent, his gaze towards General Ferilice no less hate filled than before; but he held his tongue.  Aliat took the silence as his cue to stand and address the gathering.

"Greetings to you all, may the Master of the Void bring wisdom and understanding to this meeting."  

His pronouncement caused the three priests of the Forge Father to shift in their seats.  The Church of the Void and that of the Forge Father were not at odds, but, nevertheless the two had vastly different philosophies.  

Aliat continued; the smile on his face evidently at the expense of the Forge Father's priests. "The Tower is not quick to prejudge the situation; we like to take each case, each person on their merits.  You ask us to take the word of a half fiend and that is not a minor matter.  No matter how some might be inclined to sing his praises, we shall not be convinced so easily.  We will listen and judge for ourselves, though out first inclination is to dismiss him and the message he brings."

Silence reigned, them Delire stood.  "I have waited, let each of you express your misgivings or support, and now I shall address the issue.  Jeria has been an Outwalker for over five years, achieving the rank of master with unprecedented speed merely a year after first being recognised.  He grew up in Weald Hall; he is a trusted and well known member of the community of Harmony Lake, and is well known to me personally."  She paused, the delay long as she tried to catch the eye of all who sat around the table, lingering on the hooded figure as if she tried to penetrate the material and see what lay hidden in the darkness.

"Jeria has been approached by representatives of the Lord of the Eighth, one of the masters of Hell.  It makes sense that those incumbent in the ranks of the Lords of Hell would want to protect their privilege, their seats of power.  Jeria is also the logical choice for them to contact.  He is trusted in our city, he is the son of a powerful fiend, and has access to those in power."  She sat down, waiting for the debate to start.

"Son of a powerful devil?  Just who is his father and why should this be of import to us?"  The voice was hissing, laboured as if the speaker did not often use such crude means to communicate.  Those around the table started, surprised at the voice emanating from the hooded figure, the first words it had spoken that could be heard by all.

"Gerion.  General Gerion is his father, and seeks him still.  Who knows why Gerion wants him?  The fiends are not noted for their parental instinct, and particularly towards those half-breeds they litter the world with, the results of their rape and "fun" activities.  But, he wants Jeria, whatever the reason.  It is that desire to get Jeria that saved the citizens of Weald Hall, even if we couldn't save the city."

Silence was king as the information was absorbed around the table.  Finally Aliat spoke, his voice harsh in the silence.  "Bring him in, this scion of one of the most hatred devils, one whose name is cursed more times than even that of his dark overlord."  He fell silent, and Delire cursed her quick tongue.  _Damn the long lives of elves!  I forgot Aliat had lived in Green Horn that he would have seen the entire city destroyed at the hands of Gerion._

***

The court of Jelial was an exercise in opulence and decadence.  Throngs of devils mingled, conversing in low tones as petitioners approached the Jelial’s throne, made their requests and awaited judgement.  The most powerful devils occupied positions near the throne, seldom moving for fear of losing their position near the top of the throng and thus visibility to their fiendish overlord.  The ever-present hum of conversation stilled as the twin doors at the far end of the hall opened, admitting the well known, and feared, figure of Gerion into the room.  Gerion, was seldom a guest at court and all knew that he would not follow protocol, that he would use the privilege of his position to bypass the queue and ignore his lessers that thronged the hall seeking the favour of Jelial.

Gerion approached the throne, sank briefly to one knee with bowed head and then stood.

"My Lord Jelial, I seek private audience."

Jelial sat up straighter; Gerion in court indicated something of interest, Gerion seeking private audience promised it.  A simple nod and guards detached themselves from the walls and swept the courtiers and petitioners alike from the room, leaving Jelial and Gerion alone.

"It's started My Lord.  The spies we have back home report that the Lord of the Eighth is moving against us.  Rumours say he will try to bolster those cities not yet conquered."

Jelial leaned forward, smiling.  "Finally!  What lever do you think they will use?  We have known they would eventually move against us once it was obvious we were accumulating enough power to demand a seat in the ruling circle."

"My son, if the rumours are to be believed.  Seems they'll use him to contact the cities, gain their confidence."

Jelial's laugh was hearty, actually filled with warmth, probably the reason it was only heard every other century or so.  "They're going to use a half-fiend to gain them trust?  I thought maybe we had cause to worry; it seems they are going to need to learn about the fools that live in this world.  We should have a couple of centuries before they learn better and any effective opposition starts."  Jelial leaned back, closed his eyes, revelling in the presence of probably the only being he fully trusted, or at least trusted not to attack without good cause.

Gerion looked at Jelial, tempted by the moment of weakness.  _It is not the time, let him gain the seat in the circle first, then I can unseat him and claim his place.  For now let him be the target, let him attract the gaze and the wrath of the powerful._

***

Jeria stood before those seated at the table.  For five hours they had talked, questioned him, dissected his story and yet they were still locked; the Dark Paeons and the Arcane Tower arguing against Jeria, Gunder's Hall and Harmony Lake supporting him and Fort Livian neutral.  There did not seem to be much chance of any faction changing their stance, and that was when the hooded figure spoke for the second time.

"This just boils down to trust.  Those who trust the half-fiend support him, the rest either reject him, and thus his testimony, or refuse to commit."  It stopped speaking, the cowl turning in Jeria's direction.  "I can enter your mind, confirm or reject your testimony.  I know Archmage Aliat will accept my word.  The thing is, will you trust me?"  Silently the hood was pulled back, the bald headed, earless, head looked almost insectile with two massive dark orbs for eyes, a nose that was merely two slits and a mouth that was a slit below a long trunk, which sported its own set of mandibles.  Delires gasp of shock was clearly audible, the reaction of the priests of the Forge Father equally as telling.

"Abomination!  Archmage, how could you bring one of these within these walls, into this council?"  Kier's voice rang out, loud, booming, the guards scattered around the room tensing, feeling the increase in tension.

"Ever seen an Aeliogh before Jeria?"  Delire's soft voice carried through the room.  "Knowing what he is, everyone here would accept his word.  The risk though...  Jeria as easily as he wanders through your mind, sees the reality of what you say, he can eat your thoughts, leave you a mindless husk, an automaton, no more independent than a set of hands."

Silence fell and all eyes were on Jeria.  Slowly he walked over to the Aeliogh, catching the eye of Mekior as he passed; the two had become fast friends in the intervening years, and then the eyes of Gyv whom he had not seen for close on three years since she had left for Gunder's hall.

The Aeliogh pulled him down with a clawed had, its trunk and its mandibles resting against his forehead.  At first, it felt like a breeze across his mind, a gentle whisper passing through.  Then the pain started, and the screaming, but only until he blacked out, oblivious to the world.

***

"He'd best be OK. Your life is forfeit if he is harmed." Mekior's voice entered his consciousness as the darkness lifted.  He opened his eyes and looked around the room.  Mekior's sword was drawn, the tip against the neck of the Aeliogh.  Gyv stood by his back, sword at the ready, protecting Mekior from any that would seek to harm him.

"Sheathe your sword human, he is fine.  Observe, even now he awakens."  The Aeliogh's thin, sharp tongue swept across its lip, moistening them, evidently nervous in the room full of hostile people, "I did not harm him, not even slightly, but his fiendish blood sought to protect him, I had to use more force than I expected.  There would have been pain, lots of it!"

Jeria sat up, "I can vouch for the pain!  My head is still pounding!  Let him go Mekior, I'm fine."

Mekior lowered his sword, his gaze lingering on the Aeliogh, who replaced his cowl, and spoke again.  "The Half-Fiend speaks the truth, at least as far as he knows.  Whether or not the fiends deceived him we cannot know, but he, at least, is free of deception."  The Aeliogh sank back into its seat, a few beads of sweat dropping onto the table as it lowered its head.

"The tower arcane will move to support meeting with the fiends."  The archmages voice was clear, his look at General Ferilice and D'Wiglo, challenging them.  

D'Wiglo stood, and bowed to Jeria, "Our apologies Jeria, from this moment on we will not doubt your voice."  D'Wiglo sat and looked questioningly at General Ferilice, the sole individual at the table yet to voice their support of Jeria.

"I came here unexpectedly, at the behest of an ally.  I will not place my city, my people at risk over the word of a half-fiend.  Perhaps one day we will work together, but I cannot put my trust in people that will allow abominations and fiend-spawn to lead us into an alliance with our foes!"  He turned and walked out, followed by his guard and followers.

"So, who will carry the message back to the fiends?  Jeria, obviously, but who will accompany him into the fiend's den?"  Kier started talking from the moment the last of the Dark Paeon's left the room and his wards informed him they could no longer observe or hear what transpired within the room.

D'Wiglo spoke.  "Let each faction here send a representative.  My brother will accept this honour, this burden, in the name of Fort Livian."

Aliat looked back at his entourage, catching the eye of a middle-aged woman, her face worn with strife, her arms covered in scars.  "Sister Egrit shall represent the Tower.  She is a mage of some power, as well as having other skills."  He looked at the people around the table.  "Those who travel with her will learn of them in time."  He fell silent, leaving those present to wander at the enigma he raised.

"Gyv will go on behalf of Gunder's Hall.  She knows Jeria and we trust her to represent us well."  Behind Vixel, Gyv's face registered her surprise.  She tugged on Vixel's shirt.  He turned, and looked straight at her.  "You are sworn to the cities service, Gyv.  This is your duty and you shall perform it.

"Guess its Mekior then."  Delire's voice was light, jovial.  "Gyv, Jeria and Mekior worked well together previously.  Any ill effects of that previous journey were not of their making.  So if we are all agreed, let the five talk, and decide on their way forward.  They will need to plan, and we, to support."

The meeting adjourned, the five chosen to set forth to invite the fiends to parley came together.  In mutual agreement, they moved off, finding their own spot to camp; a place to plan and learn what they could about each other before they set out.


----------



## Rikandur Azebol (Mar 13, 2007)

Excellent !


----------



## rathlighthands (Mar 13, 2007)

*Good Stuff*

Great story, it is really developing nicely. I have always found that as a DM stories set in truly evil, or tainted areas if you will, to be a big challenge. Many struggle to run a game in such a setting, but you have a good grip on it. I really buy the desperation of the world in your story, it comes across well. 

Keep it coming.


----------



## BLACKDIRGE (Mar 14, 2007)

Hey Ghost, we seem to be sharing readers. I think every person that's commented here has also commented on my storyhours (frequently in some cases, I'm looking at you Rikandur  ) .

It must be a fiend thing.   

BD


----------



## Rikandur Azebol (Mar 14, 2007)

I prefer to "blame" good writing.


----------



## BLACKDIRGE (Mar 14, 2007)

Rikandur Azebol said:
			
		

> I prefer to "blame" good writing.




Well, yeah, that too.   

BD


----------



## Ghostknight (Mar 14, 2007)

BLACKDIRGE said:
			
		

> Well, yeah, that too.
> 
> BD




Heh- hopefully that too     Me, I'm a great fam of your story hours, Grummok especially (what can i say, that gargoyle of yours is sucha sweetie.  )


----------



## Ghostknight (Mar 14, 2007)

*Chapter 12*

The five spent three days within the temple of the Forge Father.  The dwarven priests, a few goblins amongst them, left them alone, leaving them to talk, plan and rest before they entered the underground network.  Mekior, D'Fir, Sister Egrit and Gyv spent much of the time questioning Jeria to make sure they had every detail that he remembered.  They all feared to face the fiends and did not want to leave anything to chance.  They sought to make sure they would not be taken by surprise.

The morning of the fourth day found the five readying to leave as the water clocks ticked over to show dawn, hopefully at the same time as the sun rose in the world outside.  Kier stood there to see them off, his hands raised in benediction, five backpacks at his feet.

"What is in the packs, D'Kier?"  D'Fir addressed the priest of the Forge Father, and his uncle.  

"No longer D'Kier, you know that D'Fir.  I gave up my claim to the throne when I took my seat amongst the priests of the Forge Father.  Your father has always cursed me for leaving him to sit on the throne, neither of us wanted the job, but I was the quicker to find a way to avoid it."

"These backpacks are our gift to you.  Filled with food, water skins and gear that anyone venturing into the outside would need."  He smiled, "and don't be deceived by their size, they have been made with blessings from the Forge Fathers."  

Each of the five picked up a pack, and Jeria almost threw it over his shoulders, as the weight he had expected was not there.  He frowned, sat down and started unpacking the pack to see what was inside.

"What you doing, Jeria?"  Mekior looked down  and watched as Jeria removed each piece of equipment laid it out neatly,: rope, a grappling hook, five days worth of dried foods and black bread, some candles, a tinderbox, flasks of oil for a lantern, a water-skin, a thick, woollen winter blanket, a vial of a thick blue liquid, a vial of red syrup like liquid, and one of an oily green substance, plus a whole lot of odds and ends that made no sense.  Mekior looked at the range of items, not believing that they had all come out of the small pack before him, and that the pack was so light.

As he started to repack, Kier came up and rested his hand on his shoulder.  "Another useful feature of these packs; when you want something, just think of it as you reach in and it will be lying on top.  You never have to search for anything within.  As for those vials, use blue if you sustain a mortal injury, the red is if you should ingest something containing taint, it will nullify it if drunk soon after, but no more than a day later.  The green one is in case of poison.  Good luck to you all, may the Forge Father guide your steps and bring you back home wiser, and healthier, than when you left.  May his road guide you to your destiny."

***

Two days into the journey and the tension was rising in the group.  Jeria worried over it; he knew from experience that tension between people journeying together led to problems and danger to the group.  Tension between Sister Egrit and D'Fir, the one dedicated to the Void, the other to the Forge Father; tension between Mekior and Gyv, their failed relationship never spoken about but always between them.  Inconsequential actions flared up into arguments, the simple lighting of the campfire enough to spark an argument between Sister Egrit and D'Fir; he taking exception to the use of magic on such a small task, her not understanding his want of using mechanical devices that seemed so much more cumbersome.

On that second day the arguments finally led to what was the inevitable consequence, an argument that went just that little bit too loud and too long.  Perhaps in the open air the noise would have been lost, but in the tight confines of the tunnels, the sound echoed and carried.  

The group set-up camp, warmth provided by a small fire, started in mere seconds by Sister Egrit, followed by the inevitable sermonising and disagreement from D'Fir.  Food was cooked, eaten, and the group settled down to sleep.  D'Fir took the first watch, his back to the group as he watched the tunnel though which any danger would arrive.  

The hours of his watch dragged on, shadows flickering against the walls, playing tricks with his eyes.  D'Fir stood, axe at the ready and waved towards Jeria who, true to his nature, stayed awake most of the night whether on watch or not.  Jeria came slowly forward, straining his eyes against the dark, axe at the ready.

"Spotted something?"  Jeria whispered as he neared the dwarf.

"Not sure, I want your eyes for this.  They're better than mine and the others need their rest, especially the witch."  D'Fir stopped talking, a rueful look on his face.  "Can't help myself, you know.  I know you're right, any military commander knows that tension needs to be reduced but I can't help myself; she is just too smug!"  

Jeria nodded and motioned for him to be quiet.  "Later, right now, let us check what, if anything is out there."

Jeria moved into the shadows, calling on his fiendish blood to bend the light around him, extend the shadows to hide him as he moved.  Practice and need had taught him how to do this, an ability he was grateful for though it came from his detested father.  He moved around the edges of the tunnel, slowly enough to check the area thoroughly.  The blur of a blade as it came towards him came as a surprise, his avoidance of it on an instinctual level; a roll out of darkness, into the light his axe being drawn in a single smooth motion as he came to his feet facing the shadows from which the blade had come.  

"Wake the rest! Something is here, within the shadows."  Jeria backed away, eyes on the shadows, waiting to catch movement, the tell tale signs an enemy might make as it moved in to attack.  When the attack did come it still took him by surprise as a shadow detached itself from the wall, striking with a blade of shadows that he barely avoided, a blast of cold air following in its wake.  

The creatures of shadow that attacked had disappeared again, the shadows from the fire providing them with ample opportunity to move undetected around the group.  One struck out, its blade biting into Gyv as she moved to find the enemy.  Its blade cut across her leg, leaving a line of blood dripping to the floor, the wound rimmed with ice; as she turned to face the direction of the blade, the creature struck again, from a different angle, plunging into her side, sending her to the floor.  D'Fir swung his axe into shadow where he believed one of the creatures to be, but was sent backwards, almost stunned as his axe blow, his full strength behind it, rebounded off the rock wall.  As he sought to recover, D'Fir stumbled backwards; his back pierced by one of the shadow blades, and collapsed, his legs no longer worked, shock and pain sending him into blackness.

Sister Egrit awoke, her companions falling one by one to the shadow creatures.  She raised her arms, invoking power form her Divine Master to aide her.
.
"Master of the Void, bring your light down, fill these abominations of darkness with the light of life."  Her invocation rang out clearly, heard by all.  A deep, echoing laughter followed, cut off soon after as light began to well up, the small fire suddenly giving off the light of a raging bonfire, then that of a thousand torches.  Shrieks, high pitched and pain filled rang out, man-shaped shadows dissipated, washed away in the wave of light, unable to survive.  The flash of light was for but a moment, but its effects longer lasting.  In its aftermath, Mekior stared at the meek, middle-aged, greying woman that he had dismissed as ineffective and with them for merely political reasons.  Then he noticed Gyv and moved to her, his eyes tear-filled as he knelt beside her.

_I can save Gyv, but at what cost?  I did it last time, but she was unconscious when my blood saved her.  If I do it this time, there will be no way to avoid the questions, no way to avoid revealing my nature!  I can't do it!  I love her but I love the life I lead, no one can know! _   Mekior sat next to Gyv, his face showing grief, his heart feeling disgust at his actions. _ Fiend or not, I try to be human, but this just proves that we cannot be completely false to our very nature!_

Jeria knelt by the side of D'Fir and inspected his wound.  "He's still alive!  Gravely wounded but alive.  How is Gyv doing?"

"The same.  She has a wound in her leg, relatively minor, but the gash in her side will kill her soon."  Mekior's voice cut off, emotion coming to the fore, his tears dropped onto Gyv's upturned face, a bitter-sweet smile turned to him as she fought her pain.

"I have to die before we get together again?"  She stopped, pain closing her mouth as she sought not to scream.

"Are you three always so melodramatic?"  Sister Egrit's voice rang out.  “Get some of the healing potion from Kier out.  I may not agree with them on philosophy but they do know how to brew potions, almost as well as their beer!"

Jeria reached into the pack and pulled out one of the blue vials.  He uncorked it, and the smell of mead and curry permeated the air.  He lifted the head of the dwarf, wondering how he was going to get the dying, unconscious dwarf to drink.  With his left hand he forced D'Firs mouth open, dropped a few drops in, and then more as the first drops were swallowed.  Amazed, he watched as the dwarf drank, as the wound closed miraculously and the dwarf opened his eyes and smiled before sinking into a deep sleep.  Wonder lighting his eyes he turned, to see Gyv in a similar, deep, healing sleep.

"Wish these were readily available back when we first met, perhaps Gruzz would still be alive."  Jeria's words were directed at Mekior, busy with making Gyv comfortable as she slept and recovered.

Mekior looked up at Jeria.

"I haven't thought of Gruzz in years.  There have been so many deaths in my life before his, and so many since.  They tend to blur, to become as one, the individual faces blurring as time passes."

"That is sad.  Life is for living, rejoicing in.  True, the Cult of the Dead preaches that we should all just kill ourselves, go to our reward and escape this fiend infested hellhole our world has become.  Yet, if we can look at ourselves, at each other, there is beauty that the fiends cannot touch, cannot destroy as long as any of us remain alive, albeit as slaves!"  

Mekior and Jeria stared at Sister Egrit.  She stood highlighted by the flame, the scars on her arms dancing in the firelight, casting shadows across her arm; a hypnotic pattern that demanded deciphering, yet one which neither of the watchers possessed the knowledge to understand.  

***

They lay and recovered for two days.  They all marvelled at the efficacy of the potions of the Forge Father's priests, but the two who had been brought back from the brink of death were fatigued, for all that the physical wounds were closed and merely fresh, white scars.  Jeria ranged forth, not far, but enough to get the sense that there was something else in the area.  He knew they could not move on until D'Fir and Gyv were improved, but each hour pushed him further, increased the tension he felt.  

In that time Sister Egrit and D’Fir started to come to some sort of accord.  They talked long of philosophy, and D’Fir was astounded at the depth of knowledge the woman showed.  The more they interacted, the more he suspected she was more than she seemed.  On her part, Sister Egrit had evidently decided to be more tolerant, less outspoken on the merits of magic versus technology.  The arguments topped, and peace was more common around the campfire.

Mekior and Gyv took themselves off to the side, still with the others, but far enough away that they had the illusion of privacy.  On their part, the rest of the group allowed them the illusion, not doing anything blatant to interrupt the couples renewed love.  

Neither Gyv nor D’Fir made for good patients; both were too used to physical activity, too used to an active existence to remain bed bound for any length of time.  Even as the magic of the potions sapped their waking strength to heal them, they fought against their confinement.  D’Fir rose, trying simple training exercises with his axe, and cursing his weakened state.  Gyv saw his inability, and tried a few exercises herself, before giving in to the fact that her body needed the enforced rest.

After two days, D’Fir and Gyv had recovered enough that they could start moving again, Jeria felt relieved to finally vacate the area.  His relief was short lived; tell tale signs along their path showing that a group of something had been along this path.  A glance at Gyv, and a quick nod from her and he knew she had seen the same signs.  Jeria dropped back, allowing the group to catch up, and form a cohesive whole.  At least one positive thing had come from their last near death encounter, the bickering and arguing had stopped.

"There is something down this way.  I don't know what, but my best estimate is that there are at least seven of them.  Proceed with caution; our last encounter was almost fatal."  Jeria kept his voice low, not wanting to be overheard, worried about what might be ahead.

They continued down the path, Jeria and Gyv continuously picking up the signs of those that had gone ahead.  Jeria held up a hand, bringing the group to a halt as he knelt, examining the trail that ran along theirs.

"They doubled back!  They are behind us and don't need lanterns.  It is fiends, or at least their creatures that are stalking us."

As if his words were a signal to hidden watchers, arrows shot out, four of them ripping into Sister Egrit, her eyes glazing over, death almost instantaneous from the cruel barbs and dark, mouldy paste that coated the arrowheads.  D'Fir immediately charged towards the source, running straight into a wall of fire that sprang up between him and the group of small humanoids that had appeared, their cloak of invisibility dissipating as they initiated their attack.  

He was burnt, blistered; his skin and armour covered in a layer of carbon that gave him the appearance of someone that had been in the fields fighting fires for weeks on end, yet D'Fir still swung his axe, the dull grey blade of cold iron, with inlaid runes of silvery tracings, cutting into an armour clad, dragon-like creatures. The massive, powerful strokes sent innards flying and blood coating both him and the creature’s companions.

Gyv drew her sword, wondering how she would reach the creature; one arrow had burnt up as it sped towards them, the wall of flame an effective defence against the wooden projectiles.  Jeria laughed, manic glee in his voice as he bounded through the flames, his red skin reflecting the flames, his fiendish blood yet again a boon when fighting their creatures.  And Mekior, he stood indecision gutting him.  Yet again he could help his friends, if he revealed his nature, and yet again he did not feel strong enough to do so.

Five of the creatures moved forward, three closing in on D'Fir, two moving towards Jeria.  The last stood behind them, their movements shielding her as her voice rang out, clearly; harsh syllables in the fiendish tongue framing an invocation to the Dark Powers that ruled in the realms beyond the perceptions of mere mortals.  

The first of the creatures swung a halberd forward, chopping at D'Firs feet, while another swung high, cutting at his head.  D'Fir had no choice but to move backwards, closer to the heat emanating from the wall of flame.  Pain smote at him, radiating out from all his extremities, burnt and blistered from his trip through the flames.  D'Firs eyes darted around, seeking an escape, succour from the flames that were all too close.  He spun, astoundingly fast since the mere effort to move was an exercise in concentration and pain control.  As he spun, his axe flashed, chopping the head from a halberd extended and not withdrawn fast enough, and the sharp point from the haft following through, flaying the skin from the face of the creature, crushing in bits of its skull along the way.  His spin sent him crashing into the third creature that had not yet attacked, sending it flying, with its halberd landing up on the floor, its head smashing into the rocks nearby.  For all his speed and skill though, the third halberd found him, cut into his shoulder.  It was no more than a flesh wound, yet the poison on the weapon worked fast, sending his head reeling, his breathe coming in ragged gasps.  Unable to concentrate, to focus, leaving him open to the sharp dagger point at the tip of the halberd, disembowelling him, cutting him open from groin to neck.

Jeria did not see the heroic fall of D'Fir, as the twin halberds of his enemies causing him to act defensively, and his axe worked to keep their blades away from him.  Above him, the seventh of the creatures completed its invocation, and a swirl of darkness indicated a portal about to open.  

Unbelievably, D'Fir moved; all but dead, he held the potion from his pack to his lips, healing his wounds.  He stayed still, not wanting to attract attention, but the creatures ignored him and thus presented him with an opportunity he could not forgo.  Slowly he rose, his head reeling, breathing shallow and laboured yet the worst effects of the poison seemed to be wearing off, the intense drowsiness of the healing potion fighting to overcome his senses and send him to oblivion.  His axe swung through the portal, dissecting the doorway, the enchantment and cold iron of his axe enough to disrupt the magic and send it crashing, the portal never completed. The mage turned to D'Fir, eyes burning, her mouth already forming another incantation. 

Nearby Jeria finally made his move, his foot stamped down on a halberd blade as it chopped at him, trapping the weapon, while his axe spun out in the other direction, decapitating the creature wielding the second halberd.  From the corner of his eye, he saw the mage start her invocation, the dire situation that D'Fir was in.  Yet even as he started to move to save him, a dagger flew through the wall of flame, piercing the mages throat, laying it open to send blood spiralling into the air.

With the mage’s death the wall of flame dissipated and the sole remaining creature stood looking at them, disarmed and fearful for its life.  Jeria looked at Gyv, and the slight shake of her head as she knelt over Sister Egrit enough for him to know that they had lost one of their own.  Her face stoic Gyv went to the mage, retrieved her dagger, and looked at D'Fir.

"How are you doing over there?  Looked to me like you were a goner?"  

"I'm fine, thanks to my uncle's foresight in packing in those potions.  Sadly, not even his potions will help Sister Egrit."  D'Fir stood, and went to the corpse of Sister Egrit.  He was there for but a short time when his face reflected bafflement, then wonder.

"She's alive!"  The others looked at him unbelieving.  "Its true, her wounds are knitting, and the poison is pooling outside her body."  D'Fir watched, seeing how the scars on her arms danced, lit up individually and then faded into quiescence.  Sister Egrit's body lay there whole, her breathing coming slowly, but steadily.

Mekior stepped forward and took the last creature by its throat, his gauntleted fist squeezing its throat, and then releasing it, dropping it to the ground.  "Some answers please, or next time I don't stop until you tongue hangs blue from your mouth.  Who are you, what are you, and why are you here?"


----------



## Mahtave (Mar 14, 2007)

Hmm,

Looks like everyone in this group has a secret to share sooner or later as to what they really are.  First Mekior and now the good sister.  

This story continues to entertain Ghost, I wait for the next installment!


----------



## Ghostknight (Mar 16, 2007)

*Chapter 13*

Shirku looked at the creatures that had captured him.  His neck hurt from where the short human had lifted him, but he reserved his fear for the one that the Master had sent them to get.  His red features, black eyes and small horns invoked fear in him; much power lay hidden within him, power he did not want to seem to use.  Shirku looked at the remains of his compatriots, their body parts and corpses littering the ground around him.  The most fearsome sight was the slain Frik'uu, her throat torn out.  It was not the most fearsome because her wounds were worst, but the worst since she had always seemed so invulnerable.  The witchdoctor was too powerful to be killed by any but one of the Masters.

The one that looked like the Masters came up to Shirku, joining up with, and speaking with the short human, but Shirku could not understand their words.  The one that looked like a Master turned to Shirku, his voice changing as he spoke the language of the Masters.

"What are you doing here?  Who, and what, are you?"  Jeria's voice came through to Shirku.  He spoke the tongue of the fiends, though it was unfamiliar on his tongue, only learnt in the last few years so he could speak to the enemy when the need arose.

"Master, forgive me.  The other Master gave the orders.  I will serve you well; I did not mean to offend you!"  Shirku peered at the Master, fear in his eyes.  If this Master shared the personalities of the other Masters, his life would be very painful before it let him die.

"Master, we were sent by the Master in the Palace, He whose word is law, to fetch you to his side.  Master in the Palace said to bring you, but slay your companions.  Master, I am Shirku, warrior and faithful servant to the Masters.  Why, Master, I have even danced with Khiss to summon forth your brethren!"

Jeria looked at the creature, confusion reigning, the answers not making as much sense as he would have liked.  He leaned over to Mekior and whispered in his ear.  "You understand what he's talking about?  You know the tongue do you not?"

_I understand all too well, the stories of the summoned ones make a lot more sense now.  Some native creature has summoned them here.  The story of this strange creature is all too believable, but I can hardly explain that to Jeria without revealing myself!_  Mekior whispered back to Jeria, "I assume that the Master in the Palace is none other than Jelial.  As to the rest, I have no idea what he is talking about."

Jeria turned back to the creature, his face stern, his hands wrapped around the haft of his axe.  "Speak clearly Shirku, what are you, and who is Khiss?"

Shirku looked at the Master; he did not understand why the Master asked these things.  _I am but a simple warrior, I live to serve not to question._  "Master, I am one of those that have been named the Devil-Kin, the Horn Peak Kobolds.  Khiss is our master shaman, the one with the greatest power to summon your brethren!  On his own, he can even summon some of those that would lead, though he still needs others to dance with him when one of the mighty is to be called."  Proudly Shirku looked straight at Jeria.  "I have been chosen to learn the sacred tongue of the Masters and to dance with Khiss; to be there when the mighty are called.  Perhaps one day I, too, may be called Shaman."

Jeria looked at the kobold in horror.  There were a few kobolds in the city, their appearance tended to vary from tribe to tribe, their dragon blood prone to causing mutations and thus making them the most diverse of races.  Now that he knew what to look for, it was obvious the creature was a kobold, though its mutations were far more pronounced than any it had seen before.  _Devil-Kin?  Are these kobolds the reason for three thousand years of misery, for the subjugation of our entire world?  Are these the devil-kin that the prophecy of Gerogh names?  Kobolds, so innocuous and ignored by all as worthless vermin of no consequence?_

Gyv came up to where Mekior and Jeria stood.  

"Anything useful from this piece of dirt?"  She looked down with disgust at the creature that sat in the dirt, its face turned towards Jeria in a mixture of fear, awe and bewilderment.

"Yeah, our favourite half-fiend seems to have a worshipper in our kobold friend over here."  Mekior's voice was flippant, but Gyv caught the undercurrent, the sense that something was wrong.

"Come on lover, what gives?  What dirty little secrets has our friend here let you in on?"  

"They weren't sent by Gerion.  The stakes have been increased; Jelial sent them.  On top of it, it seems that our current troubles are down to these little bastards.  They seem to have been responsible for summoning the fiends.  I wonder if they were the ones responsible for Jelial's original summons to our reality?"

***

The five sat around the campfire; Shirku sat with them, bound and gagged, unable to move or speak.

"What are we going to do with him?"  Sister Egrit voiced the concern of the entire group, though D'Fir still slept, the healing potion he had taken forcing the deep slumber upon him.

Mekior shrugged and tested the edge of his sword.  "I don't think the answer is too difficult.  We can't leave an enemy behind us, nor can we take him with us.  The solution is obvious and we have two axes that would be perfect to use in beheading him."

Sister Egrit looked at him in shock, then at the other two.  "Surely you cannot agree with him!  Would you slay a helpless captive because it is inconvenient to do otherwise?  I am a servant of the Void, I cannot countenance such measures!"

Jeria shuffled his feet and remained silent.  Gyv looked straight at Sister Egrit, "Maybe in your isolation, in your tower cut off both physically and via the arcane from the rest of the world, you can afford to be merciful.  For the rest of us the reality is simple, do what is expedient to survive.  Forget that, and whole cities fall.  The mercy shown by the city of Weald Hall towards me was enough of a wedge to lead Gerion to them.  The mercy of Weald Hall a wedge that led to the death of my husband, the enslavement of my children and the destruction of one of the oldest safe houses of the House of Souls.  They should have been less trusting, it would have been better if they had left me to die, or given me the mercy of a quick, clean death. "

Jeria looked at her in horror.  Never before had he heard her express her past in these terms.  Sometime in the years since he had last seen her, guilt from her control under Gerion had crystallised into hatred for the city that had shown her mercy and had saved her instead of leaving her to die in the wilderness.  Jeria chose to remain silent, agreeing with Gyv's reasoning if not with her allocation of blame.  

Gyv walked over to the bound prisoner, her sword drawn, eyes hard.  Mekior looked away, as did Jeria. Sister Egrit watched in horror as Gyv closed on the bound and helpless prisoner.  Shirku sensed what was happening and shuffled into a sitting position, moving his eyes to meet those of Gyv.

If the eye contact concerned Gyv, she gave no indication of it, though perhaps she felt something as, with her foot Gyv, turned the kobold to look away.  A deft, agile movement, a quick strike of her sword, resulted in a swift, merciful cut through Shirku's neck, and his copper-filled green blood flowed in a river upon the stone floor.

***

The five rested for what remained of the day and the night that followed, and then moved on the following morning.  They travelled in silence, a strange reversal in the relationship between Sister Egrit and D'Fir occurring.  The three from Weald Hall comfortable with their dispatch of the prisoner, Sister Egrit, and D'Fir, once he had awoken, horrified at the act.  D'Fir had railed at the three, ranting about their lack of honour, about the dishonour invoked by the arbitrary execution of a defeated and bound prisoner.  D’Fir cursed them, calling on the Forge Father to witness, and judge, their dishonourable actions.

Four more days passed before they came to the passage in which Jeria had first met the Emissary.  The group set up camp, the five determined to wait for the Emissary.  Jeria had been told to return, that his presence would summon the Emissary, but no mention had been made of how long it would be before they would be contacted.  

Days passed and the tension in the group created many incidents of frustration, argument and confrontation.  It was never great enough to break out into outright hostilities, but the group was definitively divided into two; Jeria, Mekior and Gyv on one side, Sister Egrit and D'Fir on the other.  They welcomed the break in their daily routine when it finally came, especially since it was not hostile, but the long awaited arrival of the Emissary.

"Welcome.  We've been waiting for you."  Jeria looked at the devil, his irritation at his late arrival evident.

"Patience, son-of-Gerion; I have been delayed, our mutual enemy seems to have a better spy network than my master believed.  It seems that he is aware that the Lord of the Eighth moves against him, and that you are our chosen conduit to the people of this place.  I did not want to lead his forces here, so I took an indirect and less efficient way to get here."  The Emissary finished his speech and bowed to the others that had stood up as he had arrived.

"I take it you others represent the other free cities, and that your presence indicates we are to have an alliance?"  He paused and laughed.  "Not my place to inquire actually, Sechariab will have my head if I delay any longer in bringing you to him."

Sister Egrit stepped forward, her eyes glowing, a faint blue nimbus shining around her orbs.  She stared at the Emissary, her enhanced sight piercing his illusions.  To her regret; her normal benign, soft look changed to one of horror, the image before her one she would not have wanted to contemplate.

"You like what you see, Sister?"  The Emissary's voice was mocking, his eyes a mimicked display of her ethereal glow. "You have more enchantments upon yourself than I have seen on any single individual for over a century.  What do you hide, Sister?"

Jeria watched the two, as did D'Fir and Mekior while Gyv stepped forward to go between the two, but nervous to come between two such powerful individuals.

"Enough!"  D'Fir's voice rang out, loud, commanding.  "If we are to be allies, we need a modicum of cordiality between us all or Jelial's work is undone before we start.  I'm guilty of bringing danger and enemies down on us, and only the foresight of the Forge Father in guiding his priests to include powerful healing draughts within our packs brought us all here alive."

Fiend and mage stared at each other, their intense gazes locked.  With an almost audible snap, they broke their eye contact.  The Emissary spoke, his words soft and almost placating in a tone of address that many would have assumed impossible for a fiend.

"Our Dwarven friend is correct.  Let there peace, Sister, though it is not in the nature of either of our kinds to cooperate with each other."  A sardonic laugh at the confused look of the other two and he continued on, "She has told you, hasn't she?  She is not what she seems.  But then, there are others amongst you that harbour their own secrets and it is not my place to reveal anything.  I am just here to take you to my Master."

"And how do you propose to do that, fiend?  Surely you are as concerned about leading Jelial to your Master as you were about leading him here?"  Sister Egrit's voice was cold, the peace between her and the fiend fragile.

"Why, Sister, for one of your might the answer should be obvious.  This area is open, unwarded; my Master's domain is heavily warded and immune to spying eyes, even those of Jelial."

Sister Egrit nodded.  "Take us there, it is best if it were done fast; there is no need to bring trouble upon ourselves by waiting too long."

***

The room was as Jeria remembered it, though instead of only two chairs, six chairs stood before the massive hearth, each with its own side table.  It was easy to see which chair was destined for which individual; for Jeria, the chair was high-backed, more majestic than the others, a decanter of ice water beside it. Mekior's chair depicted scenes of armour clad heroes battling and defeating fiends, a crystal decanter filled with a clear red liquid, a matching crystal glass beside it; Gyv's place was a chair similar to Mekior's, the pictures those of the woods and open skies, her decanter filled with a light green liquid.  

D'Fir looked at suspiciously at the chair destined for himself, a stone throne like affair with a carved crown above his head when he leant back; on the side table was massive pitcher of beer, a thick foamy head upon it and a tankard with silver and gold trimmings forming the pattern of the Forge Father's symbol upon it.  The chair for Sister Egrit confused the others, though it its message seemed to be one she understood and caused her face to redden.  A tall, thin, reed like affair, its back shaped like a mountain rising into a cloud, a tiny vial of some golden liquid next to a cup the size of a thimble.

"I am surprised your kind could get hold of that vial.  It must have cost you a few favours!"  Sister Egrit's voice was low, her fury barely contained.  Not so D'Fir's anger, which burst forth from him, his voice loud and strident.

"How dare you!  A replica of the high throne!  What do you try to imply?  That I should challenge my father, my brother, for the throne?  You dare too much!"

The Emissary simply smiled.  "My Master simply wanted you all to feel at home, nothing more is implied than those thoughts you might harbour within.  As for that vial, my Master has had occasion over the years to trade and bargain with many people.  It is amazing what you can get, and accumulate, over time."  He broke into a broad smile and bowed low.  "Here he is,  Secheriab, from the court of the Lord of the Eighth, Duke of the Fire Marshes and General of the twelve legions of Arcane Flame."

The names meant nothing to most of them, but Sister Egrit started.  "You?"  She turned, facing Secheriab who had just entered, "You have come here?  The Lord of the Eighth has sent you to lead this counter-revolution?"

"Good day my dear, it is wonderful to see you.  I am obviously known to you and, though you are new to me. I am happy to greet you all, my guests.  I apologise if any slight was offered, none was intended."  He came forward, taking a seat and a drink from the glass of water at his side.  "Please sit, all of you, there is much to discuss, and I hope that this is the first of many times that we will sit, drink and eat together."


----------



## Rikandur Azebol (Mar 17, 2007)

These devils are such pricks. Love the teasing they gave our heroes.


----------



## Need_A_Life (Mar 17, 2007)

Phew!
Up-to-date once again...
for some reason the subscription feature didn't work...

I hardly find it surprising that you and BlackDirge would share audience...
I _found_ this story hour because I was reading Metamorphisis...

I like devils... though the ones in here seem to be a lot less scheming thus far... but there's time to change my opinion about that, of course.

EDIT: Great job... I forgot that before


----------



## Ghostknight (Mar 19, 2007)

*Chapter 14*



			
				Need_A_Life said:
			
		

> though the ones in here seem to be a lot less scheming thus far... but there's time to change my opinion about that, of course.




Ahh, but thats because you only know a little bit.  A lot of the fiendish scheming is hidden by the focus on the non-fiendish side, but you will see some of it coming out soon.

Now for today's chapter!

****​Secheriab refused to discuss business immediately, instead drinking, and waiting for the others to do likewise.  They waited as servants brought through massive platters of food, their sight and aroma enticing the appetite of all.  Each looked at their drinks, tasted them, and found them to be superb examples of their kind. Everyone was satisfied, except for Gyv who seemed suspicious of the drink awaiting her.  She looked at the green liquid in consternation, swirling the bottle around and she examined the liquid within against the backdrop of the blazing hearth. 

"What is this? I have never before seen such a liquid." Her voice was guarded, her look at Secheriab suspicious. 

"You haven't? I was under the impression that you were from the outdoors and had lived within the forests. Surely you have drunk fey wine before?" Secheriab's glance at the Emissary was venom filled, but his smile returned to his face as he faced Gyv. "Try some. It is brewed by Dryads, wood spirits, from the sap of the trees they inhabit. It is most difficult to get hold of, they seldom gift it to any but their closest, most intimate friends." 

Gyv looked at Secheriab in horror. "From Dryads? Those evil creatures have betrayed more cities, tortured and tormented so many that have been unfortunate enough to have lost their way in their territory, that we have sworn to hunt them out and destroy any of their trees that we can find!" 

The shock on Secheriab's face was genuine. "Jelial has corrupted the Dryads? Truly a foul deed, for that alone I would see him brought down! They may not have been of my kind, and in their role as servants of nature, they are in many ways opposed to my own role as corrupter and a general for those who retain power in the nether worlds through the souls of those that fall for them. I loved the Dryads though. There was always something so utterly focussed about them. I may laugh and mock their love of their trees, seeing it as mere self interest since being away from their tree, or allowing their tree to suffer harm, would hurt them equally, but they did much else that even a fiend could admire." He stopped talking, sipping the water in front of him, contemplating the corruption of the Fey. 

"You admire the Dryads? I would not have believed it of you!" Mekior's loud voice rang out, disrupting the silence of the meal. 

Secehriab offered no response to Mekior but watched as Gyv poured a small measure of the liquid, brought it to her lips, and took a sip. Her face remained blank as the liquid entered, smooth, a tangy taste of peppermint mixed with honey, and the subtle aroma of lemon wafting up as she tilted the glass; which smashed against the stone floor as she convulsed and her back arched as her hands convulsively flailed about. Three massive devils dropped from the roof above, pinning her to the floor, preventing any movement, and holding her head tight and unmoving. 

"What have you done to her?" Mekior stood, rising and drawing his sword at the same time. "I am going to skewer you for feeding her poison!" 

More of the massive devils dropped down; twenty or more of them filled the room, fading into view as they dismissed their cloaks of invisibility. Each was the size of two men, their massive strength more akin to that of a giant than that of a man, their massive hands sporting sharp talons at the end of each finger. 

"Hold your tongue and your impetuousness, boy!" Secheriab looked around at them all, especially at Sister Egrit, at how they each stood ready to fight. "There is no way for you to win this fight, and I have not poisoned her. Rather, I have cured her! Is it not true that Gerion sunk his claws into this one, rode her as his puppet and brought destruction to her people and to a city? Something I did not mention about Dryad wine- it purges the body of toxins, of alien influence. Painfully, but I have to have some fun." 

The four looked at each other, at the massive devils facing them, and the unknown might of the Emissary and Secheriab. 

"No choice but to wait and see if he is telling the truth, Mekior." Jeria looked at his friend in despair. "The Emissary was able to defeat me easily, and if the stories of fiends are true, Secheriab must be more powerful than he to rule." 

Mekior nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Yes, Jeria, that is the truth. Grow up amongst them; watch the politicking that starts even as babes, the status children gain from humiliating and proving their superiority over their peers. The strong rule, but strength is also in intelligence and knowing who to court and who to oppose. 

The convulsions did not last long. A few minutes after they started, Gyv went still and lay silent. Slowly she sat up, eyes filled with tears as she looked at Mekior and, at the rest. "I thought I had remembered. I thought when he left last time all my thoughts and memories of the time had come back to me. They hadn't, Gerion must have wanted to use me again. I don't know why he didn't." 

She stood up; her body drenched in sweat, her face changed. Mekior and the others gasped as they saw her, though they tried to hide their shock. Gyv looked, saw their reaction and headed for her pack. From within she removed a small, silver handled mirror. She inspected her face, her fingers tracing the lines of the scars. 

"I remember how they put these there, and the other, degrading, bestial actions they used to destroy my will, to make it easier for Gerion to control me." Gyv turned her face to Mekior, the myriad small scars almost hidden by the massive ones where huge chunks of flesh had been carved away, peeled off her face like the unwanted skin of a fruit. 

"Forgive me, Gyv. To remove the taint I also had to remove the illusion they had placed over you to make your appearance normal. I suspected there must be one, but did not know for sure. My Emissary had inspected you all with enhanced sight, and he tells me that Sister Egrit, too, inspected him in such a fashion. To escape such scrutiny the illusion must have been strong, tied to your blood, to the taint they placed within, using its own power to hide it, and Gerion's presence. Now we can truly talk, finally we can be sure that none here will carry the tale of this meeting to unwanted ears." Secheriab returned to his seat, piling a plate high as he began to talk of inconsequential things. 

The group was still tense. How many times in their lives had they been warned against fiends, against trusting them? Now they sat at the table with the most powerful fiend any of them had met. One who had just proven how capable he was at deception, of arbitrary actions in the name of what he thought was best. How could they trust him? 

Secheriab proved to be an entertaining host, a multitude of anecdotes trotted out for their amusement. In his endless life he had seen much, done much, met many interesting and fascinating beings. It did not surprise anyone that all his stories were coloured by casual descriptions of evil or in the glorification of one evil being over another, a mere illustration and warning to them of who, and what, they were dealing with. 

The meal was superb, the meat roasted to perfection, the fruit and vegetables of both common and exotic varieties. The feast finally wound down, the plates removed and Secheriab, acting as the congenial host, was finally ready to discuss business. 

*** 

The discussions began. No one knew if Secheriab was amused or disgusted that the four representatives of the cities each had their own agenda. As they talked, he more and more often seemed to try and hurry the speaker, as if he tired of hearing the same arguments repeated, 

"ENOUGH!" His voice was deafeningly loud, "can we at least agree that we are all here to see the defeat of Jelial? Can we agree that we want the removal of the taint from this world so that all of your respective kinds can return to the surface?" A quick glance at the dwarf, a wry smile, and he continued, "If they wish. Let us start there. We can work out the details as we go along." 

The silence at the table encouraged him. "Good, that is a start. Now let me tell you what I can do to help. I cannot bring massive forces here. We do not have the creatures that Jelial has used to create the massive presence he has here; he hides them and seldom lets them out unless there is something he needs that he does not want to let even his closest advisors know about. Who knows how he thinks, why he wanted them to capture Jeria. He must suspect Gerion. Who would not? Jelial did not grow to power in Hell through complacency, and I doubt that he is any different here. Gerion is an ancient being that grew to power over time.  He has betrayed more than one master, and his power gained the hard way- through battle and experience.  Jelial is playing his own game behind his general’s back.  That is the first piece of good news.

The next piece of good news is this, I can give you is knowledge of other potential allies." He paused, his glance at the Emissary laden with meaning, a flicker of his eyes towards Mekior not noted by any but his underling. 

"There are two factions of fiends we can approach for support. Both want Jelial gone, though neither is going to want to go home afterwards, they will seek a place amongst you, requiring of you a decision:  Do you want fiends here, amongst you, permanently? 

If your answer is yeas, the first of these factions is the Renegades. Most of these are the children of the fiends that Jelial has caused to be brought here. They have never seen Hell, and never known the conditions or the environment that most fiends are bred in, brought up in, and accept as the normal facets of existence. This has had some interesting effects that none would have suspected. Unexpectedly, it seems that fiends are not always naturally enamoured with the infliction of pain, torture and degradation, it seems that not all of us are dishonest, deceitful and masters of lies.  Perhaps they are born in Hell, but do not survive long enough to show their difference.  These anomalies have run away from Jelial's forces and hidden in the wilderness or underground. A few even hide within the cities, their powers to deceive strong enough to save them from detection. The Renegades are not many, but they are probably more trustworthy than the other faction.

The second faction is The Fallen. A strange concept, devils that have Fallen. Millennia before Jelial they came here, hiding in out of the way places, occasionally ruling tribes of lesser beings. The Fallen all follow an extremely powerful fiend called Aspith.  Aspith sought to rule Hell and built an army of fiends with which he sought to assail the stronghold of the Lord of the Fifth. The power of his army was great, their magic powerful and he had more arcane power answering to him than any before, or since. His army marched with enchanted weapons, their deadly nature far worse than the claw and talon of their foes. But he was undone by a rare occurrence; the Lords of Hell working together. He faced not just the Lord of the Fifth, but all nine Lords working as a cohesive group. They summoned a storm, rain from the Celestial Heavens themselves swept across the fields; lightning bolts empowered with the holy will of the Lords of Celestia destroyed his most powerful sorcerers and generals. No doubt the Lords of Celstia were upset at the abuse of their realm, but the Lords of Hell did not care, they never have!"

Seeing how her lover’s army was decimated, Aspith's lover gave her very being to open a Portal to this world. Aspith's remaining forces passed through, hiding in a realm that they abhorred, wondering how they would ever gain power to return home. Aspith would be a very powerful, very useful ally. I fear him though. He is more powerful than I and rivals the powers of the Lords. Certainly, his individual power is greater than that of Jelial, but his forces are small and he will be very careful not to squander them." 

The group stared at him, horror in their glances. They huddled, discussing the information they had received. Eventually D'Fir spoke for them all. 

"You tell us of unlikely allies; two groups of devils that are unlikely to want to go home, but would want to remain. One group would remain because they have known no other home, the other because to return would be death. Surely you can see why we are reluctant to put our fate into their hands." 

"Alone, all your cities are not enough to stand against Jelial. Even if you get the others who live in hiding to join you, they will not be enough. Sleep the night and think on it. In the morning we shall speak further." Secheriab rose from the table, sweeping out from the room as robed servitors, their features hidden by their hoods entered and led them to their rooms for the night.


----------



## Rikandur Azebol (Mar 19, 2007)

Crafty Secheriab is so crafty fiend. Mention of celestial aid, wich would be less dangerous to the mortals, didn't even was hinted. It is so cool to watch him wrap the emissaries around his little finger wich such skill.


----------



## Ghostknight (Mar 22, 2007)

*Chapter 15*

A week of talks, filled with arguing, fighting and bickering over irrelevant topics, followed.  Secheriab varied from genial and benign, to frighteningly irritated and enraged.  The four representatives spent their time alternating between trying to court his favour to their viewpoint, to avoiding his gaze and anger.  Somehow an agreement was reached.  It was a good agreement, everyone felt they could live with it, yet everyone also believed they had been hard done by.  

"So it is decided.  Finally, we seem to be finished.  All we need now is for this to be ratified by your four cities and I will send advisors and representatives to start on our agreed path."  Secheriab looked around the table.  "Is it also agreed that Sister Egrit and Prince D'Fir will take the agreement back, while Mekior, Gyv and Jeria search out the Fallen?"

D'Fir answered quickly, not looking at the rest when he addressed Secheriab.  "We believe that would be for the best.  None of us here are beholden to each other and certain differences have manifested amongst us, which mean that, perhaps. this group is not the best one for working together on an extended basis.  We were chosen for political, not practical, reasons."

Mekior snorted from his place down the side of the table.  "Now there's an understatement!  It is a reality that Fort Livian and the Tower have been far more secure than most others; the Tower simply because it is impossible to find and Fort Livian because, though known to Jelial, its defences have proven too strong to justify the cost of an invasion.  Both of you have the luxury of philosophies that we do not subscribe to.  It is just as well though.  The diversity amongst us is an important weapon against the regimentation and constrained thinking of our foe."

Those present were silent, quick glances showed the guilty acknowledgement that Mekior's words carried the truth, that where peace should be between them, should help to glue them together, instead there were idiotic arguments over different philosophies that pushed them apart.  The meeting was adjourned, and the participants returned to their own rooms, each preparing themselves for their chosen task.

***

The next morning differed form the previous days, gone was the regimentation of a meal followed by hours of discussion with food and drink ever replenished.  Today they stood in the groups which would sally forth; the packs of Gyv, Jeria and Mekior filled with the necessary rations and paraphernalia needed for an extended stay in the wilderness.  D'Fir stepped forward and embraced each of the others in turn. 

"Go in peace, may the Forge Father keep your souls safe within his anvil and let no harm come to you"  D'Fir stepped back, watching as Sister Egrit followed his example.

"May the Void watch over you.  May the Void guide your voyage to its end.  May  the void protect you all and bring you back in peace and health."  Her hand stroked Gyv's scarred face, a tender caress.  "We go to safety, you to face further dangers, not the least of which is to face a fearsome foe that needs to be turned to an ally.  I pray that you do not pay further for your bravery and willingness to do that which so many fear; to approach fiends as friends and not foes.  She reached back, pulling out a healing potion and passing it to them.  You now have both the potions we had left, try not to all get hurt badly at the same time."

Secheriab watched their parting, his face unreadable.  "Well now, if you are all set, you can all be sent to where you need to go.  Sister Egrit, Prince D'Fir, the emissary will go with you and provide transportation to an area of safety from whence you can journey with ease to your cities.  He will also go with you to represent Me to your rulers; an ambassador to ease the coldness between us.  As for you Gyv, Mekior and Jeria, I will open a portal to the outside.  It will open in the foothills of the Skyne peaks, over a thousand miles from here.  The information I have indicates that the encampment of Aspith is somewhere in that region.  I have a minion there who should greet you, though there is doubt as to his loyalty."  Secheriab hesitated, his voice indicating his uncertainty as he continued, "This region is most likely unknown to any of you.  It is distant, and who travels such distances in these days?  I have been able to gather some very sketchy information, my minions are few and their capacity to gather information limited; there may be other cities in that region, both hidden and fiend ruled ones.  Take care, not all hidden cities are necessarily allies.

To return without travelling the entire distance through unknown territory, return to the spot at which you arrive at and speak my name five times in succession.  I will hear and activate a portal to bring you back."

The three shot questioning looks at him, but Secheriab seemed disinclined to talk further, his back to them as his hands and words moulded space and opened a door shaped portal.  On the other side, a sunny day could be seen.  The sun stood high in the sky, shining down onto rubble-strewn ground.  Massive trees towered into the sky, their tops out of view.  The three viewed the scene; taking a moment to examine the area beyond until they were satisfied that it harboured no immediate danger.  Mekior saluted the companions they were leaving behind and stepped through, followed by Jeria and then Gyv.

"We're on our own.  Do you think the others will find the Fallen and come back?"  D'Fir was staring at the space where the portal had stood, now showing just plain rock.
"Have faith, D'Fir.  I believe that the Gods themselves must have long since tired of the oppression and rule of the fiends.  Perhaps we are the generation which will finally free the world from the fiends, maybe now is the time when success lies within our grasp."  Sister Egrit stopped speaking, but seemed to be chanting to a low hum under her breath.

"Tell me, D'Fir, how familiar are you with the prophecy of Gerogh?"  At the mention of the prophecy, Sister Egrit noted that Secheriab became much stiller, his head held at an attentive angle.

"Have you ever wondered if it applies to us, particularly to Jeria?  Ever since I met him I cannot get the 'Refrain of the Keystone' from my mind"

Her hum got louder, her voice breaking into a chant

*The child will come from one abused
Torn from the womb of a mother
Hidden from the father
Her life forfeit from the moment of creation
Not for him the love of the mother
But for him the hate of the other
The bringer of bitterness yet applauded by many
Who shall walk at his side when he dares accost the Fall
The Hidden and Marked true to their Call.
From beyond the Gate he brings our succour
From within his heart our release
His soul the key to our ease​*
"Does that not make you think of Jeria?  I cannot fathom the line of the Hidden and the Marked.  Could the Hidden and Marked be Gyv and Mekior, but which is which?  And the last stanza has always been ridiculously unclear, interpreted as everything from the Gods coming themselves to an Angelic army storming the strongholds of Jelial.  Of course, most agree that the last stanza means that whoever this is, will die."  She sighed, looked at D'Fir and then at the Emissary and Secheriab who were making no secret of their interest.  "Prophecies are rarely helpful; always clear after the fact, and never telling you what you really need to know."

"Aside from rumours, we have heard nothing of the prophecy of Gerogh."  Secheriab's voice was flat, no emotion coming to the fore, "From what I heard within that segment, it does sound like it could be referring to Jeria, but, as you say, it is generic enough that it is wide open to interpretation.  I would suggest you resume your speculation once you are safely ensconced within the bosom of your people."

On cue, the Emissary came forward, reaching out and touching each of the others.

"Close your eyes, both of you.  D'Fir, if you would please envision in your mind our destination. I will take us there as soon as I have enough of a feel for the location to do so without getting us stuck in solid rock."  The Emissary waited, its own eyes closed, its face wrinkled in effort.  

D'Fir did as directed, his eyes closed, his mind wandering to the towers and battlements of the massive fort, its market filled with throngs of people as the smell of incense and unwashed bodies mingled.  His mind wandered through the city streets, bringing longing for his home to the fore, for the massive audience hall within the Royal Keep, the gardens tendered and filled with all manner of plants, their like normally not found beneath the Earth.  He could feel the vibrations of the Emissary's voice, even though he could not understand the words.  The change in temperature and footing underneath caused him to stumble, and, by the way the Emissary held him steady, it at least seemed it had not come as a surprise to him.

"Open your eyes, we are there." 

D'Fir and Sister did as directed, and stared at the massive iron gates of Fort Livian before them.

"Sorry I couldn't bring you closer to where you wanted to go, D'Fir.  The city is heavily warded against such entry.  No doubt to stop my cousins from just ignoring your defences and having their way with your city."  The Emissary chuckled.  "Now use those princely charms of yours to get us in.  I wait in anticipation for a rain of arrows to fall upon my head."

D'Fir gave a dark look in his direction.  "The city is warded; you should not have even been able to get us this close.  I had expected us to arrive much further out, and to be surrounded by armed guards, and those that stand in their support."

The Emissary gave him a bland look.  "Yes, you're right.  There was a redirect spell set on the city, which should have done as you said.  I do not know who set it up, but it contained a weakness I used to bring us to a less obvious area.  Never fear, I shall tell your mages within how to fix this hole in your defence.  After all, isn't that what allies are for?"

Somehow, D'Fir did not feel comforted, how many other gaps in their defences had this fiend noted, and did not speak off?  He set off around the wall, not waiting for the others but expecting them to follow.  It was not a short walk, the city was immense, the walls high and curved outwards, smoothed to make them almost impossible to climb unless the climber could hold on like a spider and cling to smooth rock while upside down.  Eventually, they came to a guard trail, which lead them around to the main gate and the soldiers that stood there on watch.  D'Fir was known, but he caused consternation with his companions.  Sister Egrit was unknown and the Emissary was an obvious, and powerful, fiend.  The crowds around the gate towards which they walked scattered, a solid line of guards taking their place.  

"Stop!  If we go closer, they will shoot first and ask questions of our corpses afterwards. In addition, there are mages hidden behind them, out of our sight but ready.  If we wait they will send someone to us who can summon my brother or others to vouch for us."  D'Fir sat as he finished, hands open in front of him, his axe sheathed upon his back.  Sister Egrit copied him, ready to wait.  

"So mote it be."  The Emissary sounded bored, resigned to the delay.   His large, compound eyes watched the soldiers, taking in details that the two mortals with whom he sat could have no hope of noticing from this distance.

***

Mekior, Gyv and Jeria stared at the forest before them.  The trees were unfamiliar to them, though many of the smaller plants were familiar and no different to the ones they were familiar with from experience.  The three stared at the area around them; the strange forest in front, the rocky, rubble strewn area leading up to the mountainside behind, and to either side of them.

"Anyone got any ideas as to where we go now?"  Mekior turned in circles as he spoke.  It had been five years since his first foray into the outdoors, and since then he had remained safe below, the comfort of the enclosing cavern walls of the underground network around him.  He felt uncomfortable, not the unreasoning, blind panic, the numbing paralysing fear he had felt the first time, but he still wished that he could be elsewhere.  _Why me?  Who says someone else couldn't end up out here for a change?_

Gyv and Jeria, however, were both luxuriating in the fresh air, the aroma of the trees different from the ones with which they were familiar.  Jeria walked over to one of them and ran his hand down its smooth side.  By jumping, he was just able to reach a low hanging branch and pluck one of its massive, white veined leaves.

"Marvellous, isn't it?  I have never seen their like!  The size of these trees is unbelievable, and these leaves unlike any I have seen."  He turned it over, tearing it in the middle, watching the thick white sap leak out the torn flesh.  A sharp smell rose, puckering his nose with its pungent, acidic aroma.  He dropped the leaf, coughing from the effects of the smell. 

"That's why I hate it out here.  Underground it is so much easier to understand everything, and know what is happening."  Mekior watched Jeria, wondering if he needed help.  The coughing fit passed, Jeria gulping down water from the water skin that Gyv shoved into his mouth.  

"It is much better if you stay out of the forest."  The voice drifted to them, thin and extraordinarily high pitched.  "The trees don't like it when they get hurt.  They like to hurt back!"

The three turned, looking in the direction from which the voice had come, but could not see anything beyond the rocks and rubble of the rest of the open, rock strewn, area.  Gyv slowly walked forward, placing her feet carefully as stones shifted beneath her and threatened to spill her to the ground.  

"Who are you?  Show yourself!  Are you the guide from Secheriab?"  Her voice rang out, echoing off the stone around them.

"Secheriab knows not what beauty Jelial brings to this realm, but you asked to see me.  Let me show you."  The ground beneath them moved.  They struggled to stay on their feet, but only Gyv succeeded.  Jeria was rolled near to the forest edge; Mekior landed badly on his arm and could feel it bend beneath him, pain shooting up.  Thus, it was only Gyv that was standing, and ready to react, when the creature burst out from beneath the rock, throwing it into the air as it did so, the massive rock narrowly missing her.  

She looked at it.  The rock had covered the hole in which it had lain in wait, the hole hidden and thus its depth unknowable.  The creature's shoulders were double the width of a man's, though it was only marginally taller.  Huge rolls of fat defined its body, giving it a comical, almost baby-like look.  Gyv did not find it comical at all, she had seen it throw off a rock that would have taken a team of men to move; that fat concealed hidden muscle.  Though naked, its sex was impossible to determine, folds of fat hid any hint of genitalia, of masculinity or femininity.

It laughed; its high pitched voice hideous, hurting her ears, making her clap her hands to them to stop that cruel, rending sound.  Then, it charged.  The ground shook as it approached, running over Jeria, grinding him into the rock as it passed.  It swung its massive arm, blindingly fast, so fast that Gyv, struggling to clutch at her ears and stop that mind numbing sound had no chance to avoid it.  The fat arm hit her in her midriff, doubling her over before she was lifted and tossed over its shoulder, where she landed hard amongst the rocks, and her head bounced off the ground, making stars dance and the world spin before blackness fell.

Mekior lay in pain.  His sword was held high in his good left arm.  He looked at the creature, hoping it would give him enough time, hoping it would not come to investigate until he was ready.  He concentrated, let the magic within his blood pool where the bone was shattered, poking into his skin.  He could feel it knitting, the pain flaring in bursts as the magic pushed away the wound, mending bone, flesh and blood vessels.  Finally it was done, but he left the arm dangling limply.  He dared a look in the creature's direction, fear clutched at him as he saw the way it dragged Jeria's inert body.

_Is he alive?  What is that creature planning to do?  He watched as the creature started stripping Jeria, removing his armour, and clothing beneath.  Then its intent became all too clear as it produced a gutting knife.  With an inarticulate cry, Mekior came to his feet, sword at the ready._

"You are still awake human?  Never mind.  Once I am done with you, you will join your friend in the cooking pot!  Secheriab said to lead him, Jelial said to eat him.  Guess whom I prefer to listen to!"  The reedy voice came to him, trying to distract him, cause him to drop his guard.  The tactic, the magic, would have been effective against a human, and for once Mekior was glad he was not.

Pretending confusion he stared at the creature.  "Secheriab and Jelial are working together?"  He slurred his words, letting his sword drop noticeably, staggering as if the magic to confuse, embedded within the words, had taken hold of his mind.

"Secheriab and Jelial will never kiss and make up, but one is boss and the other pays better!"  As it finished speaking, it suddenly jumped to the side, sending a massive, fat leg in his direction, unbelievably aimed high at his head, something that should have been impossible for a creature of its bulk.  But Mekior was expecting an attack, and, not as helpless as his opponent thought, ducked beneath the attack, his sword staying high, using both his strength and the momentum of the creatures kick towards him to put power behind the blow.   The strength behind the kick ripped the sword from his hand, but the damage had been done.  The creature collapsed, blood pouring out from the stump, the remains of the leg hanging on by just a ragged piece of flesh.  Ignoring the creature as it bled to death, Mekior walked over to Gyv, and then to Jeria.

_Thanks be to the Gods they are alright, battered and unconscious, but alive.  Question is, what now? If that was the guide Secheriab intended for us, then where do we search in this godforsaken wilderness?  More importantly, how did Jelial know we were coming here and who to pay off?_

***

Jelial sat sipping on the wines produced by his prize estate.  The vintage was fruitier than most, the aroma strong and the colour a deep, rich red.  He contemplated it, enjoying the moment of silence and stillness.  It was interrupted by noise coming from entrance to his private lounge.

"Who is there?"  

"My Lord, it is Priet.  I come with news."

"Very well, speak quickly then; your presence is not wanted."  Jelial looked at the tiny imp.  The least of devils, it made for an excellent go between.  Intelligent enough to do as told, yet so lacking in power as to make it ridiculous for it to even consider usurping the throne or vying for attention of those seeking the throne.

"My Lord, the spy within Secheriab's domain has been silenced.  We do not know why."

"Silenced?  Secheriab cannot know of our act against those in the Skyne peaks, he would be hampered in his divinations of that area, the same as we are.  That accursed son of Gerion carries more magic in his blood than he is aware!  Go, your message is delivered."

_So Sechariab moves.  He found my spy, do does he have any idea of what has passed than I?  And what does he search for in the Skyne peaks?  That blubbery dolt knew nothing, he was just to show them what was there; he had no idea of their true objective.  Maybe he did, after all a traitor to one,  can be a traitor to another.  Probably best to deal with him; get what I can use from him before discarding the blubber into the melting vats, ff he has survived.  I am certain he will very quickly come to rue the day he betrayed his previous master, instead of taking a merciful death at that half-fiend's hands._

A small smile on his lips he leaned back, sipping his wine.  _Does it matter if Gerion's son is loose in the Skyne peaks, how much harm can one half-fiend do?_


----------



## Need_A_Life (Mar 22, 2007)

Great update!

If only my school hadn't blocked ENworld or I'd be able to have read it elsewhere than Gmail....


----------



## Ghostknight (Mar 23, 2007)

*Chapter 16*

A blazing fire awaited them in the throne room.  The room echoed as they walked, emptied of all but D'Wiglo, and one who sat seated upon the massive stone throne.  The room was well lit, balls of light hung suspended from the roof and illuminated the floor carved with marvellous frescoes of ancient battles, heroes banishing the enemies of the dwarven race.  As they came closer, the Emissary and Sister Egrit could see why D'Fir had objected when they had first met with Secheriab.  In all ways but height, the chair that had been provided was a mirror image of this one.

The group stopped before the throne, and followed D'Fir's example as he bowed low to the grey bearded figure.

"Greetings, your Majesty.  I have returned from the task set for me, and I bring an ambassador from the court of Duke Secheriab, representative of the Lord of the Eighth circle of Hell."  D'Fir straightened, gesturing with a wide arm movement for the Emissary to come forward.

"I present myself to his august Majesty, King D'Mier, Lord of the Fortress of Livian.  I, Eria the Red, am the ambassador of the Duke Secheriab, the mighty servant of the Lord of the Eighth Circle of Hell, and I humbly request your acceptance of my mission to your court."  The Emissary's words were fair, delivered in a soft, diplomatic voice.  The two that had travelled with him gave a start when he mentioned his name; at no time in the time since they had first met him had he been called aught else but "Emissary".

The king stood, his back bent but his shoulders still straight and proud.  If not for his age he would have stood as tall as his sons, but his eyes were bright, his beard long, and it was still his muscles that defined him, rather than the ravages of age that distorted so many.  He spoke, his voice gravely with age but still strong.

"Welcome to Our court, Eria the Red.  Long may the alliance between Fort Livian and court of the Eighth be peaceful, and mutually enriching."  He gave a quick bow before he sat down once more.  From the side of the throne D'Wiglo now stepped forward.

"As seneschal to my father's court, I welcome you to our midst, Ambassador of the Court of the Eighth.  Quarters will be arranged, and you need but speak, and name your desire.  If we can, legally and morally, deliver it unto you, so we shall."

The laughter of Eria filled the hall.  His fangs showed as he smiled when his laughter cut-off.  "I am honoured that you felt it necessary to clarify your diplomatic greeting for me.  Never fear, I can control myself and assure you that your citizens; children, maidens and all, are all safe from me.  Though I fear I may loose my reason and attack your kitchens if I cannot get a meal shortly.  Your guards did take an inordinately long time to bring us to you, and left us bereft of food and drink, a subtle torture of sorts, perhaps?"

"We are remiss as host.  Food, beverages and chairs for your rest shall be brought forth immediately.  We greet also your companions, my son, and you, Sister Egrit, representative of the Tower Arcane.  We shall all dine together, and you shall speak to Us of what has happened since you left the conclave of the Priests of the Forge Father."  

D'Wiglo bowed to his father and stepped through a door set to the side of the throne.  A short while later he returned, followed by servants in the livery of the city.  The muted black and grey of their clothing made them shadows against the wall as they deftly laid a table out at the foot of the throne.  Around the table, they placed five chairs, high backed and comfortably cushioned in each place, the one at the head of the table differing only in the gold crown etched onto its raised headrest.  

The king stood up and walked down the stairs from his throne.  He took his place at the table and seated himself.  He indicated to Eria to take the place of honour to his right, D'Fir to his left.  Sister Egrit’s seat was next to D'Fir, the place next to the fiendish ambassador left for D'Wiglo when his duties as seneschal were completed.  

D'Wiglo nodded to the servants who filed out, returning with platters laden with fruits, plentiful examples of both exotic and common varieties were laid before them, followed by trays laden with roasted meat sliced into paper-thin slivers, steaming hot and covered with thick gravy.  Further platters were laid down, along with tall, fragile crystal glasses, quickly filled with wine.  All set for the meal, D'Wiglo finally took his seat, and watched as the king was served, his choices placed upon his platter.  As the king started, servants came forward, placing the food indicated by each diner upon their plates, remaining discreetly nearby in case of need.

Soft music filled the hall as they ate, and the king kept the conversation light, allowing only the stories of the journey that did not require discussion, and some inconsequential chatter.  Only when the meal was finished did he steer the conversation to matters of import.

"We have need of information, Ambassador.  What forces has your master committed to this battle?  Will your forces join ours upon the fields and on our ramparts?"  The king's eyes fixed upon Eria, and he watched as Eria spoke, the words from the Ambassador told him as much as the manner in which they were said.

"We will do what we can, your Majesty.  Understand, though, that unless you have the means to open up gates and summon many of our people to your city, we cannot bring large numbers to bear.  Though it would appear to be an enticing option, it is not really a viable one.  Such action would be all too easy for Jelial, and his minions, to detect and sabotage.  My Master has few servants, but he will use those as best he can to find further allies to our cause, and to provide intelligence to guide our actions."

The king looked at Eria, and snorted.  "The Lord of the Eighth will not risk too much in this venture will he?  If he can use us to gain what he chooses, it will be well for him, but if we fail, it will not hurt his cause overly much back home.  As for the allies to whom you guide us, are they all going to be disaffected fiends, more problems for us to deal with once your goal is achieved and Jelial dethroned?"

Eria looked pain, his face reflecting hurt and wounded pride.  "You do us an injustice your Majesty.  We merely pointed to those groups that we knew of at this time, I am sure that we will, shortly, find other allies!"

The others around the table did not believe the act of the Ambassador, but diplomacy prevailed.  Talk moved back to the inconsequential and the extended audience concluded shortly thereafter with the travellers dismissed to rest and find comfort within their own private sanctums.

***

For three days Mekior, Gyv and Jeria scoured the mountainside.  If there were any inhabitations close by, they hid themselves too well to be found.  Wearily they sat around a campfire and watched the flames throw sparks into the night sky, though they kept the flames low and dampened down as much as they could to avoid attracting unwanted attention.

"So, is it time for us to admit to defeat and call on Secheriab to bring us home?"  Mekior placed the question before them, knowing each thought it but none wanted to say it.

"I would prefer to search for longer."  Jeria's voice carried over the crackling of the flames in the fire.  "Let us take our time and investigate longer; I still say there must be caverns or such in this area and we have yet to find them."

"Jeria, hope is an unfounded emotion in our lives.  When has hope ever helped?  I hoped to see my family again, and they are dead or enslaved.  You hoped to become an Outwalker to serve and protect Weald hall, and Weald Hall lies destroyed, buried under a mountain of rubble.  Let us admit that we are on a fool's errand and return home.  Maybe we can find some of the renegades that Secheriab spoke off."

_What would she say if she knew one was sitting here with her, undetected, making love to her at nights?  She speaks from despair, much has happened since I last sat with her so long ago._  Mekior looked at the two, knowing he did not want to give in to the despair that radiated from Gyv, despair that grew each time she investigated her ruined face, and looked upon the scars that covered the entirety of her body.  Yet he, too, felt that perhaps the optimism of Jeria was misplaced and that it would be better to investigate alternate options.

"Let us search a while longer, no more than a week.  If we still do not find anything, we can return.  We have plenty of food, and, aside from the calls of birds, we have neither seen nor heard any other wild life in this area.  The other two nodded; Jeria because he agreed, Gyv too apathetic in her despair to care.

For three more days, they continued to search.  They scoured the mountainside and the nearby forest eaves.  They found nothing, and, as is usual in such situations, fate stepped in; pure chance guided them to that for which they searched.

Jeria, frustrated with their lack of progress, climbed the ridge and, he sat astride a rock, peering down into the valleys on either side.

It was near noon, and few shadows could be seen.  Thus the darkness, which did not vary and stayed the same, neither shrinking nor contracting, caught his eye.  Excited, he climbed down towards the bottom of the cliff that sheltered the darkness.  It felt cooler as he approached it.  A wind seemed to be coming from behind the rocks.  Jeria stopped, innate caution driving him to draw his axe before he stepped forward.  He reached out, preparing to run his hands against the stone, to use the rock as shelter as he snuck forward, but instead of rock, his hand fell into nothing...

Illusion!  Excitement coursed through his body, the hair along his back rising in anticipation of what may be beyond.  His innate caution pulled him back again and sent him in the direction of his companions.

The three gathered, Mekior gazing within the illusionary area.  

"Any ideas?  Do we just go in or what?"  Mekior kept his voice low, loud enough for Gyv and Jeria to hear, but low enough that it would not carry.  With the evidence of others within their vicinity, he was taking no chances.

"Walk in and see what's there."  Jeria shrugged, "I don't see what else we can do.  I will go first as my eyes will let me investigate what lies within without the need for light.  You two can follow after, with lit torches to find your way if it looks safe."

Gyv cursed silently under her breathe.  The only positive aspect of the taint from which she had suffered was the ability to see in the dark.  That, too, had disappeared when Secheriab removed the last remnants of the taint.  She watched as Jeria prepared to walk through the illusion, not concentrating fully on what he was doing, too much of her concentration on the lack of feeling on the scarred areas of her body which made her worry that when the time came to fight, her abilities would be hindered, diminished by her lack of feeling.

Mekior, sitting to the side and watching the other two, could see the despair that had begun to afflict Gyv.  It came through when they lay in each other's arms, not even his continued closeness and admissions of love seemed to convince her that they could be as they were before.  _If I were one of the mighty, one of the powerful, perhaps there might be something I could do.  The powers from my fiendish blood are weak, all my power concentrated in the illusion of humanity and the masking of my fiendish nature.  I wonder how much magic Jeria carries; and does not know how to use.  His ability to see in the dark is the least of it..._

So the two watched as Jeria disappeared, the illusion covering him as he entered within. The sun shone down, the early afternoon sun sending lengthening shadows from the forest towards the rocks on which they sat.  A few birds could be heard singing, the cold breeze coming through the illusion enough to be felt, but no more.  They sat in silence, on guard for trouble coming from ether direction, aware that whatever lay within could be as dangerous, if not more so, than what lay hidden within the forest.

***

Jeria stepped through the illusion, a slight tingle and the hair on his arm rising, the only indication that he walked through something other than air.  The area beyond was dark, a dim light penetrating through the illusion, illuminating a small area beyond entrance.  The rest lay hidden by the shadows and deepening darkness.  He stepped forward, and felt the floor crunch beneath him.  He knelt down and ran his fingers through the sand, feeling the roughness of the soil, and saw broken bits of bone mixed in.

_Something has used this cavern as a lair.  Not too large, though.  All its prey are small, I see no bones of nothing larger than a squirrel here.  _ He stepped further into the cavern as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, bringing the details beyond the lit area into focus.  The cavern walls were plain rock, the ground likewise, but it lay covered in the tiny skeletons, a carpet of bones.  Jeria continued in, a faint smell growing as he continued in, further and further.  The smell of rotting meat, with the smell of blood underlying, and beyond, so faint he thought he was imagining it, the smell of roses.

He wandered what was going on, and pushed forward, heading towards the back of the cavern, with the roof getting lower as he moved on.  In the darkness, he thought he saw a glimmer of light ahead.  The faint light ahead enticed him further in, drawing him onwards like a moth to the flame.  As he moved into the glow, he felt a breeze from above, pushing past him and out past Gyv and Mekior, carrying with it the smells of the outside.  The glow intensified as he moved towards it, along with the stench of blood and rotting meat, the smell of roses more pronounced.

In the glow, Jeria could see the dampness on the cavern walls, a slight red tinge on the rocks, stained from the water dripping in from the cavern roof above.  Jeria moved closer, and saw that the glow radiated from the rear wall of the cavern.  It sunk down out of sight, and reached up beyond his eyes, a mass of glowing runes and intricately marked patterns.  The brightness of it hurt his eyes as he examined it, the runes meaningless, the patterns guiding the eye into a meaningless chaos of whirls and curves.  He stood fascinated, and watched as, from the gap in the ceiling above, through which both wind and water entered, a dark furred squirrel came forward, its red eyes gleaming, blackish spittle dotting its lips.

Shocked, Jeria stepped back, careful to make no noise and not wanting to attract the attention of the tainted creature.  He stood still and watched as the squirrel moved forward as if entranced; its attention was focussed wholly on the glowing wall.  For all the attention it was paying to the cavern and its contents, Jeria could have been dancing and banging on cymbals and it would still have ignored his presence.  It crept up to the wall, swaying slightly, its eyes not blinking, the spittle coming out its mouth now a continuous stream.  Mesmerised, it stood before the wall, a statue of a squirrel.  Jeria watched as it pushed forward the last few steps, shuffling more like an ancient man than the smooth, graceful movements one would expect of the small mammal, tainted or not.  It reached forward, sniffing, its nose inching towards the wall.  Its nose finally reached the wall, touched it, and the squirrel exploded, as did the sweet smell of roses as if evoked by the meeting of taint and rune.

Jeria stood there, bits of squirrel falling off his body.  He was not mesmerised in the manner of the squirrel, but still he just stood there, immobile in his shock.  _What would have happened if I touched that wall?  And why did that squirrel, all these squirrels and other creatures come down here, attracted to the wall?  In all the time we have been encamped outside, I have not seen a single tainted creature and then the first one I see crawls up to a glowing wall, touches it, and ends up spread across the cavern!_

The questions ran around Jeria's head on his way out.  He had not found any hidden fiends and no city lay within. Just that wall, extending unbelievably in all directions, mesmerising and destroying tainted creatures in the area around it. What was that wall; and what secrets lay hidden beyond the protective runes?


----------



## Need_A_Life (Mar 23, 2007)

Ooooh, a good weekend cliffhanger...


----------



## karianna (Mar 25, 2007)

*Good stuff!*

Yay another great story to subscribe to


----------



## Ghostknight (Mar 26, 2007)

The dwarves of Fort Livian crowded outside of the palace.  Traditional dress of large flowing robes, belted at the waist with cords of golden braid, graced many of the bearded men.  Just as many of the young, with their faces shaven and sporting tunics and trousers in imitation of human fashion, stood waiting.  All awaited the same thing, the glimpse of a fiendish ambassador that had been accepted by their king and was to live amongst them.

A hush fell over the assembled crowd, anticipation mixed with disbelief.  They watched as the doors of the keep swung open, and the fiend and the strange women emerged, flanked by a squad of the royal guard.  The massed dwarves stared at the fiend, its figure covered by a simple robe, its compound eyes large black orbs that stared out at them, red skin highlighted by the white of its fangs.  A murmur began within the mob, the noise swelling as the group advanced down the path, heading towards the gate to the city beyond.

"Do you think they'll riot?"  Eria's voice was soft, intended only for the ears of Sister Egrit and the corporal leading the squad.  Eria did not look concerned, in truth, he did not feel threatened by the mob, but it would be a major setback for their fledgling alliance if he killed a hostile crowd of dwarves, even in self-defence.

The corporal looked at Eria, then at the crowd, their growing agitation and the rumblings of dissent within.  He held up his hand, bringing the guards to a halt.  The six members of the squad came forward, their black and grey tunics concealing the mail beneath, but the massive war axes upon their backs, and the smaller hand axes upon their belts clearly visible.  They started forward, headed towards the crowd and stopped just before them.  The corporal stepped forward, scanning the crowd, catching the eyes of the bearded and clean-shaven both.

"Are we going to have trouble?  I call on you to welcome guests to our city.  Sister Egrit, representative of the Tower Arcane, and Eria, Ambassador from the court of the Lord of the Eighth Circle in Hell."  He stepped back and indicated to the squad to form into two lines, an honour guard for the visitors.  They did so, and the crowd that had fallen silent shuffled, they, too, forming a set of parallel lines.  The corporal came to Sister Egrit and Eria, nodded and moved forward.  The two followed him, through the squad and the now silent crowd.  As they moved through, the crowd closed behind them, a silent hoard that followed behind, all the way to the two-storey house in which they were to live.

The inside of the house was richly decorated.  Thick white plush carpets covered the lower level with massive crystal chandeliers, hundreds of candles within, lit the entrance hall and massive lounge and dining room that led off from it.  A staircase, the stairs of marble with balustrades that were made of fantastically moulded brass and pewter, led up to where they assumed the bedrooms would be.  Three dwarves, two men and a woman, stood at attention within, all wearing the same black and grey uniform with a sash of blue and silver.

One of the dwarves stepped forward.  He sported an impressive beard of silver hair, neatly braided into seven strands, each tied back with its own ribbon of black silk.  He bowed low, mainly to Sister Egrit, but also to Eria.

"Greetings and welcome to the Embassy of the Arcane Tower, Honoured Magister.  It is not often we have the honour of the presence of one such as yourself.  Our welcome to you, too, Lord Eria.  It is our understanding that you shall reside with us whenever you find yourself within our fair city, at least until such time as your Master establishes an embassy of his own.  I am Rumal, the major domo and butler here.  These other two are Gire, the stable master, carpenter and assistant to Kithrin, cook and mistress of all those who serve within.  Please feel free to let us know what are your desires and we shall endeavour to provide you with whatever we can."

Rumal finished speaking, and Gire and Kitrine bowed to the two.  

"If you would grace me with your presence Magister, your lordship, I shall show you to your rooms now."  Gires voice was clear, but sounded like he was ill, speaking through his nose, and uncomfortabye.  He came forward, leading them up the stairs, panting and wheezing as he did so, occasionally stopping to cough. 

"My apologies, I can't seem to shake this fiendish illness.  With apologies for my turn of phrase, your Grace."  Gire arrived at the first set of double doors and stepped forward, throwing them open to reveal a private sitting room with two doors that led off further into the suite.  Aside from the doors, the room had three massive couches arranged around a fireplace, a centre table piled with books and a small silver bell in the centre.  Pictures of mages and magisters of the past lined the walls, along with shelves of books.  

"Through the door on the right is a water closet, complete with bath and automatic chamber pot."  He glanced at Eria.  "You do know how the automatic chamber pot works, don't you, your Grace?  Far better than needing buckets cleaned out, but not many have seen one before."

Eria laughed.  "I do indeed, and I am sure that my colleague does too.  I assume the bedroom lies through the other door?"

"Indeed it does, your Grace.  I did not believe that you required its amenities though."

"Require?  Indeed I do not, though at times it is refreshing to allow oneself the oblivion of sleep."

Irritated with what she saw, Sister Egrit spoke up.  "And for me? Or are you expecting me to share a bed with the fiend?"

A look of shock passed over Gire's face.  "Indeed not, Magister.  We have a room reserved for visiting Magisters.  Please, follow me and I will show you to it.  Your Grace, if you require anything, just ring the bell on the side table and a servant will be sent up to you."

Sister Egrit followed Gire out and down the corridor to a massive set of double doors.  The suite within was far more lavish than the one in which the ambassador was housed.  In addition to the couches and table, it sported roof high bookshelves, and lecterns with massive, illuminated volumes proudly displayed.  Sister Egrit wandered in, idly reading the titles of the books from their embossed spines, startled at the rarity of some of the tomes.

"As a visiting Magister, we would be honoured if you made use of these books.  You will also find a wide range of alchemical ingredients in the cupboard in the bedroom."  Gire bowed.  "It is too seldom that we have any of power within these walls.  We truly are honoured to have you amongst us, and to have the chance to serve.  I repeat, anything I may do for you, just let me know.

***

Dinner that night was sumptuous.  Pate's and various spreads started off the banquet, followed by soups, salads, roast cave beast, vegetables, duck, and then desserts which featured everything from chocolates, to fruit, to puddings made of every conceivable fruit and an astounding variety of confectionaries.  They did not dine alone; D'Fir and D'Wiglo came to join them.

"I apologise for not sharing lodgings with you.  Now that I am back home I have to resume my royal duties, and those include leading the city militia and much of our standing army."  D'Fir spoke between mouthfuls, enjoying the banquet and the fine drinks set before them.

Eria leaned forward to pour himself wine, but found the bottle empty.  Smiling, he picked up the small bell and rung it, expecting one of the servants to enter form the kitchen beyond the dining hall.  The tinkling of the bell died down, and the silence that followed felt uncanny, uncomfortable.  The four looked at each other, D'Fir and D'Wiglo moved in concert to retrieve their axes, and to stand to cover the entrances, at an angle to each other, prepared to both attack and defend.  All four participants at the meal were on their feet, Sister Egrit and Eria moved to put their backs to the wall, the better to be able to defend themselves.

Sister Egrit's traced a finger through her scars and a snake-like creature, made of glowing green light formed in the air.  Silently she sent it out, watching as it moved around, investigating every nook and cranny of the room.  It moved silently, crawling over all the surfaces, including the feet of the dwarves, but avoided the presence of Eria.  The eyes of Sister Egrit followed it, but the rest, battle hardened and disciplined, watched for other movement, other signs of trouble that may appear before them.

The snake returned to Sister Egrit, falling dormant as it returned to her arm.  The silence from within the house continued.  D'Wiglo took a step forward, breaking contact with his brother as he tried to see into the entrance hall.  As he did so there was a slight movement of air, and then a fiend appeared behind him, its sharp claw punching out,  through armour, skin and bone, coming through the other side, spraying the area with his blood, pushing his bones through the front of his armour.  It tried to withdraw its hand as the body slumped, but even in his shock at his brother's death. D'fir was too fast, his body spinning, the axe in his hand, the cold iron within its head, with the silver runes lighting and glowing blue as they swung at the fiend, their magic coming alive.  The axe bit into the fiends arm, severing it at the elbow, leaving its hand embedded within the chest of D'Wiglo.

Sister Egrit reacted almost as quickly, her chanted words sending an arc of green out, engulfing the body of D'Wiglo.  As fast as she had been to send the healing energy of the void out, it was too late.  No life was left within the body for it to work upon.  Eria merely looked at the fiend, whose eyes widened when it saw him; fear entered its face, as it watched two beams of pure blackness shoot out from Eria's eyes.  The beams came close to D'Fir, who felt their icy coldness as they went past, but their effect on the fiend was dramatic.  They hit it solidly in the chest, tendrils of the black energy crawled over its body, constricting the skin and bone beneath from its icy numbness, rivulets of blood and gore leaking out as unaffected areas remained and the affected areas rotted away, falling off.  In seconds the devils body was riddled with streams of the energy, searing it away, large sections of it dropping off, rotten and exuding the foul odour of the charnel pit.

The three stood in shock for a moment, before D'Fir dropped to his knees by his brother's side.  Gently he pulled the devil's claw from within his chest, pulling a cushion from a nearby chair on which to lay his head.  His eyes were bleak when he looked up, tears streaming down, into his beard, onto the face of his brother.

"I shed tears for the brave.  I shed tears for the strong.  Let the warriors grieve today as one of their own is called home to the Forge Father.  May D'Wiglo stand at the side of the mighty for eternity, until the Forge Father tempers his soul to be returned to stand by our side."  He stood, making no attempt to wipe his tears away, to hide his sorrow.  Such would demean the death of the warrior!

"I go to my father, to tell him of what has happened.  We must find out how that devil gained entrance and made its way into this chamber.  I beg of you two to search this residence and find what has happened to those who served loyally."  He did not wait of an answer, leaving his axe lying on the ground, but taking the severed hand.  His walk was unsteady as he left, his shoulders bent and his head bowed.

Sister Egrit did not wait for action from Eria, she moved quickly through to the kitchens where the servants had been.  The kitchen was the scene of a massacre.  Three of the bodies within belonged to Gire, Rumal and Kithrin.  On the ground next to Gire lay a shattered bottle of wine, evidently one he had been bringing through in anticipation of the one in the banquet running dry.  Other servants lay dead as well; the kitchen boy lay gutted and hung over the cave beast that he had been turning slowly on the spit.  Nearby, two of the cook's assistants lay headless, a large cleaver with their blood upon it nearby.  The last body was that of a serving girl, her livery soaked with her blood.  Quietly she started gathering the bodies, laying them out, carefully bathing them to show respect.  Tears were within her eyes, but she worked steadily, conscientiously.  These people had died because they served her, she felt the guilt of allowing so many to serve her, to die, while she sat and ate, feasting and drinking fine wines.

Eria stood at the entrance to the kitchen and watched.  He made no move to help, his eyes searched for clues and the manner in which the assassin had worked.

"This was no ordinary devil.  There are too many unanswered questions here; aside from the obvious one of how he entered the city.  I find myself wondering, how did it perform this massacre so silently?  This tableau has been staged; it has been carefully laid out to hide a message within.  Jelial wants us to panic, to strike in a rage of vengeance.  We must be cautious, make sure that whatever happens we take counsel and heed the message of this assassin: Nowhere is safe."

***

Jeria, Gyv and Mekior stood before the glowing wall.  Even though he had seen it before, its glow fascinated Jeria, both Gyv and Mekior stared at it in awe.  Jeria could feel it call out to him, the fiendish blood within his veins answering its summons.  Maybe the human side protected him, dulled it, but he was able to control the compulsion to reach out and touch it.  To his right, Mekior was sweating, a strange sight for Gyv and Jeria since they could both feel a slight chill in the air, especially since they had the cool breeze from above blowing past.  But then, neither of them knew the battle of will power that Mekior fought.

_It calls to me.  Such a sweet summons, what delicious rewards it promises. It offers so much, the bliss and eternal peace, the freedom from strife, from the tribulations of life!_  Mekior fought the call of the wall.  He knew it would be death if he touched it, yet it required his full concentration to stop his hand reaching out, to stop himself from stepping forward to embrace the promises the wall proffered.  He stumbled backwards, turning away from it, hiding from its gaze, its call diminishing as he did so.

Mekior felt Gyv's hand on his shoulder; he saw her step around to him, her concerned look as she faced him.

"Are you ok, lover?  What is the matter? You are looking sick, weak."  She knelt down as Mekior sank to the ground, his knees too weak to keep him upright.

"It calls to me, Gyv.  Maybe I have seen too many fiends, been near too many of them.  It calls to me; it calls me to my destruction."  Mekior sat, head bowed, the wall behind him, singing to him, enticing him.

Jeria looked at Mekior, concerned with his state.  He did not understand why a human, fiend hunter or not, should be affected so much worse than he, but the evidence lay before his eyes.  Carefully he walked along the wall, looking for breaks in its perfect symmetry.  And, eventually, he found it; an obvious crack in the ground; the result of some upheaval after the wall had been built, shifting one side slightly higher than the other, breaking some of the runes, marring the area's perfection and leaving an unprotected gap through which they could enter.  A thin stream of the brackish, reddish water flowed through as well, leaving its red stain upon the grain.

Jeria returned to the other two, and, with Gyv's help, manoeuvred Mekior through the gap.  Beyond, the pull of the wall disappeared.  This side was plain, undressed stone.  Chisels and picks had left clear marks where they had been used to dig the rock from the ground.  The floor was smooth, stone blocks had been symmetrically cut and lead into the darkness, a floor of even, geometrical conciseness that spoke of architectural brilliance.  In the distance, a low glow could be seen.  There was no way see how far away it was, the distance impossible to measure in the dark.  Even with his ability to see in the dark, Jeria could make out no details, but for a bridge, narrow and made of stone, that disappeared into the depths of the cavern.


----------



## Ghostknight (Mar 28, 2007)

*Chapter 18*

The funeral procession wound through the streets of Fort Livian.  The king led it, on foot, followed by the funeral cart pulled by D'Fir and other members of the royal family.  The cart groaned beneath the load of the eight stone caskets, each of those who had died in service to the prince, accorded the same honour as the prince for whom they died.  The route to the mausoleum was lined by thousands of dwarves, all dressed in the traditional red and yellows of mourning, the colour of the fire that creates and destroys; the tool of the holy Forge Father.  Each held a lit torch, the fire a reflection of the Forge Father's holy flame, the soul of fire embedded in all.  

Following behind the procession was a range of dignitaries, Sister Egrit and Eria amongst them.  The onlookers fell into place behind the procession, a massive column of people bearing lit torches to give honour to the dead. The procession wound through the city, the last mile lined by soldiers, their mail gleaming and axes held to attention in front of them.  The gates of the mausoleum loomed up ahead; massive, made of lead with scenes from the writings of the Forge Father embedded upon them in obsidian and marble.  Kier stood and awaited the arrival of the procession at the entrance, mail of silver-steel shining, reflecting the light of the burning torches.

_The dwarf shows off that coat of pretty mail as a bauble dangled in front of the masses to impress.  Showmanship!  That can be the only meaning of such display.  The secret of its making would be welcomed by my Master, but the dwarves guard the secret of it too closely! _  Eria looked at the High Priest of the Forge Father, watching the mail coat reflecting the light as no ordinary steel could.  The soldiers lining the streets were similarly attired, making him question his assumption that it was worn to impress.  More likely, it looked as if the priests of the Forge Father wore the silver-steel so as not to appear beneath the status of the soldiers!

The king arrived at the gate, his head bowed, his feet bruised on the soles from leading the way through the city barefooted.  As the King arrived at the Mausoleum, Kier stepped forward and emptied a small cup of ash over his head, allowing it to fall upon his face, his beard, to dirty his clothes.  Slowly each of the closest to the dead came forward in turn, to have the ashes of the Forge Father poured upon them.  When done, they moved forward to the funeral cart where many of them struggled to remove the bodies from within their caskets.  They refused all help, the final task to tend to their dead an honour they willingly accepted.

The crowd watched as they entered the mausoleum; ash covered, bare feet leaving a trail of dust and ash as they disappeared from view.  The mourners stood in silence, watching the mausoleum; for when those who did honour to the dead would emerge, their torches burning and illuminating the massive open area before the burial place of the Royal Family.

"Why do we await the enemy?  Why do we not go to war?"  The words came to each ear, a whisper carried on the wind, an intimate communication to every living soul present.  "The fiends of Jelial take from us our young, our future.  They come within our city, strike at us from within.  It should be no more!"

Those standing in the mass shifted restlessly and looked at their neighbours.  Each wondered from where the intimate communication had originated, what the source of the whispers on the wind was.  It sounded too soft, too low for it to have come from a distance.  Clothes rustled as necks craned and heads turned, everyone searching for the source of the whisper.  They did not need to wait for long, for the source had no intention of remaining anonymous.  He wanted to ensure that people looked at him and paid attention to what was said.  From within the group of dignitaries that had followed behind the wagon the figure of Eria was rising, slowly floating into the air, clear to everyone no matter where in the crowd they stood. 

The rising figure seemed to swallow the light, the flames following him, highlighting his figure.  As they watched, the illusion which cloaked his figure dissolved and dissipated into nothingness.  A collective gasp could be felt from the crowd; they could do nothing but stare at the massive figure revealed to them.  Eria was at least sixteen feet tall, massive bat like wings jutted from his back, four horns arranged on his head, seated well above his compound eyes which were the only feature on an otherwise blank face.  He wore nothing but a loincloth of black material, from which hung twin scimitars of iron and gold, and bracers of gold with silver and gems forming runes upon their surface.  In his near naked state his torso reflected the light, gleaming in the torch light, looking like it was on fire, his muscles dancing upon him making it seem that flames danced upon him.  Each arm and leg was massive, a tree trunk in girth, the muscles corded and well defined.

"I am the Ambassador Eria.  I drop illusion for truth, diplomacy for plain speech.  The time is now.  Let us strike at Jelial, together.  Let our combined might be as one to give our enemy pause."  He stopped, peering down at the crowd, at Sister Egrit.  "I call on all to join me in this, to make this alliance real."

The crowd roared as a single beast, not a roar of horror, but a roar of defiance, of approbation.  Sensing the mood of the crowd Sister Egrit smiled, raising her arms above her head, floating into the air until she was at the same height as Eria.  She, too, discarded illusion, her head changing to that of a hawk, her height at least fifteen feet, her body covered in mail of some light, white metal that none could identify, save perhaps the priests of the Forge Father.  From her back sprung wings adorned with silver feathers, blue tips shining in the light of the torches.  Unlike the form of Eria, which seemed to drink the light, steal it, hers shone like a beacon, its warmth and softness bathing the crowd, bringing tears of joy and happiness to all it touched.  She opened her mouth, loosing the screech of a hunting eagle, the noise echoing from the walls, seemingly going on forever.

"To war!  The celestial spheres have longed for this moment to come, but the gates to our spheres are closed and our power is weak.  The time is at hand, we shall wait no longer! TO WAR!"

The crowd heard the cry, slowly the noise swelled, a chant rising, crashing against the cavern roof, beating against the celestial and the fiend that floated before them.  "TO WAR"

The chant continued a wave of noise that battered the gates.  From within the mausoleum, the king emerged, followed by the others who had carried their loved ones within.  No longer clad in his ash-covered clothes, he wore shining armour, the symbol of Fort Livian embossed upon it, his helm covering his face, his eyes and beard hidden in its depths.  Those who come forth with him were similarly attired, commoner and noble alike.  He stepped forward, axe in hand, punching his arm in unison with the crowd, his voice inaudible as the chant reached a crescendo at his appearance, slowly fading as he descended into the crowd, followed by his fellow mourners, a path opening up to let him through.  

In the centre of the mass he stopped, silence reigned once again, the two beings, angel and devil alike, once more shrunken into anonymity.  His voice was low, but amplified by the magic of Kier, the priest of the Forge Father, his brother, standing at his side.

"War it is!  For thirty days we shall mourn, but then we go forth to hunt the forces of Jelial!"

If the chant of the crowd had been loud before, the level it reached now made the noise level before seem a mere whisper.  Midst the ear splitting noise of the crowd around them, the king left, the procession of the mourners, nobles and dignitaries following close behind, only dispersing once the monarch disappeared behind the doors of his keep.

***

In the darkness beyond the gap Gyv, Mekior and Jeria moved towards the bridge.  Once near, they could see its superb workmanship.  Scenes from the celestial spheres were engraved into the floor, angels dancing to hidden music, their forms providing purchase to tired feet, sluicing any water that fell upon the bridge into the darkness below.  The balustrade wall was decorated with carvings of trees and flowers, magnificent colours flowing off it when the light of Gyv's torch touched them.  

Awed, the three began crossing the gap, the sound of roaring water below, the occasional splash of water from below striking them and bringing with it the taste of cool, fresh mountain springs.  The journey across the bridge was comfortable, the stone beneath with its carvings holding them steady, the balustrade guiding them, providing purchase whenever they felt the stone below too slick.  It took them a long while to cross, the day waning outside, according to the devices they carried with them to tell day from night beneath the surface of the world.

The far end of the bridge was much like the side from which they had entered, but the source of the glow they had seen obvious.  A door opening stood in the wall before them, the light of it blinding, far too bright for them to look into and see beyond.  They had to shield their eyes and stumble forward.  They could only hope that beyond the doorway they would not be beset by hidden enemies and struck down while they were bereft of vision.

A vain hope, they knew.  All three were experienced enough to know that this was an ideal way to see those who approached and render them ineffective, while those on guard could plan ahead and react appropriately.  Thus it came as a surprise to them all when they went through the doorway, and into a much larger room only to find it empty, though at some point in time it must have served the purpose they had surmised for it.  Mirrors on the walls focussed the light into the doorway, making the entrance into the room a blinding one, but leaving the room comfortable for those within.

The three looked around the room.  Plain, stark, walls of pure white marble to better reflect the light, with the massive mirrors all around set into the roof, floors and walls, set to focus the light from hundreds of floating balls of light into the single entrance.  They wandered through the room, finding many little indications that once this room had been heavily used.  Discarded detritus such as that left behind by guards who sat for long hours.  A cube for a game of chance, scratch marks against a wall where once weapons had lain in wait, placed by guards weary of carrying their load.  All they found was ancient, the weight of years reducing much of it to rust and chips, leaving nothing of value to be found.  Whenever this room had last seen use, it must have been an age ago which led to the question of how the room had remained so clean and dust free despite its apparent desolation.

"Why?  This room is the perfect entrance, the perfect defensive pattern.  Why is it so abandoned?"  Mekior's voice came from behind a mirror, a hidden window that must have allowed the guards to watch the approaches to the room.  Similar recesses dotted the room, one leading to an ingeniously designed water closet and another to a closed door, which they had yet to investigate.

""Maybe it was no longer needed?"  Jeria's voice carried a questioning tone, his look and tone thoughtful.  "Think on it like this.  They used this room while their outer defences were being prepared.  Once that wall on the outside was up, no enemy could get in.  They cut themselves off and retreated beyond this room, relying on their runes to protect them."

"And an earthquake has destroyed some the runes and left them vulnerable without them knowing."  Gyv's voice carried a sense of wonder, her eyes opening in appreciation of what these people had wrought.  "There were rumours in the past of cities that had disappeared totally; cities that faced no attack, cities that remained free of fiendish molestation, but cities that disapeared, as if they had never existed.  I wonder if those runes are as much a protection against magical spying as they are destructive to those they touch, and our being here a testament to their failure."

Gyv's eyes widened in shock, her voice taking on a new desperation and the depression she had started to express in the last few days.  "If we have found them, and they were so unprepared for our coming, who else may have found this city?  What has become of its people?  We must go forward, warn them of the danger they face!"

Mekior stepped forward, wrapping his arm around her, pulling her close and kissing her on the lips in an attempt to calm her.

"We will go forward, but slowly, carefully.  Who knows how long it has been since last they saw anyone from the outside.  Let us not rush into danger.  The enemy of my enemy may be my enemy as well."

The three regrouped, Jeria going forward to the unlocked door.  His hand crept forward, moving to lift the latch and open the way to whatever lay beyond.  He did not know what stopped him, it was as if some unseen force seemed to grip his hand and prevent it from touching that plain copper piece of metal.  Jeria pulled his hand back, bewildered.  He reached for it again, but found it impossible to move his hand close enough to open it.  

Gyve looked at him and then pushed him back with her elbow.  Carefully she extended her bow scraping the wood of its tip against the door until she reached the latch.  Slowly she pushed the lath up, and they were all startled when with a "click" a small needle shot through, embedding itself within the wood of the bow.  Some thick black sludge coated it, giving off a foul odour.  Gyv looked at Jeria smugly and then smiled.

"I don't know what stopped you, but whatever it was, just saved your life.  Want to take odds that this stuff on the needle is poison?"  With her hand wrapped in a spare shirt, Gyv carefully plied the needle from her bow, making sure that all the residue of whatever the black substance was, got cleared off.

Jeria grinned at her.  "I don't know either, but I am glad for it!"  

Having learnt caution from his near close encounter with the needle, he used his axe to lever the door open and exposed a ramp leading down into darkness; even his fiendish vision showing him only that it soon took a right turn, and that platforms on which archers could have stood overlooked the ramp.  With a nod to the others, he began his descent, followed carefully by Gyv and Mekior.   Behind him, Gyv carried the sole torch to light her, and Mekior's, way.

They followed the ramp down, frequent corners and curves making it easy to defend.  As with the room above, it was deserted.  Unlike the room, it was filled with dust, which provoked coughing fits in Gyv.

"How do you breathe this stuff without it choking you?"  Gyv had just finished coughing, again, and tried to filter the air through a handkerchief tied across her mouth and face.  Her question was directed to Mekior, her mind just writing Jeria's immunity off to his fiendish blood.

"It's not that different to dust we used to find in many caverns around Weald Hall.  Guess I learnt to endure it there."  _Plus there is the fact that I am able to breathe through this as easily as any fiend!  _ His thoughts remained unspoken, but the words he pronounced enough to cure the suspicion of Gyv.  Mekior looked at her and worried that perhaps she had begun to show too much suspicion and the long trips and time together were giving enough clues that she had realise his secret eventually.

He watched her as she moved ahead behind Jeria.  They finally reached level ground, and found a small guardroom, devoid of all decoration, but for an old decayed table.  The three moved forward, heading towards the metal door that lay encrusted with rust and festooned with chains held in place with old, rusted locks.  Jeria rattled them with his axe, and when confident that they concealed no traps, reached out and grabbed hold of a chain.  The iron flaked off in massive swathes, a pile of rusty dust rising where he gripped and leaving the link so brittle that with a simple flick of his wrist it snapped.  In a similar manner, he dealt with the rest of the chains, and the door stood before them unchained and ready to be opened.

"Anyone wonder how they got out of this room?"  Jeria looked at the door, at the chains and locks they had removed.  "If it was chained from this side, and it is the only entrance, how did whomever chained this door, get inside?  I don't trust it, this door is for fools!"

Gyv and Mekior exchanged a glance, the truth of Jeria's statement obvious once they thought about it.  Silently they started searching the room, eventually finding another entrance; this one blocked by a massive slab of stone that had been dropped from above.
"No ways we can lift this."  Mekior slapped the massive stone, "See how it goes through that gap into the ceiling.  No bet that they filled in the gap beyond that so it cannot be lifted from this side!  Question is, how do we get beyond it?"

"We don't."  Gyv's voice was soft, her gaze locked on the stone.  "We break it."  Quietly she went up to the stone, tracing her fingers across it, along the floor.

"The earthquake affected this room.  Look, the floor is cracked and the stone has shifted and crumbled in places.  A few strikes with the axe should suffice.  We should be able to bring it down and open the way forward."

Jeria looked sceptically at where she pointed, but moved forward, swinging the blunt side of his axe head against the rock.  A massive chunk broke off, much to his surprise and exposed a hole in the wall beyond.  Two more strikes and much of the middle of the stone was gone.

"If I do more the whole top part is going to come down, and such a rock fall may well kill us all!  We're going to have to squeeze our way through."  Jeria removed his axe and pack before stepping through, careful not to touch the now crumbling sides.  Once through the others handed him their packs and paraphernalia before they, too, stepped through into the passage that led off. 

The passage started heading upwards, and as they progressed, they could see light filtering from before them, along with the noise of a large market place.  The passage made one last turn, and they found themselves on the edge of a massive amphitheatre, the area filled with the cloth coverings over the stalls of merchants, a seething, endless crowd moving between the rows, haggling and shouting, while guards in purple and white tabards wandered between them, keeping the peace.  The appearance of the three went unnoticed at first, but slowly those below took note of their presence and all eyes turned towards them, particularly to Jeria.  The noise slowly dwindled as the gazes from below focussed on them; and those below wondered where the rest of the fiendish invasion might be.


----------



## Ghostknight (Mar 30, 2007)

*Part 3 Confrontations.  Chapter 19*

In the palace, the king and his family mourned.  They sat in silence, eating only bread and drinking only water.  For thirty days they sat on the floor and slept on beds of iron, symbolic of the anvil on which the Forge Father created the souls of his children.  The city outside moved to the sound of the forges working continuously, the din of metal taking shape, a background noise that never faded no matter if it was night or day.  The city prepared for war.

Within the embassy of the Tower Arcane, Angel and Devil lived in an uneasy truce.  New servants had come to serve within, but the stories of what had happened at the funeral had spread far.  Those who came were wary of Eria, far more so than before the masses had seen his real form.  In comparison, as much as the fear of Eria had grown, Sister Egrit had grown into a figure of awe.  She found herself unable to leave the house due to the crowds she drew whenever she walked the streets.  The first time she did, it almost started a riot as hordes of people tried to get close and bask in the presence of one of the fabled celestials.   Her mere presence , the physical presence of a celestial amongst them, a beacon of hope unheard of in the last three thousand years.

"Eria, we need to do something.  I grow tired of waiting.  After so long and so much hiding, I long for action.  It is time!"

Eria laughed.  "Impatient?  You? I find it interesting that my kind always carries the blame for the inciting of impatience and the desire for war.  Do you find it as ironic as I that we find ourselves with you urging haste to action, to war while I wait patiently, mindful of those who mourn the death of a hero?"

The face of Sister Egrit went red, its colour approaching that of Eria's skin.

"How dare you!  I have sat in hiding for centuries.  I came here as a new born babe, the only way to pierce the Veil set up Jeria to block the descent of any carrying the power of the Celestial spheres, being to send us through stripped of all power and our connection to the spheres severed to avoid detection.  It took centuries of hiding, slowly growing to regain my power.  Even now I do not posses the full extent of my abilities, I ."  She stopped and her eyes were those of the hunting hawk of her natural form.  The thin, narrow, yellow pupils regarded him.  "Do you have any idea how many of us were killed?  How many were tortured and subjected to the diabolical whims of your friends before we discovered the Veil?   That diabolical trap that detected all attempts by those of the Celestial Spheres to come through, stripped them of their power, and dropped them, literally, into Jelial's lap?"  

Eria watched her with interest.  Her anger was blatant and beautiful to his fiendish eyes.  He could see her emotion, the way it boiled and seethed, making her breathless as she vented her frustration and anger at him.  

"No.  We don't know."  Eria spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, "In fact we did not know of the Veil until recently.  The discovery of it was the trigger for our involvement.  We never understood why those of the Celestial Spheres stood idle and allowed Jelial his victory, and the corruption of this world.  We had intended to remain aloof, let the Celestial Spheres expend themselves and their resources to save the world.  We were bemused, and bewildered, at the seeming indifference to the pain and misery that seemed to be the attitude of those that always stood proclaimed as the paragons of virtue and goodness.  The discovery of the Veil gave us an answer, but at the same time showed us how badly we had miscalculated and misunderstood the level of Jelial's power, and his cunning!"

Eria started pacing the room, stopping occasionally to crush a petal of a flower from the vase in the room.  This mindless act of destruction seemed to be something he was not even aware of, a calming action for him.  He stopped, twisting around on his heels, his face against that of Sister Egrit.

"You know what is really painful for us?"  His voice was low, pain evident within.  "We get summoned by some puny, mortal mage and forced to serve his twisted, demented little desires.  No thought or imagination to them, they are always so petty and, often, vindictive.  No grandiose vision drives them, merely the same little desires and twisted dreams that you see repeated so often across the millennia.  A slave to his magic, you serve, and die, at the hands of some despicable little mortal, only to be reborn, in pain, in Hell."

Sister Egrit looked at him, her eyes clouded and giving away nothing of what she was feeling.  "Oh, you are so misunderstood, aren't you?  Poor little devils, abused by the mortals that you corrupt.  Do you really think that I would fall for such a story, Eria?  I may have been forced to shed my power and come through to this existence as a babe, but I am as old as you."

Eria laughed, his eyes twinkling as he looked at her. 

"You can't blame a devil for trying.  It really would be something if I could return to Hell with you as my consort.  Are you sure you do not want to let yourself be seduced?  We devils are very inventive you know."

Sister Egrit's snort of disgust was all the answer she gave.  _He did take my mind off the wait for the king and his family to emerge from mourning.  Wonder if that was his intention, if his confession of pain was just a ruse or not or if his latest offer is genuine?  I hate devils and their subterfuge, their inability to communicate plainly!_  Sister Egrit watched Eria, but could determine nothing more, the devil's emotions and expression as enigmatic as always.

***

Within the palace, the king sat on a low, hard, stone bench.  At his side was his wife of many years, her eyes swollen and red from crying.  Others filled the room, the families of all that had died that day brought together to mourn within the king's home, a place to honour the fallen dead of that day.  D'Fir sat cross-legged before the king and queen.  In honour of his brother, he had shaven his head and sworn that the braids he wore from that day forth would be in remembrance of his brother.  At his side sat his younger siblings, the three boys and four girls all too young to assume the mantle of adulthood and shave their heads in mourning.

The light of a scant few candles lit the room.  The mourners sat in the shadows, comforting the souls of the dead as they moved through the shadows to their ultimate destination within the Forge Father's halls.  Time passed in silent contemplation of the deeds of the dead.  No words left their lips, except for those in remembrance of the departed.  D'Fir felt his mind drifting as fatigue overcame him.  He shook his head to wake himself; to sleep now would be dishonourable.  He looked around, and noted that everyone seemed to be drifting off, that slumber seemed to be overcoming them all.

Perplexed he looked around, and noted, with alarm, that even the guards were sleeping.  D'Fir jumped to his feet.

"Wake one, wake all!  We are under attack!"  His voice boomed out, those in the room raising groggy heads to look at the prince as if he were mad.  Not for long did they doubt him though, for a low growl came from the roof, followed by the sound of scampering feet.  As the noise faded, the lethargy that had afflicted them passed; carried away by whatever had come to attack, foiled by the prince who had not succumbed.

An alert, awake king stood up.  His eyes held barely contained fury as his hands opened and closed rhythmically as if they grasped for an axe, which was not present.

"We seem to have no time for mourning!  Very well, let the scum that would deny me even the time to mourn my son in a proper fashion learn what it means to incur the wrath of the family of Wevern; to rouse the anger of Fort Livian!"  

With his right hand, he reached out, and gripped D'Fir's shoulder.  

"You shall be the War Marshal, my strong right hand to lead our forces to glorious victory!  Go, now, and prepare the troops.  I shall discuss with those who know best where we should strike first!"

D'Fir sank, his head rested on his knee briefly, before standing and exiting the room.  Behind him came Kutil, Captain of the guard and a life long friend.  The two strode through the corridors of the keep, heading towards the high tower that marked its centre.  Up the winding staircase they went, climbing, rising above the tallest of the buildings in the city below.  At the top, D'Fir stood before a massive horn.  Each end had a brass ring to which chains of silver-steel, from which the horn hung, were attached.  Kutil bowed his head as D'Fir stepped forward and blew.

The note was long and, as it continued, the activity in the city below ceased.  In homes, in the marketplace, amongst warehouses and business that made up the life of the city by day, people came to a standstill.  Heads turned towards the tower, listening as the single, long note continued.  Tools were set down and haggling ceased as many turned towards home.  Weapons would be claimed and armour donned.  The muster had begun.

Within the Embassy of the Tower Arcane Eria and Sister Egrit heard the horn.  Both understood its significance.  Eria looked at Sister Egrit.

"It has begun, but early.  Let us hope haste does not lead to our undoing."

***

Gyv, Jeria and Mekior sat in the cell, deep within the bowels of the dungeon.  It was quite comfortable, as far as dungeons went; the walls were dry and the floor was covered with some sort of aromatic plant stalks to mask the smell of excrement and unwashed bodies.  Torches dotted the walls, illuminating it well enough that all could see without too much trouble. No matter how comfortable, though, it was still a dungeon cell.

"You think they'll talk to us before they kill us?"  Mekior tried to make his banter sound light, but the others could hear the tension, the stress of their situation getting to him.

"I'm pretty sure they will.  I expect they will test us somehow and, once satisfied we are not fiends, will talk to us."  Gyv glanced over to Jeria, "Of course if they use the kind of testing pin we do, it is going to kill you!"

_And me, though she does not know it! _  Mekior looked at his companions, wondering how they would avoid being tested.  Mekior knew that if both Jeria and he were exposed as carrying the blood of fiends, Gyv would die, regardless of any protestations of innocence.  He moved to the door and looked through the bars to the two guards who sat well back from them, alert and attentive every time someone spoke or moved within their cell.

"Is there any chance of us speaking to someone?"  The request was met with the same indifference all their utterances had received since the guards had escorted them from the ridge overlooking the market place.  It had all been quite cordial so far.  The guards had arrived and fallen in around them, making it clear where they should go; they had descended the ridge and edged along the outskirts of the market until the guards had led them to the stairs that took them down into the earth, and this dungeon.  

So the three sat, waiting for something to happen, with all their equipment and weapons in the cell with them, which kept them wondering what the guards were waiting for.  A day passed, then another two days.  The three fed themselves off the food in their backpacks, idly watched by the guards that changed at regular intervals.  

The light had begun to dim outside, and the noises from the nearby marketplace diminishing as traders closed their stalls and headed home, when someone finally arrived.  He was tall and completely bald, not even his eyebrows remained; a large nose was the most remarkable feature of his face, the small mouth almost lost beneath its girth.  His clothing was made of some shimmering material that reflected the light as he moved.

"I am Vinian, Master of the Market.  I am sorry it has taken so long for me to come to you, but I have been trying to find out which faction sent you.  We had no notification of your embassy.  If you could please enlighten me as to your faction and whom you represent within it, we can start discussing the terms of our trade within more congenial environments."  Vinian smiled, but his smile was disconcerting, revealing a mouth filled with teeth, row after row of small, sharp incisors visible, extending even into his throat.

"Master Vinian, I am Mekior of Harmony Lake.  My two companions are Jeria, also of Harmony Lake, and Gyv, from Gunder's Hall.  We are travellers that arrived here unexpectedly.  We do not know of your factions, we represent the hidden cities of Gunder's Hall and Lake Harmony.  We came here seeking allies, but trade would be welcomed."

The Master opened the door to the dungeon, coming to inspect each one in turn.  He reached out, touching the blade of Jeria, tracings its runes and cold iron inlay.

"You come well armed and prepared; your packs are enchanted to hold more than they should and your weaponry is worth a king's ransom."  From within the folds of his robe he removed a small box of powder.

He looked over Jeria, "It is obvious that you have fiendish blood, but what of your companions, are they what they seem?"  He flung the powder into the air, chanting as he did so.

The powder fell on all three of the travellers.  For Gyv and Jeria it felt as if nothing more than dust had been thrown onto them, but for Mekior the effect was dramatic.  He felt as if a thousand needles were piercing his flesh; he screamed, rolling on the floor, leaving a trail of blood from pores that oozed with red.  Jeria and Gyv watched in horror as his form bubbled, as the straps that held his armour in place stretched and then snapped, his true form emerging.

As Gyv and Jeria watched, entranced and horrified at this transformation, Vinian watched them, chanting under his breath, eyes glowing as he regarded them.

"It would seem that you two are as appalled as I am.  Your companion is obviously something other than what he seemed.  Come, you two shall be my guests while we discuss what brings you to my halls.  Others shall undertake the odious task of questioning this fiend."

He smiled at the two, "We are used to half-fiends, and the fiend-blooded, within these halls.  I bear such myself.  But that is no half-fiend or one afflicted by their evils!"

Vinian bowed, sweeping his arm to Gyv and Jeria to precede him out the door.  The two guards outside the cell stood at attention and saluted them as they left.  As they ascended the stairs, they saw the two guards enter the cell and pick up Mekior, his blood staining the floor below.  Held firmly between them they could see him being taken further into the dungeon complex and out of their sight.

"We will learn who he is, and what he does, why he has deceived you.  Never fear, my inquisitors are very good at their jobs!"

Their hearts heavy, their emotions shattered at the revelation of Mekior's true form, Gyv and Jeria followed the Master up the stairs and into the city that now welcomed them into its midst.


----------



## Ghostknight (Apr 2, 2007)

*Chapter 20*

D'Fir sat in the war council and listened as the King's advisors discussed the planned attack.

General D'Haan was the focus of attention around the table.  "The defences around Crossroad are minimal; the slave pens are an easy staging ground into the city itself."   

D'Fir looked at the ancient general; one who had proven himself in battle many a time, but also one that had never faced an enemy from the outside.  His battles had always been against those from beneath the earth.

"With all due respect I question your intelligence on this, General D'Haan.  The town you speak of is a major staging ground for the devils.  The town is known as a crossroads; the defences are there, just not visible.  Speak to our allies, particularly those from Harmony Lake whose Outwalkers make our scouts look like children playing in the park.  You do not even know the town's true name, referring to it by the name that slaves are forced to use for it, Crossroad.  You know the real name for it?   K'op D'Regh.  You speak infernal, the Devil's tongue?  Well, in case you don't it means 'The Gate of Red'"

D'Fir leaned forward, "You know why it is called that?  It refers to the amount of blood they spill to open a gate between Crossroad and their cities across the entire continent.  Attack Crossroad and you have every major city on the continent funnelling their armies against you!"

General D'Haan smiled.

"I may be old, but I am not stupid.  I speak infernal almost as well as my native tongue.  I know of Crossroad, and its other name.  I still say we attack it."  He leaned back, an enigmatic smile on his face.

_Ok, what has the old soldier got in mind?_  "Care to enlighten me as to why we should attack a city that can bring more troops to bear than we have people living in the entire city?"  D'Fir looked at the old General, awaiting an answer from the experienced officer.

"A diversion.  We attack there, but keep another force ready to attack elsewhere.  The most likely place for them to bring troops from is Whale Bay, a naval town with a massive garrison that they use to keep the coastal communities in line.  Most of the time they sit around idle, garrison troops with nothing to do.  Ill disciplined they will be the first to be brought in, the first troops to bolster the defence.  For our purposes, Whale Bay is too far away.  There is no way for us to get enough troops there to threaten it.  The next most likely garrison they are likely to strip is the Fort of Peaks.  A city within a military installation; few enter it that are not fiends, half-fiends or their descendants.  The ones that live there are arrogant; secure within their walls, secure in the mistaken belief that none would dare attack."  The General stood up, walking around the table, placing his hand on D'Fir's shoulder.

"The main problem we face is; how can we keep the forces at Crossroad tied up long enough to get them to siphon forces off from not only Whale Bay but from the Fort of Peaks as well?  The secondary problem is not that much easier to solve, how do we get our forces in place to attack?"

D'Fir looked at the old General in awe.  And I thought to lecture him!  Time to show him the deference he deserves, it's obvious he has something in mind...

D'Fir looked over his shoulder, placing his hand on top of the General's hand that lay upon his shoulder.

"Ok General, what's the plan?  I can see that you are just dying to tell me."

The General laughed and moved back to his place at the table.  He looked around the table, his gaze locked with that of the King and then D'Fir.

"I am hoping our friends here can help us."  The General turned to Eria and Sister Egrit.  "Correct me if I'm wrong, Eria, but you are capable of teleporting a group of people."  He turned and looked at Sister Egrit, "As can your kind, I believe, and many of the mages from the Tower Arcane.  Between all of your resources, how many soldiers would you be able to transport?"

Eria looked at the General incredulously.  "You want me to transport your troops?  What makes you think I will do this, place myself at risk?"

Sister Egrit gave Eria a dirty look, before looking at the General, "I can bring about ten; the other mages from the Tower Arcane should be able to bring another five hundred, but few of the mages will stay to fight.  They are academics, not warriors."

D'Fir turned to Eria.  "Come now, Ambassador.  Your Master promised us assistance.  Surely helping us to move troops is an action he can take?"

Eria looked at the people gathered around the table.  "I will consult with him, and hear his answer."  He stood up, moving the chair out of his way.  "I will need to change to my natural form.  I hope no one will be too offended," his sardonic glance around the table, following his last statement, a challenge to all present to voice their dissent.  His figure blurred and expanded outwards, his figure growing, forcing him to bend over as he was too tall to stand within the room.  He sat down cross-legged, with his massive head bowed, the horned crest above furrowing into the stone roof.  He closed his eyes, hands clasped in front of him. 

He opened his eyes and a stream of blue energy shot from each one, intersecting in a ball of eye burning brightness just above his hands.  Slowly the brightness passed, and the head of Secheriab appeared in its place.  

"You disturb my recreation.  This best be of import; my concubines await my return, and a most delectable morsel is screaming in the dungeons below."  The head rotated, taking in the room behind Eria.

"Ahh, you are not alone then, my Ambassador.  Greetings to you King D'Miniel, Prince D'Fir; and is that General D'Haan sitting in council?  A true honour General, your reputation is well known to many."

The General looked taken aback, his eyes narrowed as he regarded the conjured image.

"How do you know of me, fiend?  I have had no truck with any of your kin!"  The General's voice was harsh, the tone demanding.

"Come now, General.  Do you think Jelial is the only one who can infiltrate spies into your city?  We have watched the goings on within your city for over a decade.  The cities of the Dark Paeons and many others have been under observation at the same time.  The only places we have not been able to infiltrate have been the Tower Arcane and the cities of the Arleogh.  The first due to the presence of the few celestials amongst them, as well as the Tower's arcane protections, the latter due to their mental prowess and the impossibility of our spies to hide amongst them."  Secheriab paused, his face smoothing out as all watched, his eyes changed to hollow orbs before returning to their previous appearance.

"Someone seeks us!  They are trying to trace me through this arcane connection.  Speak quickly; tell me what you contacted me for, why you risk bringing Jelial down on me."

"The natives seek our assistance.  They wish us to help transport their troops to battle."  Eria spoke quickly, his voice gruff.  "I seek your guidance, do I assist them, place myself on the battlefield; perhaps even use some of the lesser fiends to assist?"

Secheriab looked thoughtful, his eyes once again disappearing.  "Help them Eria, but do not risk yourself unnecessarily.  I will also send a group of the Gir'Thia to assist."  

The image disappeared suddenly, far quicker than Eria had expected and the backlash of arcane energy from its disappearance a blazing lance that caused him to clutch his head and bellow in pain.  He recovered quickly, his form blurring as he changed back to his alternate shape.  He turned to look at the King and his advisors.

"It seems that you are getting what you wanted and more!  For those of you that do not know, the Gir'Thia are an elite group of warriors, all with some measure of arcane power.  A full squad of them can transport your entire army, and siege weaponry, if you so desire.  General, however many of your troops you need transported, we can move them."

The General smiled, "We have what we need then.  The Fort of Peaks isn't going to know what has hit them!"

***

Vinian sat in a deep, plush, blue velvet covered chair.  He sipped from a long crystal flute, the sparkling wine within reflecting the light from the torches set along the walls of the office.

"So you are looking for allies to fight against the devils, to stand up to the scourge that was able to wipe out the entirety of our worlds armies and heroes without any measurable slowing in their conquests.  Now, from hiding, with all of us living in terror and our armies but fractions of their size that they once were, you want to try and defeat them?"

Vinian swirled the wine in its glass, watching the bubbles rise.  Jeria started to speak, only to stop as Vinian raised his hand.  

"I put it in the harshest possible terms so you can understand the difficulty I will have taking this proposal to the ruling council.  We have a major issue that is not going to go away; one that is going to make many people very uncomfortable.  How did you all get in?  How did you even find the hidden gate?"

Vinian stood, leaving his glass on the desk behind which he had been sitting.  He walked around, sitting on the desk's edge, facing the two travellers.

"Our last major defence is gone.  For over two thousand years, it kept us safe and hidden.  With it in place, no magic could find us and no devil could infiltrate us.  We have grown complacent, the entrance ways left unguarded.  Our hidden kingdom covers six cities, our water is pure and clean, never from the outside in case of contamination.  You are the first outsiders to enter our kingdom in all this time. "

He shook his head, tears visible within his eyes.  "We are vulnerable, who knows if the devils know where we are, if they are right now standing out there with an army, descending the ramps.  No one living today understands the runes or knows the meaning behind them.  We cannot repair the wall; our defences are weak, even if they are still partially effective.  There is no way for us to retain our current life, our complacency."

"Will you help us?"  Jeria spoke softly.  He had been surprised at the large number of fiend-blooded individuals in the city.  Most of the population showed some hint of fiend blood within them.  In the week since they had been let out of the dungeon, he had wandered through the city when he had not been involved in talks with Vinian.  He had been astounded that Gyv, her features scarred but obviously free of any fiendish blood or taint had attracted more stares than his blatantly fiendish features had.  It had been hard for her to accept the stares and comments as she passed the people in the streets.  With her former beauty hidden by the disfigurement, the emotional impact of the stares and comments had driven her into herself, an introspective despair discolouring her life.  The result was the complete opposite of what experience had taught him was reality, he did the negotiating, better able to communicate and identify with the Master of the Market than the pureblooded human could.

As he waited for an answer, Vinian returned to his seat, slowly sipping at his wine.  He remained quiet, disturbingly quiet.

_What is he waiting for?  He seems to be wasting time, waiting for something to happen._  The door to the office opened and two guards came in, dragging a comatose being between them.  They dropped the person at the feet of the chairs of Gyv and Jeria, and the face of Mekior, battered, bruised and disfigured stared up at them.  A pale faced, emaciated woman entered the room.  She wore a black leather apron over dark linen clothes.  Suspicious stains covered her hair, dried blood stuck beneath her fingernails.  Her dark eyes resembled those of a cat, her mouth a sharp line across her face.

Vinian's query broke the silence, "Ahh, finally.  Please, tell us, Frizes, what did our unconscious friend on the floor there have to tell you?"  

The woman's voice was high pitched and grated on their ears; a piercing whistle accompanied each word as air whistled between needle shaped teeth.

"Nothing interesting about the fiends, but interesting in other ways I suppose.  He is a traitor to his own kind.  He took on the shape of a boy that had been captured, and killed by fiends, watching as his fiendish companions faced, and were killed, by the forces of the city.  He moved into the human city and lived with them, became one of them as far as he could.  HE altered his native magic to hide him, prevent detction, making him far less powerful than many of his own kind.  He became an expert at finding and killing his own kind to protect the humans.  Even more surprising is that he actually loves the woman here, but was too scared of rejection to tell her the truth."  She laughed.  "Yes, a fiend that has fallen in love with humanity, and with a human.  I, for one, would vouch for him.  As a fiend he is not powerful, but as an ally he would be most useful!"

Gyv looked down at the unconscious Mekior.

"He truly loves me?  It was not just the act of a fiend trying to deceive us all?"  Tears started pouring down her ruined face as she knelt by his side, her hands stroking his face.  _He has loved me and sat by me while I felt sorry for myself.  He has looked past my face, my betrayals, my past to love me, can I do any less?_

Jeria watched her and then looked at Vinian.  "So, what now?  Is he free, are you going to assist us?"  

"I will take your request to the ruling council, the representatives of all six cities as well as to our militia and what religious authorities have survived.  They will need to take decisions on how to defend us now that our main protection is breached.  I will also ask them what to do about your request.  In the meantime, enjoy our city; you are free to go where you would, as is your companion.  When he awakens, apologise for his discomfort," Vinian looked at Frizes before continuing, "I'm afraid that some extremely painful means were used to extract information and to make sure he was telling the truth.  He has been healed, though the memories of what was done may take a while to lose their sting."

He stood up, bowed to the three, and left the room, trailed by Frizes and the guards.  It was clear to the three travellers that negotiations were complete.

***

"What have you learnt, Gerion?"  Jelial's voice was dangerously calm.  Gerion had known him long enough to read the danger signs and knew that the recent developments were worrying Jelial.

"We know that Secheriab has been sent by the Lord of the Eighth to head his forces on this world.  We also know that Eria has been sent as his second in command."  Gerion paced in front of Jelial's throne.  "We also think the Lord of the Eighth has sent some of his elite forces with them.  Not many, but it may be enough to cause us some problems."

Jelial squinted at Gerion.  "How did you find this out, and what elite forces are you talking about?  How much of a problem are we talking about?"

"We learnt this when Secheriab talked to Eria using an arcane connection.  Khiss was able to intercept part of the communication, but not all of it.  We don't know what is planned but we do know that Eria is to help the natives, as are the Gir'Thia."  Gerion hesitated, seeing the look of horror coming onto Jelial's face.

"We doubt that Secheriab will let them be put directly in harms way.  The most likely scenario is that he will send one or two of them to provide token support to whatever plan the dwarves and their allies are concocting."

Jelial looked at Gerion incredulously.  "You think the Gir'Thia will accept such a passive role?  They are a bunch of bloodthirsty warriors who specialise in hunting down their own kind and administering punishments on behalf of the Lords of Hell.  I should know; I was once one of them before I grew into my full power.   I was mistaken; I thought this was the initial foray, that the Lords would test me before committing great force to this conflict."

_He is scared!  He talks of the Gir'Thia as if I have never encountered them.  He forgets, I have faced and defeated them in the past and shall do so again.  I can make this work for me, use his fear against him and usurp his power and throne. _  "My Lord, what.."

"Quiet, Gerion.  You will use whatever means you can to find out what is planned by the vermin that infest my world."  Jelial watched as Gerion left, his thoughts whirling as watched Gerion’s form disappearing from his hall.  _He grows restless; I wonder how much he can still be trusted.  He also abuses Khiss.  Those kobolds are essential, they are few and we cannot afford the loss of one as powerful as Khiss.  Perhaps the time has come for Gerion to be lost in battle._ 

"Priet."  Jelial's summons was soft, but the attentive attendant arrived to genuflect before Jelial in mere seconds.

"M'lord, you called?"  Priet stood before Jeliel awaiting his orders,

"Priet, get hold of Redili, he will be needed soon."

"M'lord, as you wish," Priet left the throne room, hastening to fulfil his orders. _ What does he want with the Master Assassin, especially straight after a meeting with Gerion?  I wonder what this would be worth to Gerion if I were to dangle this piece of information before him?_


----------



## Land Outcast (Apr 3, 2007)

Wow man, nice-a-setting and nice-a-story


----------



## Land Outcast (Apr 4, 2007)

Just finished reading chapter 14.
Man, now you left me wanting to re-read blackdirge's stuff (after reading this, of course).

I won't post comments on the story until I catch up with your writting (3a.m. here, you've got the merit of keeping me awake and interested).


----------



## Need_A_Life (Apr 4, 2007)

[insert feces-related curse]!

False alarm... my subscription told me that there'd been an update... but it was only a reply   

I think it's a reasonable assumption on my part to think:
A) I really need to calm down and
B) I'm already addicted to this


----------



## Ghostknight (Apr 11, 2007)

*Chapter 21*

Mekior sat eating, stuffing food into his mouth hungrily.  Gyv looked at him and wondered if he had eaten in the time he had been gone.

"Slow down, my love.  If you eat too fast you will damage yourself."  Gently she reached out and her hand touched his, holding it back as he chewed messily, bits of food falling from the corners of his mouth.  "Eat slowly; the food is here to stay."  Like a child she coaxed him on, regulating him, making sure he did no damage to himself as he filled his empty stomach.

In time, Mekior seemed to gain control and the frenetic stuffing of food and gulping of drink became a gentler and less frenetic activity.  

"Gyv, perhaps you can imagine what I went through, what insane tortures they put me through.  That humans can behave in such a manner is beyond my comprehension.  They did things that I have never heard of even the fiends doing.  I was not the only one down there, Gyv."

He stopped talking, his eyes taking on a distant, hollow look.  "Anyone they suspect is taken down there for questioning.  Those who can survive their interrogation for three days are deemed innocent and sent away, healed.  The others suffer further tortures unless they give up their compatriots.  I wonder how many innocent people cry out in despair and give up more innocents just to get the torturers to stop?"

"They threatened me with the fate of the ones they find guilty.  Perhaps you saw it in the market place?  They say they have a grisly display of those who cavorted with fiends, that they skin them and stuff the skins with straw to give a mockery of their semblance in life.  The macabre remains are left to rot in full view of all.  Gyv, they fight a religious war down here, not just a war against fiends.  I did not understand much of what I overheard, my own pain was too great, but we must watch what we say unless we want to be accused of heresy and have our skins removed to decorate the market place!"

"Mekior, you are back with us.  You will not face those torturers again."  Gyv came forward, taking Mekior in her powerful arms, her hug a circle of safety for the tortured fiend.  Within that circle, Mekior finally relaxed.  Tears streamed down from his face, and uncontrollable sobs wracked his body as Gyv held him close.  

Jeria looked on, feeling unnecessary, an unwelcome third in the drama of the two lovers before him.  He stood to go, silently crossing the room to step out, only to be stopped as Mekior reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it as if to ensure it was real, and not just a figment of his imagination.  So the tableau was set; Gyv and Mekior clinched together with Jeria's hand firmly within Mekior's grasp, when the door opened and the small devil appeared.

"Masters, your presence is demanded by the triumvirate."  The devil laughed at their shocked faces as it gleefully threw a sphere down in front of them.  For the three, the world in front of them blacked out, blurring into nothingness, becoming insubstantial, as a new cavern opened before them, one filled with flame, smoke, and the unending cries of those who felt pain but had given up hope.

*** 

The strike force stared at the massive fortress ahead of them.

"No wonder they feel no need to keep forces here to defend it.  That place is powerful enough that a handful of soldiers could hold back an entire army!"  D'Fir stared at the massive edifice, wondering at the rocks that had been smoothed, and then raised into the sky.  Impossibly smooth, it was obvious that magic must have been used to construct such an edifice; it seemed the height of hubris to think that the 1000 dwarves under his command could breech those walls.  Yet just as magic could raise such an edifice, so it could be powerful enough to bring it down.   _The Gir'Thia had best not let us down.  If they do not come as promised, we are doomed!_

Miles away on the plains outside of Crossroad, General D'Haan looked over the troops that had amassed and awaited his command.  The eaves of the forest were at their backs, the plains hugging the forest and the road to the city a natural place for them to assemble within.  The city was out of sight, a hillock blocking the sight of the arrival of the forces from the city's defenders.  A green clad dwarf came up to the General, his clean-shaven face and cut of clothes marked him as one not native to Fort Livian.  General D'Haan searched his clothes for some clue as to who he was, and saw the emblem embroidered within his clothes, an Outwalker from Lake Harmony.

"Seria, right?  What news do you bring?"  General D'Haan's voice was soft, but the effect of his having recognized the other was obvious.  The Outwalker's chest expanded with pride from the recognition by such a legendary figure.

"M'lord General, the city is quiet.  It would appear that our arrival has gone unnoticed.  Their guards are asleep and the slave pens still in darkness.  They won't blow the horns to rouse them for a while yet," he smiled at the General, risking the familiarity, "they are ripe for the slaughter, General!  Let us destroy the devils this day!"

The General smiled back, his hand reaching out and clasping the shoulder of the scout in a gesture of brotherly camaraderie. 

"Soon enough, Seria.  Go and see if any of the mages that have stayed are prepared to fight.  Send any that are willing to me."  He smiled as he watched the young scout nimbly darting back into the mass of milling dwarves that, as he watched, his sergeants and officers were organising into the pre-planned formations for the attack.  _Ahh Seria, what would you say if you knew that we were merely a decoy?  That our lives are forfeit to make sure our compatriots are successful?  With luck, we will survive the day, but in my heart I do not know if I truly wish to survive to see the final war!_

D'Haan sat musing awhile, watching as a group of mages made their way forward.  They all wore blue robes, but those of the more powerful shimmered with the arcane power threaded into their weave.  They stopped before D'Haan, six of them in all.  D'Haan stood and bowed to them, knowing that for these men of the book, the bloodletting and chaos about to erupt would be a massive change from their everyday, sheltered existence.

"I am honoured that you have placed such confidence in me.  Come, I will show you what I need of you."  Carefully D'Haan and the six crept up the hill, peering over the edge.  He turned and looked at the magi before him.

"Do you see the fence of the slave quarters?  On the far side, near the forest eaves, there is a guard tower.  Are any of you capable of drawing enough power down there to destroy that tower and breach the fence?"

"A slave rescue mission, General?"  The speaker was a middle-aged mage, his face scarred with a myriad of tiny scars and one eye permanently clouded from either injury or disease.  Though he seldom left the tower, Tercian was well known to many, a mage that many felt might one day find his way into the annals as an arch-mage.

Another of the mages, a young boy, his robes obviously new and his clean face a testimony to a beard not yet growing, cleared his throat.  "I wish I could help you, General, but I am not powerful enough for that as yet.  Though there are some amongst us that most assuredly are!"  His guarded look at the older mage made it clear to whom he was referring.

"No, it is more than a slave rescue mission."  D'Haan looked at Tercian, knowing that he was surely the most powerful of those present and thus their spokesman.  "I want the chaos of guards running to block their escape to cover up what will be done next.  After that guard tower is down and the slaves start their run to freedom, I want you to aim for the front gate."  He smiled as they started; the massive iron and stone front gates were well beyond the power of any known mage to split asunder.

"I do not look for you to destroy them, merely to scour their ramparts and do as much damage as you can."  He leaned towards them, speaking softly, conspiratorially.  "We are trying to draw their forces out, get them to activate the Gate to bring more warriors to this spot.  In case you were wondering where your compatriots, including Sister Egrit are, they are waiting at the true target.  We must create chaos; thus the strike at the slave pens.  They need blood for their Gate; they have to secure the slaves and thus a dual strike at the pens and the front gate will make them believe they must bring those additional forces in as soon as possible, rather than wait for when they are sure they will need them."

Tercian looked at General D'Haan and the young mage, a wry smile twisting up his mouth.  "Never fear Gorgio, I will help.  General D'Haan, you play an interesting game- threaten their ability to bring more troops in later in the battle and they have to bring them in early.  Also, probably the reason you haven't worried over much about getting the mages into the battle.  You need us to haul you all out once we get their massed armies coming through their Gate.  Does that mean that one of the garrisons they will strip to attack us is the actual target?" 

He stopped talking, eyes sparkling.  "I do not expect an answer, it is probably best in case something untoward happens, and it would be better for me to not know too much."

Standing, he moved to the top of the hill and stared out at the massive, sprawling city with its winding wall that did not encompass the slave quarters.  His arms moved, his voice inaudible from the rising wind.  With an emphatic gesture, he pointed towards the guard tower and a column of flame roared down from the empty sky, engulfing the tower and the fence on either side.  The flames around the tower stayed, a column of flame that burned hotter than any fire should as it incinerated those that stood within the tower and reduced the fence to ash, setting alight those sections near the roaring flame.

Eyes burning with power, he turned and faced the city's main gate, once more gesturing, and another tower of flame scoured the gate with its overlooking battlements and the great tower, which housed the winch to shut the entrance.  Smiling he turned to the General and whispered, "I hope that suffices," before gently crumbling to the ground, exhausted from his endeavours.

Gorgio stood over him, looking at the two roaring columns of flame that continued to burn.

"Act quickly, General.  He burns to keep those flames burning; he has tied his very life to those flames."

***

Hilo looked at the human child that lay upon his bed.  The young human smelt and glowed from the oils in which he she had been bathed.  Her body shone slightly in the low light of the room.  His minions knew what he liked; she knew only luxury, brought up in comfort, her every whim indulged, her ten years ones of pleasure and comfort.  All that was about to change, she would soon learn what pain meant and her screams as he abused her body all the more delicious since he knew they were her first.  She looked up at him, no hint of fear at the sight of his red and black mottled skin, the yellow horns, short and razor sharp that crowned his head, a slight reddish liquid visible at their base, a liquid that could dissolve the skin of a foe if he so chose.  He smiled; truly this would be most pleasurable!

Hilo had just started, the young girl lay there in chains, welts appearing on her body from each stoke of the whip that fell across her body, when the screams started.  At first the sounds from outside were indistinguishable from those within, but gradually the smell of burning and drumming of feet made him realise that something was amiss.  Pausing just long enough to throw a robe over his nakedness, he stood still for a moment, a blue eyelid flickering over his copper eyeballs, before his body faded and reappeared before the massive archway of the Gate, the cobbles in the square before it stained red.

He turned to a white robed fiend that stood to the side of the Gate.  "What is happening?  Who has attacked us?"  

The robed fiend looked at the city's lord, and sank to one knee.  With head bowed and a voice that sounded like the growl of a wild dog it answered, "It is the dwarves, Master.  A mage is with them and has called down a column of fire upon the fence of the slave pens as well as upon the gate; none can enter the tower to winch the gates shut.  It burns with more than just heat, it is suffused with holy energy!"

Hilo looked at the bowed figure and let out a great bellow of rage.  His foot shot out faster than even the reflexes of a fiend could follow.  The claws of his foot cut through the muscles, bone and vessels in the bowed fiend's head, sending it flying across the square, painting the arch of the Gate with sprays of blood.  Hilo turned around, catching sight of another Gate attendant, standing stunned and shocked at the casual violence he had just witnessed.

"Get slaves here, now!  Start bleeding them to bring in reinforcements from the Fort of Peaks."  Hilo's voice boomed out across the square causing a flurry of activity.  One of the white robed attendants looked at him, her voice timid.

"Master, shouldn't we bring the garrison from Whale Bay first?"  She kept her head down, inching back, hoping she was out of range of the deadly being that ruled the city.

Hilo looked at her, and at the scurrying in the square as slaves were dragged forward, and others went towards the slave pens to bring out the masses of slaves whose blood would power the portal.  "You speak well.  What is your name, attendant?"

"Mepier, Master."  She kept her voice low and managed to control her trembling.  

_Never before had she addressed, or been addressed, by the City Master.  Perhaps now was the time for her promotion within the hierarchy, her chance to drink at the font of power._

"Mepier.  I shall remember that.  Open the Gate to the Fort of Peaks, now.  Whale Bay is almost empty.  A den of sea elves was discovered recently, and the genocide of those beings is considered more important than maintaining reserve forces when there are other fonts of support.  Take charge of the Gate for now.  Open it speedily, Mepier.  Our foes show their intent by creating a path by which the slaves can escape; they hope to cut off our means of obtaining more troops."  He turned away, heading towards the front gate.  At the edge of the square he turned and looking at Mepier who stood in the midst of carnage, her white robes covered in the blood of the slaves whose hearts she ripped out from their chests and tossed into a niche at the base of the arch.  He called out to her as he left, "Mepier, fail to open that gate in time or force me to use devil's blood to summon aid and your heart will join the pile."  He turned away, knowing without looking, the frenzied pace at which Mepier would now work to make sure the Gate was opened in time.

At the main entrance to the city he stood, staring at the column of fire that burned down, preventing anyone from closing the gate.  In the distance, upon a low hill he saw the dwarves, their siege engines moving forward and preparing to attack; armoured troops heading towards the gate that could not be closed.  He smiled, stepping into the column of flame, feeling the intense heat burn his clothing away the holy energy biting into his skin, his own unholy nature screaming at its touch.  He raised his arms, the dissonant clicks and guttural utterings of the fiendish tongue shaping power, as he drew the force powering the fire within himself.  Behind it, he found the thread that led to the mage that had cast and empowered the spell.  Smiling he followed the thread, drawing the very life force of the mage out of the luckless being and using it to refresh, and empower himself.  He felt the cord stretch, the pain of the mage from whom he drew the life force.  It was energising, and the taste of the mage's death as it followed on from the sucking out of the last bit of his life force invigorating, a nectar he seldom tasted, especially from one as powerful as this!

With the flames gone, lesser devils charged into the tower, driving slaves before them.  Screams of pain from burnt feet were ignored, harshly barbed whips applied liberally to those who faltered.  The heated metal of the gate winch burned the hands of the slaves to the bone, but they pushed, ignoring the disfigurement and crippling effects of the heated metal, the example of one of their number shredded by the whips, his body left lying, bleeding and dismembered in front of them; a motivating factor in their obedience.

Outside in the square, the stolen life force of hundreds of slaves had its effect and the pile of hearts burnt, consumed in a burst of brilliant white flame.   The Gate opened, disgorging measured ranks of devils, marching out and splitting up, with some heading to cover the gap in the slave pens, now no longer blocked by the column of flame, as others heading towards the gate.

***

On the hill above the city, a devil stood beside General D'Haan.  "You have your troops from the Fort of Peaks, General.  They are here, now.  See how they line the wall and the gate."  The devil smiled; the bloodlust clear in his eyes.  He looked at where the five remaining mages that had indicated their willingness to fight sat over the body of Tercian.  "I will tell the others that the time for their attack has come.  Good luck, General.  Maybe next time we will get to kill together."

The tall, emaciated looking devil drew a viciously barbed scythe, its black blade adorned with red runes that burned, flames dancing along them from time to time.  He wore black armour adorned with similar runes and viscous looking barbs and blades.  Standing close to him the General could smell his perpetual stench of rotting flowers.  Five other similar devils appeared to join him.  "Survive this battle, General.  I wish to meet you again."  The Gir'Thia evaporated, leaving behind nothing but the stench of rotting flowers as they headed to the bloodletting to come at the Fort of Peaks


----------



## Mahtave (Apr 11, 2007)

Wow.

I think no other explanation is needed.  

Excellent write-up Ghostknight!


----------



## Ghostknight (Apr 13, 2007)

*Chapter 22*

Gerion stood hunched over a three dimensional map of the area surrounding Ger City.   A conceit on his part to rename the city, once the capital of a human empire, but Jelial did not mind as long as the taxes flowed.  He traced his finger along the rivers and the spine of the great mountain range.  The area of Fort Livian was clearly marked, and not just from the frequent tapping of his claw against the map.  Once again, he admitted defeat internally; no sudden spark of inspiration had come to him on how he could bring about its downfall.

Into his silent contemplation came the disconcerting presence of Priet.  Gerion looked at the little imp with disgust.  His intense dislike of the puny creature was well known, yet Priet presumed on his closeness with Jelial to protect him from Gerion's wrath.  Gerion often contemplated ridding himself of his odorous presence and apologising to Jelial later, yet he held back.  For Priet to be here meant that either he came with Jelial's blessing, or with something he felt would protect him.

"What do you want, you loathsome little dropping?  What brings you here where you know your life is forfeit?"

Priet looked unconcerned, but kept a safe distance, out of Gerion’s reach.  He knew that a physical attack was the least of his worries, yet at least this way he could avoid a casual slap or talon.

"I have come to make a deal, Gerion.  My place in the hierarchy remains stagnant.  I want to drink from the font. I want more power!"

Gerion considered the imp, "What makes you think that I will deal with you?  You are loathsome, little insect.  Letting you drink from the font, letting you grow in stature and form is not of the remotest interest to me.  Why should I do such a thing?"

Priet knew he was treading on treacherous ground.  If Gerion rejected him, he would have forfeited protection of Jelial and would not live for long.  He licked his lips, his voice coming out confidently, but the slight quiver behind it betrayed his nervousness.  "I bring news you will want, news of Jelial's actions that are hidden from you.  I tire of being a mere pawn.  In return for a drink from the font I will tell you what I know."

_Long have I wanted to know news of the inner working of Jelial's mind, revealed only to advisors when I am not there!   If I transform this one, he is going to have to stay here. Jelial will know he has been betrayed when he sees his transformation._

"Speak, imp.  If your news is worthy, you will get a chance at the chalice and the font.  If it is not, you will die for your treachery to both me, and your master."  Gerion gave no indication of his real interest, merely waiting for the imp to speak.

"He has sent for Redili."  Priet waited for some sign from Gerion, he had thought that the mere mention of the assassin's name would be enough to get Gerion's attention but was distressed at the seeming lack of interest.  "It was straight after Jelial met with you.  He did not seem to want you to know of it."

_Jelial wants to send Redili after me?  It had to happen at some point in time.  It would be foolish to think Jelial would trust anyone for too long; he is not that stable and did not gain his position through being foolish.  Let this one start his service to me.  He thinks to play me against Jelial, but we shall see._  Gerion nodded and smiled.  He beckoned to the imp to follow him.  

They walked through the city, slaves scurried out of their way, dropping face first to the ground, often hurting themselves in their hurry to appear eager to show their obeisance.  The free citizens and fiends all dropped to their knees with heads bowed as Gerion swept passed.  Their path left a trail of chaos behind them, the effect of so many instantly stopping their tasks, the dropping their burdens as well as unwanted collisions.  None of this bothered Gerion, it was as it should be.

The two entered into a massive temple.  Huge white columns soared into the sky, the entrance dwarfing even his massive height.  The pure white marble’s purity was marred by streams of black and gold, and, since the advent of the fiends, red discolouration stained much of the pristine stone.  Within the massive hall stood an altar, once dedicated to the King of the Air.  The eagles and other representatives of his nobility had been removed and replaced with idols of bat- winged devils, all wearing the face of Jelial.  

In the centre of the altar, within a small depression, stood a bowl, its sides not solid but swirling, red coloured vortices that if one managed to see through, led to a vast pool of water.  Within the calm, centre eye of all the vortices stood a brown liquid, shot through with lights that sparkled, occasionally bursting into eye burning brightness.  From the side of the altar, Gerion removed a chalice.  It was made of some strange silvery grey metal, its sides hammered and beaten, bite marks and scratches marking its rim.  Gerion dipped it into the liquid let it fill, and, with nothing being said, handed the near to overflowing chalice to Priet.

Priet took the chalice.  Delight danced in his eyes.  At last, millennia of existence as a mere imp would be over.  Soon he would assume a new form, a more powerful form.  The power of the water from the very font of power in Hell, channeled through a minor gate within the bowl, would mark a new life for him!  More than that, Gerion had filled it, not just given him a sip.  Truly he would assume a form of power!

Gerion watched as Priet drank; an observer would have been hard pressed to decipher the look in his eyes as he watched Priet gulp the contents of the chalice.  Ambiguity in his expression as Priet drank dissapeared as he watched, with no skamm amount of delight as the form of Priet writhed, curling in of itself, his teeth clamped to the chalice's rim, adding yet another set of indentations.  Nor was the look of triumph hidden; to the observer, Gerion would have actually appeared happy.

Gerion watched as Priet's body boiled, as his bones stretched in mind numbing, agony producing spasms.  He watched as bones burst through skin, only to be rapidly covered by new layers of bone, muscle and flesh.  He gazed on as Priet's head expanded and blood poured from his mouth as fangs and tusks grew.  Yet the magic of the transformation allowed no death, no oblivion, only the agony of the drinker while it warped them, bringing them to a new, more powerful form.

It took at least an hour, and all the time Gerion stood there, savouring the agony of Priet as his body was broken and rebuilt.  It was with disappointment that he saw the process ending.  Priet stood, no longer the little imp, but now almost as tall as Gerion's twelve foot height.  Priet was heavily muscled, sharp sword like ridges lining his arms, legs and head.  He raised his arms, inspecting them, marvelling at the metallic blades that were now a natural part of him.  As he did so the black leather flaps of his wings unfurled, their edges, too, razor sharp.  When he spoke, his voice was deep, gruff, as if it arose out of a dark pit.

"What are your orders, my Master?"  Priet wondered at himself, trying to control what he said next, but unable to move against the force which controlled him, "Speak, that I may obey!"

Gerion looked at the devil before him.  The transformation was perfect.  Priet was now powerful, a warrior that would be able to defeat most others in battle.  He circled him, marvelling at how the power had shaped him, at how his own desires had seized control of the process to not only direct the transformation of his body, but of his mind too.

"You are no longer Priet.  From now on, you shall be known as Ger'liek.  Now go, and bring Redili to me; alive if you can, dead otherwise."

Within the mind of Priet, the last shreds of his will blew away, like cobwebs in a storm.  _Ger'liek, Gerion's spawn.  So be it, I live to serve._  With a bow of his head, his powerful feet dug into the ground and talons on his feet cracked the marble underfoot.  Legs bent, and then propelled him into the sky, his dark wings flapping as he sped towards his unsuspecting prey.  He smiled, it felt good to be the hunter.

***

Jeria, Mekior and Gyv looked out onto a vista of pain.  The cavern floor disappeared a few paces away from them, as it opened onto sights that assailed the eye and mind.  Vast rivers of lava flowed beneath, basalt islands jutted out, crowned by huts of black rock.  On the outside of each hut was a pole from which a creature of some description hung, some by their hands, some by their legs, some by hooks piercing various parts of their bodies.  All were alive, but in various states of disrepair.  All voiced their pain: in screams, in moans, in pleading cries to the unyielding heavens.  

A chuckle behind them caused them to turn, and come face to face with a truly fearsome being.  His skin was so pale as to be almost translucent, veins of red visible through the thin, white veneer.  His eyes were colourless, except for the dancing red flames of his pupils.  His hair, too, was colourless, cascading down over his naked body, emphasising the sculpted muscles, the obvious beauty of the body and the face, if the odd, translucent, skin could just be coloured to something less strange.  The horror came at his waist.  The being's entire form changed, his two legs reminiscent of a vulture's; thin, spindly, covered in scales of yellow with a sickly green caste.  The feet, too, were those of a massive raptor, but the nails were iron and they left thick, black ooze behind as the creature walked.  Too, the fearsomeness of the creature was enhanced by its stench; a stench that burnt their noses, causing them to cough and gag.

"Welcome to the domain of the triumvirate.  Thank you for accepting our invitation."  His face remained impassive, leaving the three companions with enough time to take stock of the situation.  

Jeria took control, finding it easiest to disregard the creature's stench and stand straight.

"What invitation? It is against our wills that we stand here.  Who are you and what is this place?"  He swept his arms round, encompassing the cavern, and the scene behind him.  With a start, he realised that where the chasm had been before there was now just a blank cave wall.  "What..."

As he started to speak, the creature opened its mouth emitting; a low, deep- throated growl, which tapered off as his forked tongue licked his lips and traced itself over razor sharp fangs.

"I was just being pleasant.  Many of the Triumvirate's guests appreciate the images of our lost home.  You speak the truth, giving voice to reality, conjuring the images of your hostility.  The Triumverate has spoken, and ordered.  You will stay here as long as the Triumvirate decides.  Hope that they choose to meet with you soon.  We have little of your type of food here and will have to feed you slaves of your own race."  

Gyv looked at him in horror, her hand moving towards her sword.  Mekior reached out, laying his hand onto her arm, restraining her from taking action.

"You threaten us, yet clearly we are wanted here.  Let us stop this posturing and get the meeting done with.  After all, are you offering those who are Masters here for my dinner?"

The creature looked at Mekior, eyes narrowed.  A few moments passed in silence before flames danced around Mekior, not burning but passing through him, shredding the illusion that cloaked him, unravelling it for all to see.  The human form known to Gyv and Jeria slowly melted away, the illusion dissipating in the magical flames.  Mekior stood before them in his natural form.  He was no taller nor was the build of his body any different.  His skin was green scales, most of it covered by his clothes and armour, but where it was visible, it shimmered slightly in the light.  Around his eyes, thick, bone like ridges protected deep sunken orbs of yellow and black, his nose no more than two slits above a wide mouth filled with sharp teeth.  His hands sported seven fingers each, each one long and slender surmounted with stiletto like claws that looked metallic.

"Renegade.  You should not be here.  Our Masters do not appreciate your kind.  Far too many times we have offered places to your ilk, and too many times have we been turned down.  Tread softly, Renegade."

He bowed, the gesture comically done, clearly a bow of mockery and derision.  "Come, you will be shown to guest quarters where you can prepare for your interview with the Triumvirate."  

He marched off, leaving the three travellers with no choice, but to follow where he led.  Their complete lack of choices was highlighted by the high-pitched sing of the little devil behind them.  The scrapping of poles on stones as four devils, wielding halberds, moved towards them from hidden recesses within the walls emphasised their position.  Seeing no choice, the three followed, leaving the cavern through the single visible opening, entering into the flickering light beyond.

***

Outside the Fort of Peaks, D'Fir stood and watched as the sky lit up.  A beam of red light shot into the sky, accompanied by an ear-piercing note.  From the ranks behind him Sister Egrit arrived, her face flushed, as six of the Gir’Thia arrived behind her.

"Our allies have arrived."  Her disdain for the Gir'Thia was obvious, as was the amusement of the Gir’Thia at her continued discomfort in their presence.  Their commander stepped forward, his face showing as much pleasure as its emaciated, fiendish brow would allow.  Baring his fangs in a hideous parody of a smile he placed his arm on Sister Egrit's shoulder and addressed D'Fir.

"Prince, as my friend here has said, we have arrived. I am Commander Hulia.  My squad and I will go first to clear the gatehouse and open the way for your men.  Once that is done, we can all have fun in the massacre to follow."

D'Fir was about to reply when Sister Egrit spoke up, angrily pushing the fiend's arm from her shoulder.

"We will not have fun in there!  Yes, it will be a massacre, but unlike the fiends, we will be merciful in our killing.  Make the strikes swift, clean and deadly.  Let us not leave them in lingering agony or perpetual pain."  She looked at D'Fir, "Order your men so, or I will leave, and take the mages of the Tower Arcane with me!"

D'Fir sighed.  The combined support of the devils and angels was a blessing, but a curse as well.  "Commander Hulia, do you think you can restrain your troops, have them kill, but not torture or maim?  If you can, do so.  Sister Egrit, I will pass that order to my men, but can make no promises for the excesses that arise in battle."

***

The battle for the Fort of Peaks was short, and bloody.  Those few devils that manned the massive gate house, complacent and smug in their remote fortress, lasted not even an eye blink as the Gir'Thia, elite warriors and far deadlier than the poor guards, waded into them, scythes flickering in the light of the hearth fires, scattering fiendish blood across the room in rivulets of death.

The inhabitants of the Fort fared no better.  The dwarves, mages, angels and fiends rampaged through.  All within died, put to the sword, their bodies piled in the centre of the gate to Crossroads, their hearts used to send them onwards, a message that the Fort had fallen. If some appeared to have been dismembered and cut multiple times before they died, nobody said anything.  After all, who can control the excesses of battle, particularly after three thousand years of suffering? With axe and pick, the dwarves attacked the mighty arch once their deed was completed.  To retake the city, the fiends would have to come the long way round.

Outside of Crossroads, the battle was at a standstill.  Hilo stood at the gates, looking at the ranked dwarves below.  Occasional rocks flew over his head as their catapults sang their song, but damage was minimal, merely cosmetic now that the mage that had attacked lay dead.  He smiled; behind the gate his forces gathered, ready for their counter attack.  He frowned as he heard the Gate sing, the high-pitched note of it opening from the other side.

Turning, he saw the pile of bodies come through the arch, and then the flickering as the Gate closed once again.  Turning back to the dwarves outside, he roared in despair.  Slowly, methodically, he saw the emaciated form of fiends move amongst them, each removing a portion of his foe from the field of battle.

"We have been tricked!  Open the gate and get those who remain!"  He looked out, despairing.  _My life is forfeit this day.  Jelial will not forgive me for this defeat, even though I just followed the orders he gave._

He watched as his troops engaged the paltry remains of the besieging army, and then he turned, gathering his power to take himself elsewhere.  With Jelial wanting him dead, he would need a new patron.  Perhaps the renegades would welcome him within their ranks.


----------



## Ghostknight (Apr 16, 2007)

*Chapter 23*

Jelial sat in darkness.  The table before him was empty; scraps of paper littered the floor, shreds of despatches bearing the bad news, the same message within them all: Defeat.  It had been over two thousand years since the last time the pathetic, soft, fit-for-nothing but the table inhabitants of this world had launched an attack.  He fumed in the darkness, the heat of his anger finding its way into his skin, scorching the wood of the table.  The smell of the burnt and smouldering wood brought him to his senses.

_Where is that imbecile Hilo?  When he appears, he will tell me everything, including why he decided to betray me to the dwarves!_  He stood and moved from his study into the neighbouring bedroom, his thoughts on betrayal and treachery.  The Fort of Peaks had fallen, Priet was missing, Redili had yet to appear and Gerion remained obedient, but, as always, hidden and enigmatic, his mind too powerful for him to pick at like he did with so many of his other powerful servitors.   He mused on Gerion, on his loyalty, or probable lack thereof.  His mind turned to Ger City, the temple turned to Gerion’s use, and the fact that there was a font within, combined with the additional issue that Gerion had the arcane knowledge and power to not just use the font, but to manipulate it.  _I should never have allowed it to be built, never allowed Gerion access to such power._

***

Redili was an oxymoron, defying all expectations that people thought of when they thought of the devils that ruled the world.  His appearance was that of a handsome man.  Jet-black hair cascaded down over his shoulders; deep blue eyes peered out of a face, which appeared kind, rounded cheeks defining a benevolent look.  The sole indication of his fiendish nature- his pupils that blazed and set the centre of those delicate blue orbs aflame, bright enough to glow in the dark.

His benign appearance belied his deadly nature.  Since he had not been blessed with the deadly weapons and form of his fellow fiends, he had mastered every kind of weapon known, and some that were unknown to all save a few.  His fiendish blood had not left him bereft of all defences; his reflexes and speed were unbelievable, even to other fiends.  He sat drinking an exquisite wine, the vintage fruity and flavourful.  He leaned back, wondering when next he would receive a summons from his Master, when next his skills would be called on.

"Redili."  The voice was soft, but deep and hoarse, reminding him of the sounds of rock grating beneath the earth.  He turned to contemplate the speaker, a large fiend, evidently bred as a warrior.

"Ahh, welcome.  You are not Jelial's normal messenger.  Where's Priet?"  Redili stood, making sure the twin blades on his back could move easily.  He did not know if the fiend before him meant him ill, but millennia as an assassin for Jelial bred caution.

"I was Priet, but no longer.  Gerion requests your presence."  Ger'liek stood before Redili, enjoying the look of shock on his face.

"Does Jelial know of this?"  Redili spoke, looking at the changed Priet before him.  He stepped back, hands on the hilts of his swords.

"Redili, you know better.  Jelial liked me as a powerless little pawn.  I had no desire to be so for all eternity.  Gerion is a far better Master.  Now, come, he wants you to visit.”  He paused, “Alive or dead."

Redili moved.  The blades were a blur, a hum accompanying their movement through the air.  Ger'liek started in amazement as he moved back, bringing his arms up defensively.  The blades slid off his arm's blade and the two fiends stood looking at each other for a moment.  Ger'liek smiled and moved forward, leaning into the blades, bringing his superior weight and power to bear.

Redili showed no sign of emotion, merely moving in such a manner that Ger'liek, suddenly off balance, fell forward and his head parted company with his body as the blades spun in the air.

Redili looked at the body and shook his head.  _Somebody is going to have to tell Jelial he needs a new messenger._ 

***

Mekior, Gyv and Jeria followed the fiend through the cavernous complex.  The passages were built on a massive scale, the reason for that apparent when a pair of fiends of immense size passed them, filling even the giant sized passage with their presence.  The size of the complex left them bewildered, as did the obvious homogenous nature of the inhabitants.  They saw thousands of fiends, yet they were all of but a few different forms.

"I've heard of this kind of fiendish set-up."  Mekior talked low, hoping not to be overheard.  "Fiendish armies bred for war.  Each one is bred with abilities for a specific purpose.  They are fanatical followers of their Master, the transformation controlled by the fiend that does it, their minds warped to undying loyalty at the same time.  None but the Lords of Hell are meant to know how to do it."

Jeria looked at Mekior, thinking back to what Secheriab had told them.

"It's them, isn't it?  We're amongst the Fallen.  What I don't get is this; if they are all so fanatically loyal, what is the talk of a triumvirate?  What has happened to Aspith?"

Mekior remained silent, his silent glance at Jeria enough to convey his surprise at Jeria's suggestion.  "I have no idea.  Honestly, I had not made the leap you had.  Its obvious once you consider it."  

Their guide halted before two immense doors.  Easily fifty feet high, and as least twice that wide, their surface of burnished copper gleamed; lines of precious gems producing scintillating bands of light.  Their guide stepped up, banging on the doors twice with each hand.  Silently the doors swung open, and a smoke filled hall was revealed beyond.  The smoke carried scents of perfumes and burning herbs, the thin reedy sounds of some unknown musical instrument producing atonal notes that hurt their ears.

"Go within.  I will go no further."  

The three companions stepped into the dimly lit hall.  A thick, blue carpet led down the centre.  Nothing was visible to them in the murky, smoke filled interior, save the tall, copper braziers from which the pungent smoke poured.  They walked down the aisle, sensing, rather than seeing, the hidden inhabitants that watched, evaluated and judged them.  

As they marched down the aisle, a large, raised dais came into view.  Three thrones sat upon it, but only one was occupied.  The stairs up to the dais were lined with devils, each wearing armour with red glowing runes upon them, the armour having the unmistakeable shine of silver-steel.  The three approached the dais, bowing in greeting as they reached its bottom.

The seated figure stood.  He was a work of art; skin the colour of alabaster, his body a work of perfection in tone and shape.  His eyes were golden, his hair the colour of the sun.  Massive, majestic white wings came from his back.  His legs were clothed in a rich, shimmering metallic pants, and his feet sheathed in slippers of gold and silver, the thread reflecting the light that fell upon him, as if a single beam from the roof highlighted his figure.

Only when he descended did his size become obvious; this angelic being stood at least fifteen feet tall.  His voice came out, musical and entrancing in its very utterance.

"I greet you all and welcome you to my home.  I, Aspith, master of the three, bid you welcome."  With a simple gesture the oppressive dimness of the hall lifted as torches flared into life around him.  The player of the unknown instrument was revealed, sitting on a cushion behind the throne, a long, tall contraption with multiple strings and buttons before him.  From the sides, dozens of courtiers came forward, fiendish features garbed and hidden within richly styled garments, their flowing nature hiding much of the forms of the wearers.

_This is Aspith?  He appears as an Angel of legend, hardly what one would think of a devil that had challenged one of the Lords of Hell! _  Jeria regarded the figure before him, silent in his contemplation.  Amidst the inaction of Mekior and Jeria, it was Gyv who took upon herself the role of diplomat and stepped forward and bowed yet again.

"We bring word and greeting from the Free cities of the North.  As their representatives, we beg your recognition of our embassy."  As she finished speaking, she sank to one knee, as did Mekior and Jeria.  Aspith looked at the three before him a smile upon his face.

"Indeed.  I recognise your embassy.  It is past time that your cities learnt of me.  But you make for a strange group:  A fiend, a half fiend and one that has been misused by fiends.  One hopes that you are not truly representative of your home."  

Jeria looked up at Aspith, at that strangely angelic face upon the devil lord.
"No, your lordship.  We are a strange group even for our homes.  I am one of but a rare few half-fiends that survive the tribulations of childhood, and until recently we were not aware of our friend's true blood."

Aspith laughed, its musical sound uplifting the spirits of all lucky enough to hear it.  "Truly, I had heard as much.  Never fear, but know that you are welcomed guests at my court."  He winked at them, "I don't know if you remember the millennia old custom of harbouring guests, but within this court such customs are remembered and followed.   You need fear no attack, no harm, for such would be dishonourable and is forbidden by the code.  For now, court will be adjourned for the day, and you three shall retire with me to my private suites where we can talk at our leisure.  Come now; stand up, all three of you. Be welcomed and make merry. "

The three stood, watching as Aspith turned, making a quick sign with his hand.  Quickly the music changed to a brisk march, and hidden trumpeters joined in.   Moving silently, those courtiers that had made themselves known left, the torches dimming and the braziers of smoke falling into quiescence as the hall emptied.  The smiling Aspith turned away from the companions, heading to the side of the hall and a set of smaller doors.  Made of iron, these doors were still tall enough for him to pass through.  The room beyond was lit by floating globes of light, the walls adorned with brightly painted scenes of the outside world.  Where the paint had worn thin, the hint of the underlying iron and lead were visible.  Around the edges stood relief maps, in the centre a small table laden with foodstuffs and surrounded by eight chairs, high-backed and padded.

Aspith moved ahead and took a seat at the table, choosing a chair in the centre, rather than the one at the head.  He settled in, waiting for the others to take their seats.  When they did so, they noticed the size of the chairs for the first time; it had not been apparent from the outset, as everything in the room seemed similarly sized.  As they sat, their feet did not touch the floor, they felt as children at play at their parent's table.  

"I am sure you have many questions for me.  Ask as we eat.  It is not the custom here to avoid serious conversation during meals, not as is the custom within my cousin's court.  I am sure that Secheriab kept you well entertained during meals, but frustrated!  Speak.  Ask what you will, I am hard to insult and will answer what you ask."

Jeria took a seat to the right of Aspith, wondering at the casual, friendly attitude of the fiendish lord and his knowledge that they had been sent by Secheriab.  Gyv sat to his left and Mekior took a seat opposite him.  As they took their places, a servant appeared from a hidden niche, filling their glasses with a clear, amber liquid.

"Your Majesty, if I may ask.  Your servants refer to a triumvirate, and there were three thrones in your court, yet you sit alone and seem ready to treat with us alone.  Are you ruler here or not?"

Gyv gave Jeria a sharp look and Mekior's sharp intake of breath told Jeria what they thought of his audacity.  Aspith, on the other hand, seemed unperturbed by the question.

"It's historical.  I have no way of knowing how much you have been told, but from what you said on your way here, it would appear you know something of my rebellion.  It is sad, really.  If I had won, I would not have ruled alone.  My consort would have sat at my side, my brother ruling alongside us.  Sadly, they both fell as we fled.  I choose to revere their memories in this fashion."  He paused to drink from his wine, watching for a reaction.  He continued speaking.  "Let me answer a question you all want to ask, but do not want to venture for fear of causing offence.   I see your looks and your wonder.  How does a fiend bear the appearance and the voice of an angel?"

He stood, pacing the room, stopping behind each chair on his circuit before turning to face them.

"I presume you have all heard of Gerogh.  Few know much of him, but Gerogh is still alive.  He is probably the singularly most powerful half-fiend outside of the Hells; not too surprising, considering the fact that his mother was one of the most powerful angels to ever live.  For an age, his parents, a redeemed devil and an angel, upset the plans of the Lords of Hell, until the Lords tired of them and sent an army to destroy them.  In the ensuing war, both his parents and all his siblings were destroyed.  Gerogh escaped, hiding somewhere within the different planes of reality.  Somewhere, somehow, he sired children; my brother and I.  I returned to Hell, seeking to avenge my grandparents.  Only a portion of his power was passed down to me, but it was enough for me to be able to establish my presence within the hierarchy of the Nine, and eventually challenge them for their power."  

"Gerogh is your father?  The same Gerogh whose prophesies have come down through the years?"  Jeria's voice was clearly disbelieving, his tone one of derision.  "You, a fiend, wish us to believe that not only does Gerogh carry the blood of fiends, but that you are his son?  What proof do you offer of this remarkable claim?"

"None that would have any meaning to anyone, half-fiend.  I ask you to believe your eyes.  My grandmother was an angel, my father a half-angel and my mother an angel.  It shows, does it not?  Yet the mix of fiendish blood enhances me beyond the might of most angels.  The angelic blood lifts me up beyond the power of most fiends.  Just as your fiendish blood lifts you beyond the power of mere mortals, and your mortal blood gives you power that fiends cannot match."  He smiled, his eyes appraising Jeria.  "There is untapped power within you.  If you live long enough you may even learn how to use it.  No matter, on to more important matters."

"You came here seeking me, seeking hidden cities.  You found both, but in essence they are the same.  I have long ruled these cities below.  All six of them are under my control; the moment you entered that marketplace and were placed within their dungeons, I knew of you and started researching you, and why you might be here.   I can guess at much, but would rather hear it from you."

Jeria started to speak, but was restrained by Gyv.  "We believe you, your Lordship.  We came seeking you, seeking an ally.  We hope that we can come to an agreement.  The time has come to strike back at Jelial, to take back this world before there is nothing left to take back."

Jeria spoke up, not letting Gyv restrain him, "You have knowledge that would be welcomed, forces that would aid immensely in the coming battles.  If you are truly in control of the cities within these wards, then you have access to even greater resources than we knew."  He paused, looking at Aspith, sizing him up.

"Your knowledge of Gerogh may aid us in deciphering his prophecies, and that knowledge may even help us to win this war."

"Never trust in prophecies.  They are fickle, subject to change if some key player knows too much and acts in conflict with them.  I acted myself while believing in prophecies, believing that one day I was destined to rule, to dethrone the nine that hold Hell in their grasp.  You can see what that brought for me!  No, prophecies are best left alone, events will happen as predicted, or they will not.  Either way we must continue on our journey."

"But can we trust one such as you?"  Mekior's musing tone broke into the conversation, his forked tongue creating strange sounds as he spoke.  "Jeria is honest in his looks; his heritage can be seen plainly, he wears it on the outside.  On the inside he is true."

"Meaning that he is foul to look at but fair within and I am fair without, and foul within?  A fair concern, Renegade.  You are just going to have to trust me if I am to be your ally.  Think on this Renegade.  I have lived on this planet for longer than most human civilisations existed, before the coming of Jelial.  I have no desire to see a tenth Lord of Hell ruling from this place.  I will tell you what I want in return for my help."

He paused, aware of the dramatic effect of his words.

"I want my own kingdom.  I want recognition as a ruler and a place on this world where I, and my followers, can live without the hostility of every surrounding kingdom and race.  I want my people to be accepted as just another group in the multitudinous mix that makes up this world.  Do you think that would be possible?  Don't answer now, but take this offer back to your council.  Let me know what their decision is.  Either way your status as Ambassadors will remain intact.  You need not fear returning here."

Conversation continued, but there did not seem much more to be say after the revelations of Aspith.  They ate the food and drank the wine.  In the end, the companions were escorted to their quarters for the night.  Again they were faced with the dilemma, to believe or to disbelieve, and yet again the choice was put in front of them by a being of immeasurable power from Hell.


----------



## Need_A_Life (Apr 16, 2007)

Interesting...

Interesting, indeed...


----------



## Rikandur Azebol (Apr 17, 2007)

Ghostknight ... You certainly tired of all this praise, but forgive me. It's good ! I would wish to have a talent like Yourself for story-telling.  

My friendly-envy remains fuelled to maximum. Not that I mind much ... keep up  the good work and I might overcame my faults after examples made by luminaries like Yourself and BLACKDIRGE.


----------



## Ghostknight (Apr 17, 2007)

Rikandur Azebol said:
			
		

> Ghostknight ... You certainly tired of all this praise, but forgive me. It's good ! I would wish to have a talent like Yourself for story-telling.




Nah- us writers have fragile egos, we love the praise   



			
				Rikandur Azebol said:
			
		

> My friendly-envy remains fuelled to maximum. Not that I mind much ... keep up  the good work and I might overcame my faults after examples made by luminaries like Yourself and BLACKDIRGE.




Go ahead and do it- I only started writing this after I got inspired by Blackdirge.  I kept wondering if there was room for pure fiction rather than campaign writeups or campaign adaptations into fiction (Ala LazyBones story hours- very much worth reading!)  Go ahead, take the plunge- it won't ruin your life that much...  (Ok, truthfully, my wife moans when I get too involved in writing and stay up till all hours of the morning...   )


----------



## Rikandur Azebol (Apr 17, 2007)

I know, my girlfriend tended to bemoan mornings too ... I usually was making notes to my campaign worlds / learning / or being "goat". She hates when I woke up at 5 AM, as much as when I was going to sleep "in the middle of the evening !".  

Be good to her. Had You tried to infect her with RPG virus ? I know, from experience, that on girls it works in small meansures and when it is served in pleasant package.  

My buddies hated when I demanded them to act their knights, when we played "Pendragon" and my mom watched. To my great suprise she acquired tolerance to "Rpg stuff" and stopped scolding me as if I were doing something immoral.


----------



## karianna (Apr 17, 2007)

Ghostknight said:
			
		

> Go ahead and do it- I only started writing this after I got inspired by Blackdirge.  I kept wondering if there was room for pure fiction rather than campaign writeups or campaign adaptations into fiction (Ala LazyBones story hours- very much worth reading!)  Go ahead, take the plunge- it won't ruin your life that much...  (Ok, truthfully, my wife moans when I get too involved in writing and stay up till all hours of the morning...   )




Totally second that and it really doesn't take away from your life too much....  .  Actually I find it a very rewarding experience, not too mention a good way from my players to remember what they did


----------



## Ghostknight (Apr 18, 2007)

Rikandur Azebol said:
			
		

> I know, my girlfriend tended to bemoan mornings too ... I usually was making notes to my campaign worlds / learning / or being "goat". She hates when I woke up at 5 AM, as much as when I was going to sleep "in the middle of the evening !".




With me, its staying up till 2 or 3 in the morning- she just doesn't get how I can function on only 3 or so hours of sleep the next day.  (I generally get up at 5AM to go for a run with some friends followed by a Krav Maga training session)



			
				Rikandur Azebol said:
			
		

> Be good to her. Had You tried to infect her with RPG virus ? I know, from experience, that on girls it works in small meansures and when it is served in pleasant package.




Unfortunately, shes just not interested.  Ah well, what can you do?  On a more positive note- I am infecting my sons!  My wife would freak if I tried to introduce them to D&D since she thinks it would give my youngest son nightmares, but Traveller is ok   They asked when they saw me preparing some Traveller stuff for a session and I relented.  Heh, they are 6 and 3 so let us just say that the role playing aspect is decidely missing- but the "gun shooting game", as my 6 year old calls it, is a great hit and the older at least is starting to get the idea that you can do things besides shoot the bad guy   Its ok- they ahve a few years to go before its inappropriate for them to be the munchkins they are- after all, they ARE munchkins  



			
				Rikandur Azebol said:
			
		

> My buddies hated when I demanded them to act their knights, when we played "Pendragon" and my mom watched. To my great suprise she acquired tolerance to "Rpg stuff" and stopped scolding me as if I were doing something immoral.




Sigh- when Is tarted to play in the 70s the book "Mazes and Monsters" came out, along with all the publicity about the "evil D&D game that was leading children into occultism and devil worship".  My mother hated the game, tried to get me to stop playing it, but never got to flat out forbidding it.  She just kept sitting down and talking to me about the "terrible game I was playing".  (Hilarious really, we are orthodox Jews and don't even believe in the devil, so how she though the game would lead me to devil worship was beyond me...)  When I was 16 I wrote an essay for school on RPGs, citing their beneficial aspect in creating creativity, enhancing imagination, improving social skills, improving vocabulary etc.  It was good enough that the school allowed me to start a D&D club (I had to get a teacher to sponsor the request, luckily we had a teacher who had the sense to see beyond the negative publicity).  It also finally got my mother to calm down about the game.


----------



## Ghostknight (Apr 18, 2007)

*Chapter 24*

Prince D'Fir looked out over the battlements.  Inside the walls of the Fort of Peaks, his forces lay ready, awake and alert, prepared for the battle that all suspected would come.  The sentries were all on high alert, and tensions ran high.  Three weeks has passed since the successful attack on the fort.  Ever since then, they had awaited the counter-attack, but none had come.  Days passed and the skies were changing from the clear blue of the autumn to the slate grey of winter.  

"D'Fir, we grow impatient.  Perhaps you err in thinking that Jelial values this fortress enough to want to retake it?"

"Comander Hulia, the Gir'Thia have been invaluable in their assistance.  I thank you for that, and hope you will continue on here.  I am under the understanding, from Secheriab and Eria, that you are under my command until ordered otherwise?  Have you received new orders then?"

The emaciated devil glowered down at the dwarf.  His dark eyes flashed with the red of burning flames.  "My soldiers grow restless General.  They are not dwarves, humans or angels that delight in peace and tranquillity.  They delight in pain, suffering and the screams of their victims as they carve flesh into the patterns of their will."

The devil leaned over, bringing his face almost into contact with that of D'Fir.  The smell of burnt flesh surrounded him, drowning out the more familiar smell of rotten flowers that was his normal odor.  He breathed in and out, hot breath washing across D'Fir's face, nostrils flaring slightly as he stared deeply into D'Fir's eyes.

"Find something for us to do D'Fir.  We grow restless.  We are devils, not garrison soldiers; we are the Gir'Thia, known for our love of bloodletting, our love of battle.  We sit idle for far too long. I do not know how much longer we can wait patiently.  We obey you, for the moment.  D'Fir, know this.; I am ordered to observe your commands, but your command irritates, as would the command of any mere mortal!"

D'Fir matched the devil's gaze and watched as he straightened and marched out.  His thoughts concentrated on the devil and his words, the threat that came through.  _I never thought I would pray for the arrival of devils, but now I find myself praying for Jelial to attack, if only to distract the Gir'Thia away from thoughts of taking orders from mortals._ 

He turned back, heading inside for what he hoped would be the quiet solitude of the room he had taken to be his office.  It was not to be; in the corridor outside Sister Egrit stood, waiting for him.  Her face was softer than that of the fiend, but he could see that she, too, came with problems.

"D'Fir, we need to talk."

The dwarf sighed.  "Come in then, we will talk in private."

The room was large; bookcases were set against the walls at various points.  The space between them was covered in leather that had been stuck to the walls with thick, black, iron studs.  D'Fir headed to the safety of his desk, putting its large, imposing bulk between Sister Egrit and him.  She looked around the room with evident distaste, carefully keeping away from the desk, eyeing the red toned wood with suspicion.

"I have told you what that leather is, D'Fir.  Take it down and bury it.  The skin of innocents should never be mere decorations!"  She paused, her eyes meeting his, "And as for this desk, it should be chopped up and buried.  The fiendish commander may have loved the idea of a desk made of wood that was tainted, and worse, grown in the blood of innocents sacrificed and burnt.  It is not fitting for you to use it!"

"Sister Egrit, did you come here to complain about my office décor and furniture, or is there something of importance on your mind?"  His voice came out harsh, his impatience showing.  Perhaps this is what caused her to stop and consider what she said next.

"I'm sorry D'Fir, the tension of waiting is getting to us all.  Perhaps Jelial is not interested in taking back this Fortress?  Perhaps we can relax and start moving people into here permanently."

"No, I am convinced that the counter-attack will come.  It is a matter of whether it will come quickly, or when complacency sets in.  Perhaps Jelial waits for our union to break apart.  After all, he must be sitting and wondering how long angel and devil can work together without trying to kill each other."  As he said the last he leant forward, his eyes locked onto hers.  "How long do you think angel and devil can work together?"

Sister Egrit stared at him, her mouth opening before closing sharply.  Quickly she stood, and her face turned red as she made for the door.  "I had come for the reason you surmise, to complain about out erstwhile allies.  I will do better.  Let them be petty, let them revel in their hostility and meaningless vengeance.  The Celestial Host will show them what it truly means to be allies fighting for a just cause."  

D'Fir watched as she quickly left, relaxing into the massive, high backed chair.  His thoughts bothered him, the worry about the fragile alliance though the crisis was averted for now.  How much longer could he hold the tenuous alliance together between allies that had been aeons long foes?

***

Jeria stood and looked back at the hidden cleft in which the gateway to the cities below stood hidden.  He looked at his companions, the green-scaled form of Mekior, with the scarred and bent figure of Gyv clinging to his arm.  He nodded to them as he headed for the mountainside, to the point of recall.  As the other joined him, the thrice intoned name of Secheriab seemed to echo off the mountains around them.  For a moment, it seemed to be a clarion call to everything in the vicinity, a trumpet blast announcing their presence.  In that moment Jeria wondered if they had been betrayed, if they would be standing there as masses of the enemy arrived and Secheriab abandoned them.  
Then, the darkness of the transition surrounded them, accompanied by bitter cold and the feeling of needles piercing their bodies in a thousand places.  It was but a momentary sensation, but one that had them screaming and shivering as they arrived back in front of Secheriab.

It was a new room; large, the temperature comfortable, the walls and floors simple, plastered stone.  The room was bare but for some cabinets against the far wall and doors spaced evenly along all the walls.

Secheriab's benign smile seemed calculated to belay any suspicion that the discomfort had been deliberate, but Jeria did not trust the powerful devil.  He remembered the simple power of Eria and the painless movement that he could effect.

"Welcome back, my friends.  I hope that your trip was a success?"  Secheriab eyed the unhidden, unmasked form of Mekior.  "I see you have decided to enlighten your friends as to your true form.  It is good that you do so, renegade.  Perhaps your next step should be to seek out your fellows and encourage them to join the battle."

Mekior eyed him with unconcealed hostility.  "You knew, didn't you?"

Secheriab laughed, "Of course I did.  That simple illusion was not enough to mask my sight.  But why are you so hostile towards me?  Did I not keep your secret?"

Before the others could stop him, Mekior leapt at the fiendish lord, his clawed hands outstretched, his lips peeled back to reveal the outstretched fangs.  As fast as Mekior was, he was no match for the fiendish lord.  With casual ease, Secheriab jumped back, his leg kicking out simultaneously, arching his body into an athletic flip as he came down on his feet, looking at Mekior, who had been thrown across the room by the power of the kick.

"You knew.  You told them about me.  You betrayed us and left me to be tortured to satisfy your sick, sadistic whim of watching me in pain."  Mekior came to his feet, wiping away the blood that dripped down his face, from a gash that split his cheek through to his forehead, the result of the claws on Secheriab's feet.

Jeria turned to look at Secheriab, shock on his face.  "Is this true?  Did you set us up, send us there, knowing that this would be done?"

By his side, Gyv drew her sword, looking up to the ceiling for the fiendish guardians of Secheriab.

"Did I send you there knowing the cities were there?  Yes, of course.  I told you they were there, that I just did not know exactly where.  As to the accusations that I betrayed you, sent Mekior to be tortured; in a way I suppose that could be said to be true."

Gyv's voice was low, her anger evident as she spat out the words, the volume rising as she addressed Secheriab.  "You 'suppose' it could be true?  What does that mean?  Either you betrayed us, or you did not.  Which is it?"

Secheriab faced her calmly, keeping an eye on both her and Mekior as he spoke.  "The truth?  I let people in the area know that a renegade, masquerading as a human, was coming.  I did not address anyone in particular; I did not know who would be the right person.  The message reached the right ears though, those of Aspith.  The rest of my rumour mongering was that those who were coming were seeking an alliance.  I knew once the renegade was revealed, the rest of the message would be believed."

Coldly, he turned away, walking towards a cabinet at the back of the room.  Suddenly he turned, confronting them.  "It worked did it not?  You met with Aspith, got his promise of assistance, the support of the cities?  Can you not say that a little discomfort is worth the reward you attained in recompense?"

"A little discomfort?  They tortured me."  Mekior sounded resigned, his voice despairing rather than angry.  "I know your kind Secheriab.  You are the kind that the renegades flee.  One of those that believes all those less powerful than you are mere pawns, not deserving of consideration, their value only in what they can bring you!"

Secheriab laughed, his benign form seeming to glow with the dark power of Hell as he did so.  "What in the names of all the Masters of Hell made you think I was any different?  I am a fiend, renegade.  I do my Master's bidding as best I can, lest I suffer a fate worse than the one you did.  This time it served my interests for you to feel a little discomfort for the greater good of achieving our purpose.  Is that not the ultimate measure, that the greater good was served?"

He turned to the cabinet, opening it to reveal an array of bottles of crystal goblets.

"Come, let us leave this fighting and bickering behind.  Let us drink to your success!"  

Secheriab watched as they came forward, pouring tall, high glasses of wine for them all.  

They drank, and as they watched Secheriab smiled.

"There is another thing to drink to.  Your friend, Prince D'Fir, now sits in command of the Fort of Peaks.  The first battle has been fought, and won."  His eyes brightened as he continued, "Let the war begin!  Let the blood of Jelial's fiends run freely, let it provide nourishment for our forces.  Let it strengthen out troops and our resolve."

The others found the toast strange, but only Mekior caught the glint in Secheriab's eyes as he spoke.  _What is he up to?  He is not to be trusted and he is working towards his own goal.  But is it in favour of this world or Hell?  And is it to increase his own power or merely the command of the one he calls Master?_

***

Jelial sat in his private study, attended by Gerion.  The room was smaller than many his underlings used, but Jelial seemed comfortable within.  The walls were bare, thick stone.  Gerion knew that the stone hid thick layers of silversteel and lead; perfect insulation against those that would use magic to try and spy within.

"Have you seen Priet recently, Gerion?  He seems to have gone missing."  Jelial spoke casually, all the while leaning back in his chair, his hands steepled in front of him.

"Me, seen Priet?  Thankfully not.  You know I despise that little rat, Jelial.  He is a worm; powerless and a complete annoyance.  I have never trusted him, and suggest you do likewise.  Even better, I suggest you destroy the little worm, drink his essence for the minute bit of nourishment it may provide."  

_Bah the little worm is gone.  I made him powerful and yet he never returned from facing Redili.  Just what did happen there?  _ Gerion's smile did not reflect his thoughts, but he wondered what had happened in the confrontation between Priet and Redili.

Jelial's expression did not change, but his voice was musing.  "Perhaps you are right.  He was a rather pathetic creature.  You know, Redili tells me of an interesting encounter he had recently."  As he spoke a section of the wall dissolved, revealed as an illusion, behind which stood Redili.  He was in full combat gear, his swords drawn and held casually at his sides.

"Go ahead and tell him of your visitor, Redili.  I am sure that Gerion would delight in your tale."

Redili spoke, his voice beautiful, carrying the lilt of the trained bard and storyteller.

"I tell a story of deception, of hate.  Of a servant for a Master turned servant to another."  He paused, before continuing.

"Once there was a powerless servant who got ideas above his station.  He had a good life and a Master that looked after him, fed him, protected him.  But the servant was full of jealousy, he desired more than he deserved.  So he went to another, pledged his allegiance in return for the power he craved. " 

"With the power came changes; he was no longer himself, but he was satisfied.  At last he had what he wanted and he went forth, eager to do his new Master’s bidding."  Redili stopped speaking and pulled a string that hung down by his head.  From a net held above, the body of Ger'liek tumbled to the floor.

"This one claims to have been Priet.  This one claims to be your servant."

Gerion laughed.  His voice boomed out, filling the room with its harshness.  "Me, turn Priet into something more powerful?  I hated him.  It was no secret and probably known to all within the Nine Hells.  If he had come to me, he would have died before he opened his mouth.  Look elsewhere Redili, perhaps the renegades made him an offer; perhaps one of the city lords has a secret font."

He turned to Jelial.  "You think I am disloyal?  What would you do if I were, send Redili after me?  Do you believe he would have a chance to defeat me?"  He fell silent and turned to Redili.  "I see you are prepared for battle, I have no intention of crossing swords with you!"  As he finished speaking, he twisted his body, both hands rising in front of his face as words of power were spoken.

Redili tried to move, to charge into the massive devil with both swords, cut him into pieces.  For all his speed, he could not defeat the magic that engulfed him as he moved.  The black tendrils grasped him and held his feet fast to the floor, his hands likewise grasped, and pulled backwards.  The strength of the tendrils was enough to bow his body and bring more to wrap him up, to hold him helpless on the ground.

"So, Jelial.  What is the order, does he live or die?"  Gerion's voice was casual, his look at Jelial unreadable.

"Oh, let him up Gerion.  He is useful and his loss not one I want to countenance at this point in time."

"So be it, my Lord.  I am ever you humble servant."  If his voice was mocking, Jelial ignored the tone.  The tentacles disappeared from around Redili, who lay there, his body heaving and wracked with pain.  The tentacles had left strips of acid burnt flesh wherever they had touched; acid strong enough to eat through the armour Redili had worn.

"Gerion, go and plan the recapture of the Fort of Peaks.  Give them some time to stew, to wonder.  As ever, you have my full support."

Gerion bowed to Jelial as he left, his steps confident, but his back never turned to the fiendish ruler and his injured assassin.

As Gerion left, Jelial knelt down by the side of Redili.  "I was foolish to think to pit you against him.  He toyed with you to make a point to me.  Do not approach him, not even if you think you can strike first.  Gerion is far more dangerous than he appears; he is as fast, if not faster, than you with his blades.  We will find a way to get rid of him safely."

Jelial stood, opening a cabinet hidden by the illusion of the plain walls.  He took the shimmering green potion and poured it down Redili's throat.  The potion worked, its healing energies removing the evidence of the burns, but as it worked, Redili writhed, the agony multiplied as the fiendish potion did its work in its twisted way, using the power of the pain to effect the healing.


----------



## Need_A_Life (Apr 18, 2007)

Best update yet!

Just had to say it...


----------



## Ghostknight (Apr 19, 2007)

Glad you liked it- so the question is- are the devils scheming enough for you now? 

Of course, there is still a bigger picture that needs to come out - and which will be the focus of book 2.  Yep- the epilogue for this is being finished off, then I start on book 2.  ONce this catches up,  the rate of posting is going to drop (or elese I have to switch to shorter chapters- no ways I can write 3-4000 word chapters for posting every second day...)


----------



## Ghostknight (Apr 20, 2007)

*Chapter 25*

A lone devil made its way through the tunnels.  As it travelled ever deeper into the earth, it was shadowed by movement in front, and behind.  The guardians of the city had seen it coming three days ago, and watched as it neared, trying to guess to where it was headed.  It moved purposefully, its golden armour highlighting its dark red skin and eyes, which were deep, black bottomless pits, visible from afar in the glow of light from the armour.  Down the path on which it travelled, at the final gate to the cavern of Harmony Hall, Delire stood with Gattoup, waiting.

"Who do you think this one represents?"  Gattoup looked towards Delire, hoping that the halfling would shed some light on the devil as it moved towards them, and allay his own fears of discovery.

"I don't know.  I fear it does not bode well.  It is too confident, too sure of itself for any of the hidden factions; but if it represents Jelial, then why does it come alone?  Why does it venture towards us with such certainty?  If Jelial knows of this settlement, then why not send an entire army, instead of a single fiend?"  She looked out, her face reflecting her worry, her small hands continuously darting to the handles of her weapons as if for reassurance.

Gattoup said very little, watching as he saw some of the scouts that ran ahead of the intruder come to the gate and enter.  A few moments later, they arrived at the observation point, briefly bowing before Delire and the Militia Captain.  One was an elderly human, his hair white and his face burnt dark from the sun.  The sight of that face alone marked him as an Outwalker, even before the badge and cloak announced him as such.  The other scout was taller than the human, his dark skin and grey eyes betraying nothing more than his race.  Like the human, he wore the cloak of an Outwalker.

The human spoke first. "Delire, that fiend there, or some of his kin, were in the lot that attacked Weald Hall.  I've never seen the like of its armour, though."

"Its tread beats out a song of woe.  It has the look of one that is sure none would dare sing a counter-harmony against it." The voice of the Dark Paeon was measured, poetic; a harmonious melody that soothed the ears.  "I have seen the like of this one; it is neither warrior nor mage.  It comes as a messenger, secure in its master's power to protect it from attack."

"I thank you both.  Go and rest, you have done well to keep this intruder in sight."  Delire dismissed the two, watching as Gattoup's eyes followed them in their descent.

"You are pensive, Gattoup.  What ails?  Do you not trust those two?"

"Not that, Delire. It worries me that Jelial sends this one messenger where I would expect an entire army.  What game is he playing with us?"

"We will know soon enough.  The scouts were not that far ahead of him; he will be here shortly."  The two stood, staring out at the hole in the wall through which the devil would emerge.  They remained silent, the conversation running dry as the devil was disgorged from the tunnel. They peered forward into the caverns torch lit gloom as it approached, its confident strides carrying it into the area in front of the sealed gates.

"I call for a hearing and parlay.  My Master sends a message that I would deliver."  

The devil's voice boomed out, some magic working to make sure it was loud enough that none had to strain to hear it.

"Speak.  You will come no further unless you can prove you have need."  The voice of Delire was soft in comparison to the fiend's, but it was clear that the fiend heard and understood.

It did not respond immediately, its eyes searching the wall ahead of it.  It could not see the one who addressed it; the observation point was hidden, using mirrors to show the area before it.  This did not seem to bother the devil, for when it spoke, it did so by addressing those who watched.

"Hear my message, halfling.  In three days' time, the moon will be hidden from view. For three days, the world will know utter darkness by night.  This time has been declared as Jelial's Revel.  My Master will graciously allow you to continue to exist, in return for your oath of fealty and acceptance of one of his court to be overlord of this city.  Nothing more need be said, your actions will signify if we battle or become brothers.  Listen to my voice to know my Master's wishes so you may obey."  

The fiend spread its arms, the golden armour spreading a soft radiance.  "Each night of the Revel you must choose one from amongst your number to be offered to Jelial.  The offering must be old, respected and unwilling.  The offering must be killed publicly while the name of Jelial is invoked.  Each morning of the Revel, an offering must be made. The offering must be young, innocent and unwilling.  Do this, and peace shall reign once your Overlord arrives.  Disobey, and the next set of emissaries will be an army."

Delire looked at the messenger, her face red and swollen in fury.

"Begone, Foul one.  Your Master's foul stench clings to you."

The messenger seemed unconcerned with her response, bowing in the direction of Delire and Gattoup, though they were not in the area from which her voice emanated.  "Remember, the Revel is in three days.  In three days the offerings must be made or your city will suffer."

The devil turned and left; its disdain for them evident in its ignoring the threat of the army behind the walls.  The scouts that had followed behind, and now watched as it moved past them through the tunnel, quailed at the sight of its face, the grin and fierce burning in its eyes a promise of the evil to come.  On the walls behind it, Delire turned to Gattoup.

"Gather the Council; we need to prepare for war.  There is nowhere for us to run.  If they march on us, you can be assured that Fort Livian will face an assault of its own and Gunder's Hall is ill-prepared for such a migration at this point.  They suffer from a fiend-borne plague, perhaps more of the evil Jelial works at this time."

***

The three companions stood before the ramparts of Harmony Hall.  For Jeria and Mekior, it was a welcome sight of home, but Gyv looked on with serious misgivings.  Three years ago she had left for Gunder's Hall, leaving the city to escape the one she loved, but who seemed unable, or unwilling, to turn their love into a commitment.  She looked across at Mekior who stood there with his green, scaled skin shining in the bright lights of the city's gates.  His face, with its squat nose and burning eyes turned towards the city.  His secret had gone unspoken for a long time, and now, revealed, perhaps things would be different, perhaps now they could have the life she had wished for in years gone by; a family to replace the one killed by her unwitting betrayal.  

Mekior looked at her, and kissed her gently before he spoke, his words soft.

"It will be interesting to see how the city reacts to me.  I am tempted to change back, return to my previous charade; yet at the same time I am reluctant to continue to live a lie.  I am famed as a fiend hunter, yet even that reputation may well be destroyed when my true nature is known."  He sighed and then looked ruefully at Gyv.  "I am a coward.  I do not wish to make this decision so I leave it to you, my love.  Do you want it known that I am fiend, or would you prefer the more publicly acceptable face of my illusionary form?"

"Stay as you are.  I, too, have changed.  Let people know us for what we are.  If they cannot accept us here, we can go elsewhere.  Gunder's Hall would welcome us."  Gyv came closer, lining her arm with his, gazing into his face.  "I have accepted you, nothing else matters to me."  Jeria stood close by, listening, but not commenting, his mind remained set on Aspith and Secheriab, supposed allies, but devils none the less.  Throughout the journey back, he had contemplated the growing alliances with growing unease.  Would the Lord of the Eighth be happy to depart if they could unseat Jelial?  How much of Aspith's story was true, and if it was true, how much could he tell them of the Prophecy of Gerogh?

The three walked towards the city, noting the scrambling of guards, the consternation that they had come so close to the city but had not been seen by those who guarded the paths.  Drums could be heard, sounding the alarm, summoning guards to the gates.  The presence of the strange green fiend between another of fiendish blood and a heavily scarred human woman did not do much to allay their fears.  It was only when they came close enough for the details of their features to be seen, and for Jeria to be recognised, that the guards started to relax.  A few of the older guards recognised Gyv and wondered at her transformation.  None recognised Mekior, though some wondered at a fiend dressed in the colours of the city and bearing the arms and armour of a fiend hunter, addorned with the badge of their city.

As they entered, Jeria called for the captain of the watch.

"I need to speak with Delire, much has transpired."

"More than you know, Out Walker."  The captain hesitated, looking in the direction of Gyv and Mekior.

"Speak, Captain, these two can be trusted."

"Lord Jeria, two days ago an emissary from Jelial arrived."  Jeria jumped, startled at the news.  The city was known, its anonymity compromised.  "They want us to sacrifice people from the city, in the name of Jelial.  Few understand the motivation behind this, unless it is just to invoke our fear and show our obedience to his will."

"No, it is more than that, but what it is need be said, in private, to Delire and the council.  Where can we find her at this time?"  Mekior's voice was harsh, and tinged with fear.  Gyv looked at him sharply, but he raised one taloned hand to invoke silence.

"If you want Delire and the Council, you are in luck.  At this moment, they sit and discuss what is to be done."

Nodding to the Captain, the three headed into the city, the squad of guards that followed them obvious, their cold iron weapons at the ready, an indication that they were not yet trusted.  Many eyes followed them as they moved through the city streets, most people stopped to watch the procession of this unusual group.  None challenged them, though, and in time they stood before the doorway that led to the council chambers.

Within the chambers argument raged.  At the head of the Council sat Master Harper Darid, clearly tired by the debate that raged around him.  At the head table sat only two others, Delire and Gattoup.  The three faced the council members, thirty people chosen from the affluent and powerful within the city.  As the companions entered the room, a pallid, thin man, in bright green clothing and a large, floppy hat, argued that perhaps the time for surrender had come.  From what the companions could see, there seemed to be many that agreed with him.  Jeria leant across to the others, whispering softly.

"People grow tired of running.  They have seen one city destroyed; they fear the consequences of another battle."

Mekior's eyes blazed crimson, and he stepped forward, his figure garnering immediate attention.  All fell silent in the face of an unknown fiend within the council chambers.  Delire was on her feet, hands hovering close to her weapons.  The sight of Jeria stopped her immediate rush to attack the fiend, but it was obvious that very little would be needed for those deadly weapons to be drawn and wielded.

"You all know me, though you do not recognise me.  I am Mekior, Fiend Hunter and long time defender of this city."  A simple statement, but it created pandemonium.  Dark Paeons, humans and all others within the hall started talking.  Shouts of "Traitor" and "Spy" littered the air, till the Master Harpist stood.

"There will be silence; let the voice of Mekior be the soloist in our choir.  In time, if necessary, we can investigate the past.  For now, let us hear what he has to say."

Mekior bowed and moved, so as to be able to see both those seated at the main table, and those that sat in the chamber before them.

"Jelial calls for sacrifices.  He uses the fear of his army to try and force you into obeying.  I call on you to think, to wonder why he would do such a thing instead of just crushing the city as he has done to so many cities before."  He stopped speaking for a moment. "He seeks divinity.  He seeks the power of belief, of your wills fuelling the aether with words of prayer directed towards himself.  Do this thing, and you will grant him power to demand a seat as a Lord of Hell.  This place will become yet another layer of Hell, any chance of defeating Jelial gone.  Denying him may mean war, maybe even defeat for those who sit here, but obeying him means eternal doom."

***

Gerion looked over his massed forces.  Soon they would strike.  He mused over the plan that had been decided on, an attack on the first day of Jelial's Revel while the moon lay hidden.   As with the attack by the dwarves on the Fort of Peaks, devils with the power to transport others would take the bulk of the forces to the battlefield.  A further refinement had been added; a contingent of sorcerers would go first, to hide the devils as they arrived, masking both sight and sound of the arriving army.  

Gerion waited until his commanders came forward.  Each was a devil of singular appearance.  The leader of his cavalry was a strange combination of various creatures.  His head was that of an elephant, his body massively built and muscled with thick black hair appearing in places, resembling nothing more than that of a gorilla.  His hands were human-like, tipped with shimmering steel nails, his feet the massive pads of a lion with claws that beat a staccato beat on the floor as they slithered in and out of their sheaths.  Beside him stood a beautiful, female devil; she wore little more than the three swords at her side, easily drawn by her four arms, her eyes multifaceted and reflecting thousands of broken images of Gerion back at him, her fourth arm bore a small buckler strapped to her forearm.  Her command was the infantry.

The last devil gave even Gerion cold shivers whenever he entered the room.  His head was huge, a massive oval that contained two tiny, beady, pitch black eyes that never blinked, and a massive mouth filled with row after row of razor sharp teeth.  His horrific visage was but one aspect of his being, more chilling to most, however, was his reputation as a wielder of arcane magical might.  None knew how potent his magic truly was, and the few that felt tempted to challenge him were most often found as chewed up, dry husks.  All stood before Gerion, awaiting his orders.

"We will attack the Fort of Peaks at two bells after midnight.  We have discussed the plans, and all know the dispensations for tomorrow's battle.  Any questions?"

The oval headed mage turned to Gerion.  "Why do we waste our time on the Fort of Peaks?  Surely we should just crush the city by the lake, take it for our own.   Let the souls of all its dead be offered to our mighty leader in an attempt to bolster his ascension."

Gerion leaned forward, his hands firm on the table. 

"Jelial's order are explicit, the Fort of Peaks first.  You wish to discuss his reasoning, do so.  You know where he holds court."  Silence reigned over the group; none was foolish enough to want to appear before Jelial to dispute his orders, not before a summons had been received!

Gerion smiled.  "Then in the absence of any further questions, prepare yourselves for the bloodletting to come!"

***

In Fort Livian, King D'Mier looked over his ranked soldiers.  Hasty preparations were being made, the inside of the walls receiving additional bolstering while continuous wagon trains brought in food from the areas outside.  Between that, the inside caverns of edible fungi and the deep, underground lake, the city would be well provisioned for a lengthy siege.  

Why now?  After so long, why does Jelial come forth with such demands, ones which he knows we will never accede to?  D'Mier stood, looking over his demesne, worried and wondering what would become of the world beneath the earth if Fort Livian should fall.


----------



## Ghostknight (Apr 20, 2007)

*Chapter 25*

A lone devil made its way through the tunnels.  As it travelled ever deeper into the earth, it was shadowed by movement in front, and behind.  The guardians of the city had seen it coming three days ago, and watched as it neared, trying to guess to where it was headed.  It moved purposefully, its golden armour highlighting its dark red skin and eyes, which were deep, black bottomless pits, visible from afar in the glow of light from the armour.  Down the path on which it travelled, at the final gate to the cavern of Harmony Hall, Delire stood with Gattoup, waiting.

"Who do you think this one represents?"  Gattoup looked towards Delire, hoping that the halfling would shed some light on the devil as it moved towards them, and allay his own fears of discovery.

"I don't know.  I fear it does not bode well.  It is too confident, too sure of itself for any of the hidden factions; but if it represents Jelial, then why does it come alone?  Why does it venture towards us with such certainty?  If Jelial knows of this settlement, then why not send an entire army, instead of a single fiend?"  She looked out, her face reflecting her worry, her small hands continuously darting to the handles of her weapons as if for reassurance.

Gattoup said very little, watching as he saw some of the scouts that ran ahead of the intruder come to the gate and enter.  A few moments later, they arrived at the observation point, briefly bowing before Delire and the Militia Captain.  One was an elderly human, his hair white and his face burnt dark from the sun.  The sight of that face alone marked him as an Outwalker, even before the badge and cloak announced him as such.  The other scout was taller than the human, his dark skin and grey eyes betraying nothing more than his race.  Like the human, he wore the cloak of an Outwalker.

The human spoke first. "Delire, that fiend there, or some of his kin, were in the lot that attacked Weald Hall.  I've never seen the like of its armour, though."

"Its tread beats out a song of woe.  It has the look of one that is sure none would dare sing a counter-harmony against it." The voice of the Dark Paeon was measured, poetic; a harmonious melody that soothed the ears.  "I have seen the like of this one; it is neither warrior nor mage.  It comes as a messenger, secure in its master's power to protect it from attack."

"I thank you both.  Go and rest, you have done well to keep this intruder in sight."  Delire dismissed the two, watching as Gattoup's eyes followed them in their descent.

"You are pensive, Gattoup.  What ails?  Do you not trust those two?"

"Not that, Delire. It worries me that Jelial sends this one messenger where I would expect an entire army.  What game is he playing with us?"

"We will know soon enough.  The scouts were not that far ahead of him; he will be here shortly."  The two stood, staring out at the hole in the wall through which the devil would emerge.  They remained silent, the conversation running dry as the devil was disgorged from the tunnel. They peered forward into the caverns torch lit gloom as it approached, its confident strides carrying it into the area in front of the sealed gates.

"I call for a hearing and parlay.  My Master sends a message that I would deliver."  

The devil's voice boomed out, some magic working to make sure it was loud enough that none had to strain to hear it.

"Speak.  You will come no further unless you can prove you have need."  The voice of Delire was soft in comparison to the fiend's, but it was clear that the fiend heard and understood.

It did not respond immediately, its eyes searching the wall ahead of it.  It could not see the one who addressed it; the observation point was hidden, using mirrors to show the area before it.  This did not seem to bother the devil, for when it spoke, it did so by addressing those who watched.

"Hear my message, halfling.  In three days' time, the moon will be hidden from view. For three days, the world will know utter darkness by night.  This time has been declared as Jelial's Revel.  My Master will graciously allow you to continue to exist, in return for your oath of fealty and acceptance of one of his court to be overlord of this city.  Nothing more need be said, your actions will signify if we battle or become brothers.  Listen to my voice to know my Master's wishes so you may obey."  

The fiend spread its arms, the golden armour spreading a soft radiance.  "Each night of the Revel you must choose one from amongst your number to be offered to Jelial.  The offering must be old, respected and unwilling.  The offering must be killed publicly while the name of Jelial is invoked.  Each morning of the Revel, an offering must be made. The offering must be young, innocent and unwilling.  Do this, and peace shall reign once your Overlord arrives.  Disobey, and the next set of emissaries will be an army."

Delire looked at the messenger, her face red and swollen in fury.

"Begone, Foul one.  Your Master's foul stench clings to you."

The messenger seemed unconcerned with her response, bowing in the direction of Delire and Gattoup, though they were not in the area from which her voice emanated.  "Remember, the Revel is in three days.  In three days the offerings must be made or your city will suffer."

The devil turned and left; its disdain for them evident in its ignoring the threat of the army behind the walls.  The scouts that had followed behind, and now watched as it moved past them through the tunnel, quailed at the sight of its face, the grin and fierce burning in its eyes a promise of the evil to come.  On the walls behind it, Delire turned to Gattoup.

"Gather the Council; we need to prepare for war.  There is nowhere for us to run.  If they march on us, you can be assured that Fort Livian will face an assault of its own and Gunder's Hall is ill-prepared for such a migration at this point.  They suffer from a fiend-borne plague, perhaps more of the evil Jelial works at this time."

***

The three companions stood before the ramparts of Harmony Hall.  For Jeria and Mekior, it was a welcome sight of home, but Gyv looked on with serious misgivings.  Three years ago she had left for Gunder's Hall, leaving the city to escape the one she loved, but who seemed unable, or unwilling, to turn their love into a commitment.  She looked across at Mekior who stood there with his green, scaled skin shining in the bright lights of the city's gates.  His face, with its squat nose and burning eyes turned towards the city.  His secret had gone unspoken for a long time, and now, revealed, perhaps things would be different, perhaps now they could have the life she had wished for in years gone by; a family to replace the one killed by her unwitting betrayal.  

Mekior looked at her, and kissed her gently before he spoke, his words soft.

"It will be interesting to see how the city reacts to me.  I am tempted to change back, return to my previous charade; yet at the same time I am reluctant to continue to live a lie.  I am famed as a fiend hunter, yet even that reputation may well be destroyed when my true nature is known."  He sighed and then looked ruefully at Gyv.  "I am a coward.  I do not wish to make this decision so I leave it to you, my love.  Do you want it known that I am fiend, or would you prefer the more publicly acceptable face of my illusionary form?"

"Stay as you are.  I, too, have changed.  Let people know us for what we are.  If they cannot accept us here, we can go elsewhere.  Gunder's Hall would welcome us."  Gyv came closer, lining her arm with his, gazing into his face.  "I have accepted you, nothing else matters to me."  Jeria stood close by, listening, but not commenting, his mind remained set on Aspith and Secheriab, supposed allies, but devils none the less.  Throughout the journey back, he had contemplated the growing alliances with growing unease.  Would the Lord of the Eighth be happy to depart if they could unseat Jelial?  How much of Aspith's story was true, and if it was true, how much could he tell them of the Prophecy of Gerogh?

The three walked towards the city, noting the scrambling of guards, the consternation that they had come so close to the city but had not been seen by those who guarded the paths.  Drums could be heard, sounding the alarm, summoning guards to the gates.  The presence of the strange green fiend between another of fiendish blood and a heavily scarred human woman did not do much to allay their fears.  It was only when they came close enough for the details of their features to be seen, and for Jeria to be recognised, that the guards started to relax.  A few of the older guards recognised Gyv and wondered at her transformation.  None recognised Mekior, though some wondered at a fiend dressed in the colours of the city and bearing the arms and armour of a fiend hunter, addorned with the badge of their city.

As they entered, Jeria called for the captain of the watch.

"I need to speak with Delire, much has transpired."

"More than you know, Out Walker."  The captain hesitated, looking in the direction of Gyv and Mekior.

"Speak, Captain, these two can be trusted."

"Lord Jeria, two days ago an emissary from Jelial arrived."  Jeria jumped, startled at the news.  The city was known, its anonymity compromised.  "They want us to sacrifice people from the city, in the name of Jelial.  Few understand the motivation behind this, unless it is just to invoke our fear and show our obedience to his will."

"No, it is more than that, but what it is need be said, in private, to Delire and the council.  Where can we find her at this time?"  Mekior's voice was harsh, and tinged with fear.  Gyv looked at him sharply, but he raised one taloned hand to invoke silence.

"If you want Delire and the Council, you are in luck.  At this moment, they sit and discuss what is to be done."

Nodding to the Captain, the three headed into the city, the squad of guards that followed them obvious, their cold iron weapons at the ready, an indication that they were not yet trusted.  Many eyes followed them as they moved through the city streets, most people stopped to watch the procession of this unusual group.  None challenged them, though, and in time they stood before the doorway that led to the council chambers.

Within the chambers argument raged.  At the head of the Council sat Master Harper Darid, clearly tired by the debate that raged around him.  At the head table sat only two others, Delire and Gattoup.  The three faced the council members, thirty people chosen from the affluent and powerful within the city.  As the companions entered the room, a pallid, thin man, in bright green clothing and a large, floppy hat, argued that perhaps the time for surrender had come.  From what the companions could see, there seemed to be many that agreed with him.  Jeria leant across to the others, whispering softly.

"People grow tired of running.  They have seen one city destroyed; they fear the consequences of another battle."

Mekior's eyes blazed crimson, and he stepped forward, his figure garnering immediate attention.  All fell silent in the face of an unknown fiend within the council chambers.  Delire was on her feet, hands hovering close to her weapons.  The sight of Jeria stopped her immediate rush to attack the fiend, but it was obvious that very little would be needed for those deadly weapons to be drawn and wielded.

"You all know me, though you do not recognise me.  I am Mekior, Fiend Hunter and long time defender of this city."  A simple statement, but it created pandemonium.  Dark Paeons, humans and all others within the hall started talking.  Shouts of "Traitor" and "Spy" littered the air, till the Master Harpist stood.

"There will be silence; let the voice of Mekior be the soloist in our choir.  In time, if necessary, we can investigate the past.  For now, let us hear what he has to say."

Mekior bowed and moved, so as to be able to see both those seated at the main table, and those that sat in the chamber before them.

"Jelial calls for sacrifices.  He uses the fear of his army to try and force you into obeying.  I call on you to think, to wonder why he would do such a thing instead of just crushing the city as he has done to so many cities before."  He stopped speaking for a moment. "He seeks divinity.  He seeks the power of belief, of your wills fuelling the aether with words of prayer directed towards himself.  Do this thing, and you will grant him power to demand a seat as a Lord of Hell.  This place will become yet another layer of Hell, any chance of defeating Jelial gone.  Denying him may mean war, maybe even defeat for those who sit here, but obeying him means eternal doom."

***

Gerion looked over his massed forces.  Soon they would strike.  He mused over the plan that had been decided on, an attack on the first day of Jelial's Revel while the moon lay hidden.   As with the attack by the dwarves on the Fort of Peaks, devils with the power to transport others would take the bulk of the forces to the battlefield.  A further refinement had been added; a contingent of sorcerers would go first, to hide the devils as they arrived, masking both sight and sound of the arriving army.  

Gerion waited until his commanders came forward.  Each was a devil of singular appearance.  The leader of his cavalry was a strange combination of various creatures.  His head was that of an elephant, his body massively built and muscled with thick black hair appearing in places, resembling nothing more than that of a gorilla.  His hands were human-like, tipped with shimmering steel nails, his feet the massive pads of a lion with claws that beat a staccato beat on the floor as they slithered in and out of their sheaths.  Beside him stood a beautiful, female devil; she wore little more than the three swords at her side, easily drawn by her four arms, her eyes multifaceted and reflecting thousands of broken images of Gerion back at him, her fourth arm bore a small buckler strapped to her forearm.  Her command was the infantry.

The last devil gave even Gerion cold shivers whenever he entered the room.  His head was huge, a massive oval that contained two tiny, beady, pitch black eyes that never blinked, and a massive mouth filled with row after row of razor sharp teeth.  His horrific visage was but one aspect of his being, more chilling to most, however, was his reputation as a wielder of arcane magical might.  None knew how potent his magic truly was, and the few that felt tempted to challenge him were most often found as chewed up, dry husks.  All stood before Gerion, awaiting his orders.

"We will attack the Fort of Peaks at two bells after midnight.  We have discussed the plans, and all know the dispensations for tomorrow's battle.  Any questions?"

The oval headed mage turned to Gerion.  "Why do we waste our time on the Fort of Peaks?  Surely we should just crush the city by the lake, take it for our own.   Let the souls of all its dead be offered to our mighty leader in an attempt to bolster his ascension."

Gerion leaned forward, his hands firm on the table. 

"Jelial's order are explicit, the Fort of Peaks first.  You wish to discuss his reasoning, do so.  You know where he holds court."  Silence reigned over the group; none was foolish enough to want to appear before Jelial to dispute his orders, not before a summons had been received!

Gerion smiled.  "Then in the absence of any further questions, prepare yourselves for the bloodletting to come!"

***

In Fort Livian, King D'Mier looked over his ranked soldiers.  Hasty preparations were being made, the inside of the walls receiving additional bolstering while continuous wagon trains brought in food from the areas outside.  Between that, the inside caverns of edible fungi and the deep, underground lake, the city would be well provisioned for a lengthy siege.  

_Why now?  After so long, why does Jelial come forth with such demands, ones which he knows we will never accede to?_  D'Mier stood, looking over his demesne, worried and wondering what would become of the world beneath the earth if Fort Livian should fall.


----------



## Ghostknight (Apr 23, 2007)

*Chapter 26*

The night was dark.  No moon lit the sky, and what light might have filtered down from the stars above, was hidden by the thick clouds which seemed to be outlined with a malevolent red glow.  Upon the ramparts of the Fort of Peaks, D'Fir looked out.  Dwarven eyes pierced the dark, seeing the stark features of the surrounding rock and stone, noting the complete absence of movement.  He was flanked by Sister Egrit on one side, Commander Hulia on the other.

"They come.  They are out there."  D'Fir's voice was hard, its tone was one of certainty.  "Make sure that all are prepared, get the pots of oil over the fires and make sure the ballistae and catapults stand ready."  A dwarf standing behind him nodded, moving off to make sure that all those on watch received the message, and that those that rested within did so with weapons nearby.

Hulia sniffed the air, his emaciated form towering over the dwarf.  His eyes met those of Sister Egrit.  "The air stinks of magic this night.  I will make sure those under my command stand ready."  He smiled; no warmth, but pure malice coming to the fore.  "I am sure that Sister Egrit will do likewise for those that report to her.  No doubt their patience wears thin awaiting the opportunity to remove the heads of fiends."

Sister Egrit did not look at the taunting devil, gazing out across the bare stone instead.  She raised her arms, before quietly chanting the words of power, investing her eyes with a blue glow.

"Nothing is out there, not now.  But like you, fiend, I feel it.  Something will happen this night."

***

Beneath the earth, King D'Mier stood upon his walls.  He walked their circuit, the broad path behind the battlements wide enough for him, General D'Haan and Eria the Red to walk abreast.  The frenetic activity of the last few days had died down.  The wagon trains were gone, the workmen now garbed in the armour of the city's militia.  

D'Mier examined the troops as he passed them by; the professional soldiers with their scars and warrior's queue a marked contrast to the fear-struck militia that had trained, but never been in a major battle.  The faces of the aged veterans reflected their belief that they would not see out their battle.  He saw many that had been comrades in arms, many that bore scars of battles past.  

"D'Haan, what do you think?  Will Jelial strike this night?"

The General stopped walking, moving to gaze out across the open killing ground before the city's walls.  He gazed at the cavern roof, at the massive nets which held rocks to drop upon the foe below, at the areas which he knew contained stake lined pits, cunningly covered so as to be undetectable, and to not give way until a large number of the enemy passed over them.  

"They will come, cousin.  But we will prevail.  Never fear that!  Our defences are strong, our men well armed.  The least of our soldiers bear cold iron weapons, and some even wield ones enhanced by the enchantments of the mages from the Tower Arcane."

Eria laughed; his face the blank, polite facade of the trained diplomat.

"When Jelial comes, it will be with an army the likes of which you have never seen.  My Master stands ready, but don't think your alchemist's tricks in making weapons deadly to us, or a handful of enchanted blades will be enough this time.  I seek the blessing of the Lords that I will survive this night, or at worst, find myself banished from this plane."

The three stood in silence, wandering what manner of messenger would be sent this night.

Many miles away, the tight corridors of Gunder's Hall carried the stench of death.  White robed men pulled carts through the streets, entering houses to find abandoned corpses.  Unlike Fort Livian, or Harmony Hall, Gunder's Hall was carved entirely into the rocks.  Passages, barely the height of man, wound throughout the structure, connecting homes to farms and the city, in which the politicians, judges and lawyers gathered.  Handcarts of bodies trundled across rough stone floors, to a crack, through which the lava flowing below could be seen.  The bodies were stripped, and then consigned to the fiery depths below.  There were too many dead; too many that would never wake up for it to seem real.  

Through these passages Kint wandered, despair written into his exhausted features.  His white tunic, emblazoned with the symbol of the healer's guild, brought many to their doors.  Always he went within, only to find more struck down by the plague, their faces swollen, their bodies covered with the pus-encrusted, open lesions that seemed to appear from nowhere.  Like the others within the guild, he had but one thought:  _We shall all die! Keep our gates closed, hide the ways, let the disease remain trapped within, let us be the only victims._

Without a battle being fought, the city was dying.

***

The beating of drums reverberated across the city.  Fiends wound through the streets, dancing, singing, fighting and ing.  No holds were barred as the wine flowed, the merriment reaching its pitch as midnight approached.  Massive processions of fiends snaked through the city, each fiend dragging a terrified slave through the streets.  Some had collars around the necks of slaves, and used chains attached to the collars.  Others used crueller devices: barbed hooks sunk into ears, loosing tears of blood as they led their slaves; others used hooks through other parts of the slave's body, genitalia being favoured by many.  One devil received much praise from his fellows for his inventiveness in piercing a hook through both eyes of his victim.

The procession flowed past a massive altar, and as each devil came before that altar, the slave's heart was ripped from his chest, the blood spraying upon the ground as the heart  was tossed into the fire at the base of the massive statue of Jelial that overlooked the debauchery.  And the chants and dedications to Jelial rose in the night, as fiend and fiend-born celebrated their master.

***

The city rang with the sound of metal upon metal.  Across the city the smithies rang with the beat of the weapon-smith and armourer.  Fletchers worked their trade, and the piles of arrows grew, only to shrink as young boys with push carts moved them to the men upon the walls.  Robed men poured over stacks of iron ore, overseeing its smelting, and subsequent mixing with those elements needed to transform it into the cold iron deadly to the invading fiends.

Within the central citadel, a group stood around a table, discussing preparations and plans for what they knew lay ahead.  "Another group has been arrested."  Keral entered the room, and contemplated those that stood around the table: Delire, Darid, Jeria, Mekior, Gyv, and Gattoup.

Delire looked at the Captain of the City guard, his features unchanged from the time he had greeted her and Jeria, and the column of the refugees from Weald Hall.

"What was it this time?"  Jeria's voice contained barely restrained anger, "Another group of rich dilettantes ready to kill some innocent victim in the hopes that it will save them?"

Keral sighed.  He had been waiting for Delire to speak, but Jeria's bitter comment had come before she could.  He turned to face the half-fiend, and one of the few Master Outer Walkers within the city.

"They are scared.  Most have lived through the destruction of their city of birth; now they fear the same thing may happen again.  The idea of subjecting themselves to the rule of Jelial is seen as an acceptable alternative."  He fell silent for a while before continuing.  "They believe the words of the messenger, that an overlord will be sent there, and that nothing more will happen.  They choose to believe that Jelial will not interfere beyond that, they seem to be willing to trust the word of a fiend."  He hesitated, his quick glance at Jeria, and then Mekior spoke to them all mentally, his mental voice as loud as any words.

"Fools!  Within months this city would be filled with fiends.  Let Jelial in, let his Overlord rule within these walls, and very soon they will learn the meaning of suffering.  They think their money will save them; they think they will somehow buy safety."  He looked at the others gathered round.  "I suggest we execute them, publicly.  Let the fear of our retribution if they attempt to placate Jelial with sacrifices be greater than their fear of the coming war!"

The Master Harpist, and city ruler, turned to Keral.  "The fiend speaks my mind.  Kill them. Hang them where the bodies will be seen.  Let none move the bodies till the battle begins."

Keral looked at Darid, "Master, they say they follow the example of the Council.  They point to the trust placed in the word of a half-fiend and fiend.  Is it necessary to kill them for misplaced trust?"

The Master Harpist broke away from the table, striding towards Keral.  For all his years of battle training, for all his knowledge, and skill, of fighting, Keral still did not see the drawing, raising and thrust of the dirk.  He looked at the dirk of the Master harpist, the sharp edge which lay tight against his throat,

Darid leaned in close, his face against that of Keral.  "I am not one of our brethren to kill unnecessarily.  Unlike those of us who hide in the dark, who make enemies of all, I do not kill unnecessarily.  War is upon us, there is no time for the questioning of orders."  He stepped back, leaving Keral with a thin line of red under his chin. "Understood?"

Keral nodded, bowed and walked out, leaving the cut to ooze blood as he went to hang a group of frightened, despairing teenagers.

***

Jelial looked over the square, over the writhing snake of the dancing devils, the screams of slaves being slowly tortured, their pain, suffering and deaths dedicated to him.  He smiled.  Just one unholy revel would not serve to elevate him; but over time, when people whispered his name, in either curse or prayer, it would occur.  He would have his place at the table.

He turned, facing Redili, who stood in his armour, weapons at his sides.

"You want to drink from the font?  Why, Redili, you are so much more than most of the peons out there, who knows what drinking from the font will do?"

"Revenge, Jelial.  I can never revenge my defeat of Gerion while I remain in this form.  Physically, he is too strong, too fast, more than a match for me.  Magically, his inherent power is unsurpassed except by the most powerful of magi.  I know I risk much when I say it, but he is probably a match for you, both physically and magically."

Jelial laughed, and looked at the assassin.  "Redili, if I were to make you powerful enough to defeat Gerion, you would be powerful enough to defeat me.  If your supposition that Gerion is my near equal in power, do you think I am foolish enough to create one that could be my undoing?"  He walked over to Redili, and placed a hand on his shoulder.  It shone white, melting through the armour, melting into his shoulder, almost to the centre of his chest.

Redili fell and, before consciousness left him, saw the grinning face of Jelial bending down, heard him whisper in his ear.  "I will keep you alive, let you heal, slowly.  When my ascension is complete and you can no longer threaten me, you will have your revenge."  Redili felt himself fade into blackness, but etched across his mind was the thought, REVENGE, but even he could not say to whom it should be directed.

***

Delire stood with the Master Harpist, watching the passage down which the messengers said the devil came.  This time, the mission of the gold armoured messenger was known, but that made the tension all the worse.

"Will they attack tonight?"  Gattoup's voice came from behind the two senior figures in the city.

"I fear so.  I doubt he expected us to comply; their army will be ready.  But they will have to march here, the ore encrusted walls of the outer caverns will stop them teleporting too close."  Delire peered into the mirrors that showed the outside wall, and she whispered into the speaking tube nearby.  "Do not shoot the messenger; he is protected for the moment.  If he should return once battle is engaged, riddle him with every arrow you can find!"

Behind Delire, Mekior laughed.

"You play at war as if the rules must be adhered to!  Do you think Jelial will obey the rules of war?  Let him know it will be war, by the simple expedient of sending back the tongue of the messenger, on a platter next to his head."

Darid regarded Mekior.  "You have hardened since you chose to wear only your true form.  You used to display some elements of the human form you wore; now you come to resemble your brethren out there.  'Ware the change Mekior; watch you do not loose that which makes you more than just another fiend."

Silence descended over the group, and the stress of the wait for the messenger to appear was almost a solid weight hanging over their heads.  When he did appear, his golden armour and red skin obvious to the watchers, their relief at the confrontation was almost physical, now there was at least a target for their attention.

The messenger turned his head, surveying the buttressed wall and the rows of archers.

"Greetings, oh loyal citizens of Jelial; I have come for the heart of your first sacrificial victim.  Open the gates so I may enter and claim the heart of your first offering to our mighty king."  He stood, expectantly in the silence, then shook his head and spoke, his tone mocking.

"You have forgotten that tonight is the night for your declaration of loyalty?  Or have you mislaid your offering?  Oh, my Master will be most saddened by this.  I will have to hurry to inform him.  Be sure that he will send further messengers, perhaps you will have found the offering by the time they arrive!"  He turned, marching back down the passage, awaiting no answer.

"Gattoup, they will come this night.  Make sure all entrances are being watched."  Delire looked out once again.  "I will go and get what rest I can; this night will be long."

***

On the mountain peak overlooking the Fort of Peaks, Gerion watched as his force slowly assembled.  Giant- sized fiends with long, oversized arms stood ready, each with a bag of boulders by his side.  Massive phalanxes of sword wielding, human-sized fiends wearing steel breastplates stood ready to march forward and scramble up the siege ladders borne upon the back of elephant-sized beasts- that sported hard bony carapaces invulnerable to petty missiles; beside them stood rows of devils that resembled the infantry general with voluptuous, feminine bodies, dainty horns upon their heads, but a curved sword in each of their right hands, and a massive shield held by their two left hands.

Behind them, their job but to wait until either the walls were breached or those within came out, sat the fiendish cavalry.  Their horses were pitch black, thick snake-like scales covered their bodies.  Their heads were crocodilian, sharp teeth clearly visible, their hooves glimmering dully in the night.  On each back sat a black devil wearing black plate mail that bore the symbol of Gerion upon its breastplate.  Their faces were hidden by black helms with closed visors, but the simmering red of their eyes could be seen glowing within.  They wore swords at their sides, but each grasped a lance and shield, ready for the charge, should the need come.

"They are all here, General."  The voice of the oval-headed general of the sorcerors was filled with excitement.  "Shall we begin?"

Gerion looked up to the sky above, at the red-lined clouds.  He felt the slight breeze upon his face, inhaled the last breath of the night that would not be laden with the smell of battle, and answered, "BEGIN!"

A bugle call and a group of sorcerers turned to the walls of the Fort, raised their hands in harmony, and released a salvo of fiery balls that hit the walls and exploded.  The battle had begun.

***

The messenger hurried down the passage.  The army awaited his return, the signal to march to war.  The refusal to bow to the demands had been expected and eagerly awaited.  So, he was surprised when the form of the former ruler of K'op D'Regh stepped out before him.  He glanced at the figure, encased within red armour, the mottled red and yellow skin of his face uncovered.

"Hilo.  Jelial seeks you, he would love to know why you chose to betray him."

Hilo looked over to the messenger, and then, with a nonchalance that belied the speed of his strike, decapitated the messenger with a swipe of his talons.  He bent down, pulling the decapitated corpse so the blood squirted into his mouth, sucking it out when it no longer came of its own accord.  

"Jelial will just have to hear of this night's doing from another."  An evil grin lit his face as he bent down, surrounding the body with a pale orange powder.  From another vial he sprinkled sweet-smelling water, ensuring that none of it touched his own skin.  He struck a talon against a rock, creating a spark which, in defiance of the laws of nature, remained alight and jumped into the orange powder, creating a burning ring around the body.  "Let your body lie here, its soul entrapped for eternity.  None will be summoning you, and neither shall you return to th eplains of Hell!"

He turned and walked away, the body disintegrating into ash upon the floor.  A thin, grey wisp danced in the air, a thin keening audible to any who approached thereafter.


----------



## Ghostknight (Apr 25, 2007)

*Chapter 27*

D'Fir stood behind the walls, watching as the Gir'thia danced amongst the flames, laughing at the fiery blasts, basking in their warmth as if they were sent for their entertainment.  D'Fir, though, was concerned; the explosives blasts might not be enough to destroy the stone walls, or the fire able to burn through them, but the explosions were gouging chunks into the fortifications.  If the barrage continued for long enough, the walls might start to weaken.  He turned away, seeking Commander Hulia. 

Gerion stood atop the hill watching the sorcerers fiery barrage, at the fiends within dancing in the flames that flickered around them.  He turned to their commander, frowning.  "How much longer can they keep this up?  The walls seem too thick for this barrage to be effective, and those atop the wall do not seem to mind the flames."

The oval headed fiend turned his black eyes to the general, his teeth showing within his mouth.  "Truly, they tire.  If you think it useless, then let us stop this now.  Save their remaining strength for when it will be more effective."

"Very well, do as you think best.  We shall move to the next phase of the attack."  He smiled as silence fell, and then laughed as the sound of rocks striking the fort came, at the chunks of wall dislodged, and the Gir'thia diving for cover.  He looked approvingly at the giants, at their arms slinging the rocks with deadly accuracy and power, far more effective than any trebuchet built by mortal engineers.

Within the fort, the first of the rocks took those upon the walls by surprise.  The devils of the Gir'Thia that had laughed at the uselessness of the fiery barrage, who had laughed at the Dwarven fighters that had hidden themselves from  fear of the flames, were taken by surprise when the first rocks fell amongst them.  When a rock smashed into one of their heads, throwing blood, bone and brains onto the dwarves below, the Gir'Thia’s mocking laughter quickly quieted, their derision and mirth disappearing in their surprise

The Gir'Thia dive down, scrambling for cover behind the crenulations.  Outside, under cover of the barrage, the siege ladders started moving forward.  Their move forward quickly met by the return barrage from the Fort, as, with a word of command, D'Fir had the massive catapults shoot their buckets of stones over the walls, smashing into the devils that crept forward.  The sheer size of the stones did the job that rendered lesser weapons ineffective, crushing devils beneath their weight.  The fiends hit did not die, but even their unholy strength left them trapped beneath the rocks, unable to participate further in the battle.

Within the walls stone blocks moved and immense ballistae, loaded with cold iron tipped javelins, sprayed their lethal loads out, scouring the devils below.  Screams of pain mingled with howls of rage as the troops below broke into a run, heading for the walls, the beasts bearing the siege ladders lengthening their lumbering strides to keep pace, their bony ridges strong enough to fend off even the javelins shot with force from the ballistae.

Sister Egrit and her fellow angels now came to the fore, joining hands in groups of ten, concentrating their power into a single force, channelling their combined might through the one that stood at the fore.  They concentrated, and those who stood at the apex began to glow, eyes turning silver with suppressed power.  They stepped forward, peering through the ballistae ports, extended their hands, and released lances of pure power into the advancing juggernauts, sending bits of bone, skull and green blood onto the devils running beside them.  It seemed that the invading force might be stopped, but the angels were few and the forces of Gerion seemingly endless. 

***

The tramping of the army caused vibrations that could be felt by those within the hall cavern.  Vibrations that could be felt, that wormed their ay into your blood, leaving behind fear and uncertainty.  The forces of Harmony Hall tensed, readying themselves for the first assault, waiting to see the shape and form of the army that came to destroy them.  For now, the approaching army was invisible, the vibration of their approach, combined with a deep chant, understandable, and chilling, to those that understood the tongue of fiends, its menace apparent to all who heard it, regardless of their understanding.  

*Blood and souls to feed the fonts.  Blood and souls to feed the altars.  Blood and souls to feed Jelial.*   For those listening, the prospect of a clean death seemed welcome over the promise of having their souls devoured.  If any thought that this might bolster the defenders, spur them on to fight better to make sure they did  not end up on an altar, being drained of both blood and soul, they were mistaken.  The words in the dark, infernal tongue of the fiends were chilling, creating despair and a longing for death.

Those within started to wonder, what was worse, the anticipation, or the actuality?  Nervous soldiers stood upon the walls, the growing dread of what approached fuelling imaginations.  Most stood firm, but not all were trained soldiers, not all had the nerve to stand and wait.  Many were young, barely out of childhood, with but scant knowledge of how to use the weapons they gripped with white knuckles.  Those worst affected sunk to the ground, whimpering in fear.  

Then the music rose from within.  The Master Harpist’s voice rose, aclear note that was somehow magnified, clearly audible to all.  The note of his people's voices swiftly joined his.  He carried a small harp; its sound magnified by his magic, his voice carrying to every corner of the city.  As his melody weaved across the city, as it caressed the ears of each of the Dark Paeons, they raised their voices, all combining, finding their place in the growing harmony.  The humans, halflings and others that stood amongst them, those that had sunk in despair, found their spirits raised, their courage restored.  

Delire looked on, her face filled with awe.  Tales told of such magical music, how the Master Harpist that ruled wound magic into the very notes, bound the people together, enhanced the music of each.  The tales did not tell of the majesty, the power of such music, and she watched in wonder as the demoralising effect of the devil's tactic on approach was destroyed, leaving the defenders even stronger than before.  She looked at where Jeria, Mekior and Gyv sat, and smiled.  "There is still hope."

Gyv looked at her, her scared face resting on the armour-covered chest of Mekior.  She smiled back, but it was a cold smile, filled with hopelessness, not sharing in the optimism of the halfling.  Even with the majestic music that swirled around them, Gyv was lost in despair, in memories of children being dragged away in chains and a husband’s blood dripping off her hands.  For her, the coming battle was a sacrament, a validation that her life still held meaning after her unwitting betrayals.

Jeria rose ready, his axe strapped to his back, a bow and quiver dangling from his hands.  He left the room silently, headed for the walls.  Mekior gave Gyv a long hug, before kissing her forehead, and grabbing his own bow and quiver.  His sword hung at his side, swinging slightly as he headed out behind Jeria.  Gyv jumped to her feet, a look of disgust in her face as the two left the room.

"I have been a warrior for longer than Jeria has been alive, and he leaves me here?  Does he believe that my scars prevent me from wielding my sword any less effectively than before?"  She stood up and grabbed a bow she had taken from the stores and her own quiver.  "I am a far better shot than either of those two."  She, too, marched out, leaving Delire alone in the room.  Delire sighed, and followed the rest out, walking to where she knew the commanders of the forces sat, knowing the time had come for her to make the decisions that would lead to life, or death.

***

The sounds of battle were clear within the fort.  D'Fir stood, receiving messengers that came continuously, updating him on the disposition of forces and the ongoing battle without.  He watched the runners going, those coming in with the news of the battle ever more tired, more bloodied.  The latest was a grey bearded veteran, one with whom he had shed blood in previous campaigns.

"It goes badly, Prince.  We kill many, but there are always more.  We cannot take to the walls, for fear of the rocks.  The angels destroy the beasts that bear the siege ladders, but they begin to tire.  Soon they will be exhausted, and the fiends will make the walls."

D'Fir bowed his head in thought, and then raised it.

"Go.  Find Commander Hulia and Sister Egrit.  We need help; Hulia had better be able to get some."

***

D'Mier looked over the walls, still pacing, waiting and watching for an enemy he knew must come.  Behind him, General D'Haan stood silent, his face a mask that showed no emotions, reflected no thoughts.

"My liege, they will come.  We will stand stoic, solid.  We will remain true to the generations that have gone before.  We will fight well and, if necessary, we will die well.  What we will not do is become worshippers of that monster, that fiend that seeks to become a god."

D'Mier turned to look at the General, surprised at his vehemence, at his bitterness.  "D'Haan, you are my cousin and you were the closest of my father's friends.  Until this day, I have never heard you talk like this.  What has changed, D'Haan?"

The General looked at D'Mier, and then gazed out over the walls.

"Did your father ever tell you of the time we ambushed a fiendish war party that had come below seeking slaves?"

"I believe so.  Wasn't Liet, your late wife, one of those they had in chains?  One of the ones destined to be a slave?"

A smile came to the General's face at that recollection of Liet, but too soon, it was replaced by an expression of pain as he continued.  "There was confusion, chaos run amok when those captured were put to the sword by the devils.  Even as we sought to free them, the devils sought to kill them, wasting time to perform that task rather than mount a defence against our attack.  We wondered at their actions, but rejoiced in it, knowing that it made the battle easier and saved the lives of our own warriors.

When the battle was over we counted the costs, and looked at the slaves they had chosen to kill, rather than mount a coordinated defence."  He paused, looking at the king, the horror of the moment still fresh in his mind.

“The devils in that group were all ones that had been summonsed here; none were destroyed in defeat, merely banished to Hell, from whence they could again be called.  They chose banishment, and the creating of despair, over a futile effort at defence due to our superior numbers and the lack of any powerful fiends amongst them.

They had chosen their victims well; children and babies lay dismembered, bleeding, dying slowly.  We did not have the means to save them; we had to choose- watch them die slowly, or spare them the pain by killing them ourselves."  He fell silent, his eyes dead.  "We spared the children their pain, and there was not a dwarf amongst us that day that did not swear revenge.  The attack against Crossroads, the victory at the Fort of Peaks, both brought a small measure of satisfaction.  

My king, nothing has changed, but a battle tonight will bring the peace of revenge completed, or death."

***

The passage leading up to Harmony Hall was wide enough for two carts abreast, or twenty soldiers in ranks; the massed files of devils filled the passage.  At the head of the column marched heavy infantry, pikes pointed forward to discourage any cavalry charge, swords swinging by their sides.  Behind them a group of crossbowmen marched, thick metal shields borne upon their backs, ready to fire over the heads of the infantry.  All had a single look, lacking the individuality of more powerful devils; thick, bald, red heads with black crests down the centre, no nose but two oblong slits between eyes set behind thick bony ridges, their mouths filled with sharp teeth.  

Behind them came elephant-like beasts of burden, towing siege engines behind.  Following behind those came the more powerful devils, each upon a mount that moved with the grace of a great cat, but had a skin of black scales, a spiked tail and a flat face with short, sharp tusks.  They joked amongst each other, while avoiding drifting too close to the general that commanded them.

Degrith looked at the army around him, the supply wagons and camp followers behind.  He rode a dragon, one he had captured and tamed aeons ago, long before he had come to this world.  It had grown in stature and might till now it allowed him to ride from friendship.  It was far too mighty for him to defeat in combat, only friendship kept him upon its back.  He scratched it behind its ears, the red scales rippling under his touch.  The immense head turned to regard him.

"Your soldiers do not seem to appreciate you."  The voice was deep, a hint of laughter within.  "Or perhaps it is me they object to?  Many wonder why I abide your presence.  They have spent too long plotting and scheming; they have forgotten the simple pleasures of friendship."

Degrith, sitting atop his old friend, laughed.  "They are fiends; they have not forgotten the pleasures of friendship- they have never experienced it!  Much the same could be said of your kin, could it not?  How many of your kind have enduring friendships or loyalties beyond themselves?"  He fell silent as the chant of the march rose about him, as each foot, fiend or mount, rose and fell in unison, shaking the ground, vibrating the walls, freeing small stones that dropped from the ceiling, bouncing loosely along the ground.  He looked up, concerned.

"Don't worry, General.  The roof will not collapse on us.  Unless they have set it to do so, like they did to destroy the army Gerion sent against them in the city from which they fled."  

Degrith turned to regard the speaker.  Smaller than he, just over seven feet tall, but with four arms, each heavily muscled and adorned with battered bracers upon each forearm.  The speaker was easily identified: Miedda, a well-known duellist and favourite at Jelial's court.  Curious, and a small wonder in itself, that he had left the comforts of the city for such a campaign.

"And how would you know?  The rock above us will not be dissuaded from dropping for fear of your scimitars, or by your charming tongue."  Degrith's look was one of disdain; he had little time for some petty noble who felt like a taste of battle, who was there to merely bask in the glory of a victory, but would flee at the first taste of defeat.  He expected anger, defiance, perhaps the ranting of a noble that thought he had not received the respect he felt was his due.  What he did not expect was laughter.

"Ahh, General, you know little of me.  I was not always at court.  I did my time as a mercenary, trying to rebuild a fortune that was lost to the family when the Lord of the Third decided he had one general too many, and confiscated the family estate.  Seems that our family had endured too long, too many born devils, and not enough promoted from lesser forms.  He used my father to demonstrate to others why they should not think of ever being disloyal, or why they should not allow too many powerful whelps top be born."  He stared out, at the ranks before him.  "The Lord of the Third can be very inventive, and I was forced to watch, an object lesson to cement my ties to him.  After all, how many in the Hells care about family?"

"So, you fled, worked as a mercenary and then came here?  Still doesn't explain why you think you know why the rock is safe."

"True enough.  My time as a mercenary taught me much.  I fought in many of the skirmishes that the Lords indulge in.  Everyone denies that any battle is taking place, even as opposing armies clash on the field of battle.  It is funny in a way, armies of mercenaries fighting for money, in battles that no one actually cares about, where who wins or loses is but a temporary situation till the next battle.  When last did the borders of the circles change?  How often do the extents of the demesne of one duke shift into that of another.  No one truly expects there to be change, for one Lord to take over the realm of another, yet the battles still go on."

"And so it was when I found myself fighting in the interminable tunnels between the fifth and sixth circles.  I learnt much about rock then; about what was stable and what was dangerous."  He glanced at the roof, at the walls, running his hands along the rock of the walls.  "This tunnel is old rock; it will not collapse without more assistance than some noise and vibration."

"You speak like a renegade.  Family loyalty, no allegiance to a lord, save the coin of your master, no ..." He was cut off, as the chant broke, from stones that flew out from the wall, cutting into the orderly ranks of the devils.  Screams assailed his ears, as bolts of lightning cut through the ranks.

"Yes, I am exactly like a renegade!" Miedda's voice was soft, the warm hiss of his breath felt against Degrith’s cheek, as the blades bit into Degrith’s side, their magic biting, unbinding his very being.  Beneath him, Degrith felt the dragon buck, its head trying to twist around enough to get at the attacker.  It would be too late, already the world faded around him as the call of Hell surrounded him and he fell into its grasp.

With a smile, Miedda disspeared as the dragon's jaws darted down, trying to spear him on razor sharp teeth.  And the keening of the dragon rose, a cry of mournign for a millenia long companion dead upon his back.  And as devils poured into the ranks from the side, the dragon mourned, seemingly uncaring of those that now assailed him.

***

Within Harmony Hall, the column of devils had just come into sight.  It stretched back into the darkness, the chant and precision marching shaking the walls of the first defences.  Archers stood at the ready, knowing their range would be limited, as they could not arc their arrows due to the roof of the cavern; no matter, the enemy was as constrained as they were, even more so for thos just emerging from the tunnels.

Sheltered by cornices and crenulations ballistae were loaded, sheathes of cold iron tipped javelins stood ready to be sprayed down into the advancing horde.  Behind the walls, attached to pulleys for easy lifting, massive cauldrons of molten lead stood ready to be lifted aloft and poured onto any who came too close to the walls.  A group of dwarves, experts at mining and sapping, patrolled the walls from the inside, monitoring the ground and walls for the telltale vibrations and tremors that would indicate the enemy trying to tunnel from beneath.

The ranks gathered behind the massive iron and steel gates, reinforced by bands of silver-steel, gifted to them by the Fort of Livian.  They stood ready, those who would ride out and attack the devils when the time came.  Mekior stood amongst a group of fiend hunters.  They looked at him with unadulterated hate, and many contrived to accidentally bump into him, to have the hafts of weapons dig into spaces between his armour, a few even accidentally hit him in the head with gauntlet covered hands as they loosened muscles before battle.  Mekior stood firm, the reaction less than he had expected; at least none had attacked him, yet...

To one side a group of Outwalkers stood.  Not used to working in large groups, they splintered into the pairs that commonly worked together, master and apprentice or two journeymen standing together.  Those masters that commonly worked alone had paired off, or stood in a threesome with another master and apprentice.  Jeria stood by a massive half-ogre, Blised, a cousin of Gruzz, a young Outwalker to whom he felt a sense of obligation.  

He started when he saw Gyv arrive, her sword swinging at her side and bow in hand.  She saw Mekior, but steered away from the Fiend Hunters, making her way to Jeria.  She looked at Blised and smiled.

"You look like Gruzz.  Any relation?"

"Yeah, he was my half-brother.  Our late, and unlamented, father did not care overly much about forcing himself onto different women. "  He looked over Gyv, her scarred features, the oft-used sword.  "You knew him?"

Gyv looked away, tears in the corner of her eyes.  "Yes, I was there when he died.  If not for me, perhaps he would still be alive."  She stopped speaking, just standing quietly by the two.

None of those behind the gate could see what happened, but they the heard cheers and shouts of encouragement.  A messenger came running down, a wide grin across his face.  "The devils have been ambushed, by another group of devils!  The sentinels say they saw a dragon go down!  Delire has ordered us to charge out, attack them head on while they are occupied with the attack on their flanks."

The cheers from those gathered below echoed the sounds from above, fading into a battle dirge as the Dark Paeons mounted and prepared their lances for the charge.  Their mounts were not like the few horses that some lucky humans had, but massive lizards, bred within the caverns.  Faster than horses in short bursts, they were also more fearless and less likely to bolt in a fight, though far slower over long distances.  They sang as the gates were slowly wound up, holding their charge until the crossbowmen had loosed a volley into the ranks of the pike men, starting to break their defensive position.  

They charged forward soon after, a massive group in a wedge, the mail coats on the lizards making a din loud enough to almost drown out the dirge that drove the warriors on.

The archers and ballistae loosed a volley into the front rows of the pike men, the arrows and oversized javelins cutting into them.  The pike men maintained their discipline and remained focussed forward; shields and armour blocked most arrows but little could block the javelins released from the powerful machines of war.  More fell, weakening the defensive wall as the wedge burst into their ranks.  Lances snapped, impaling devils upon their iron tips.  Swords came out, blades reflecting the cavern’s dim lighting as the lizards cut a path through the ranks.

Running behind them, came the Fiend Hunters; a chaotic mass of superb fighters that burst into the gap provided; devastating to those pike men that had not dropped their weapons and found they were defenceless against their swords.  The ranks of the Dark Paeon infantry came behind, more disciplined than the Fiend Hunters, and as effective en mass.  The Outwalkers flowed along the sides, using their bows first, with devastating effect, the cold iron tipped arrows arcing over the front rows, slaughtering the devils behind before raising their own weapons to cut into those devils that had survived the barrage of arrows.  Caught between the fiends behind, and the forces of Harmony Hall before them, the devils of Jelial's army discipline broke, and the real slaughter began.


----------



## Ghostknight (Apr 26, 2007)

*Chapter 28*

I'm going to be away tomorrow- so you get tomorrow's chapter early...

*****

The gates rose slowly, accompanied by the groaning of chains as the massive iron portcullis lifted.  As it rose, the sea of cold-iron-tipped pikes, borne by heavily armoured dwarven infantry, came into sight.  Behind them sat more dwarves, astride heavily armoured miniature war-horses, especially bred for their stature. 

The fiendish cavalry arrayed themselves opposite them, awaiting their emergence.  Many of the infantry that marched with the beasts bearing the scaling ladders turned and faced them, their helmets hiding their features.   It seemed as if the battle paused, as if those who still strived for the walls, only to be destroyed by the blasts of the cadres of angels, had ceased to be of consequence.

A cloud of arrows signalled the charge, the voices of the dwarves rose into a massive roar as they moved forward in unison.  The arrows clattered ineffectually off the black scales of the mounts, but where they found chinks in the armour of the riders, their cold iron tips spelt doom.  The massive wall of pikes moved towards the fiendish cavalry that sat and watched, taking no action, silent amidst the chaos.

The fiendish infantry turned their covered faces towards the advancing dwarves.  As a single unit, they drew their swords and pointed them towards the advancing dwarves.  As one they began a chant, their words unclear, but chilling in their deep, guttural uttering.  On the fortress walls, the blue clad mages of the Tower Arcane came together and started their own chant.  As the sound of the fiends below came to an end, light shot from their swords, coalescing into a single solid beam that burnt a line across the ground towards the advancing pike men.

The beam swung, it turned towards the advancing soldiers, only to strike an invisible barrier that flared blue on contact.  On the battlements, the mages stood, pooling their power, their voices rising and falling as they countered the power of the fiends.  Slowly, under the cover of their shield, the pike men advanced, their pace steady, but it seemed they only crept forward as masses of fiends still pounded at the walls.  The stand-off continued, the invisible shield slowly weakening, as the power of the fiends pounded at it.  Above, one of the mages faltered, and fell to his knees, but he continued chanting as sweat poured from his face and a blood vessel in his nose broke, releasing a slow drip of blood to the ground below.  Below, Idmus D'Haan, son of the General, watched the standoff, and worried.  He saw the fiends, their massive numbers and their relaxed ranks while above the few mages were clearly showing signs of tiring.

"We have to stop this.  The fiends outnumber our mages, and the mages will crumble if we cannot break the fiends."  He spoke to the men that sat astride their mounts around him, the cavalry he had commanded for the last ten years.  He said nothing, just couching his lance and waving the cavalry forward.  Slowly the horses advanced, making their way through the ranks of the infantry until the way before them was clear.

Their charge was a bloody wedge that struck deep into the fiendish infantry who were concentrating on their spear of light.  A whirlwind of destruction that cut through them, causing the spear to waver and then dissolve as they were forced to abandon their concentration and turn to defend themselves.  The heavily armoured infantry did not strike towards the riders, rather aiming their swords at the bellies of their mounts, tumbling the riders to the grounds amidst the guts and blood of their horses.  

The fiendish cavalry started their charge, hitting the now surrounded dwarven cavalry from the side; above them the massive fiends hurling rocks changed their aim, their rocks ploughing through the massed ranks of the dwarven infantry.  The rocks cut off abruptly as the Gir'Thia chose this time to act, to enter into the melee of battle, their arcane power teleporting them to where the giant fiends stood.  The black blades of their scythes shone red as their embedded runes flared, and the limbs and heads of the giants tumbled from their bodies, the surprise attack of the Gir’Thia too fast and too sure, its suddeness preventing them from acting.

Taken by surprise, the four-armed fiends, that were meant to protect the giant rock throwers, turned and charged towards the Gir'Thia, while the sorcerers turned and started their own incantations.  The Gir'Thia awaited the arrival of the female fiends, their scythes weaving patterns before them.  As the four armed fiends rushed up to them, the scythes flared green, their blades suddenly empowered to cut through other metals, cleaving through the thick shields that were supposed to offer resistance, but 
were no more effective than a sheet of paper.

For a moment, it seemed that the dwarves that had taken the Fort of Peaks had the upper hand, but it was but a fleeting moment.  The fiend's sorcerers turned their gaze to where the Gir'Thia fought, and from the clear sky lightning struck down, each bolt finding a target amongst the battling Gir'Thia, throwing them into the air, sending them burning to the ground; those Gir'Thia that survived the strike teleported away, to safety.  On the field before the gate, the superior numbers of the fiends began to tell.  Slowly, the cavalry led by Idmus D’Haan, were being decimated, while the fiendish cavalry had penetrated amongst the dwarven pike men, forcing them into similar tactics to the fiendish infantry; only the blades of their swords were not as effective as those of the fiends' had been against the dwarven mounts.

Gerion watched the battle, the smile on his face growing; victory would follow soon, it was but a matter of time.  He did not mind the losses.  After all, what were soldiers for but to die in order to secure his own glory?

***

At Harmony Hall, the clash of the forces was almost over.  Beset by renegade fiends from their flanks, and the forces of Harmony Hall from the front, the forces of Jelial had been massacred, reduced to a few knots of resistance that, slowly and steadily, were being destroyed.

A massive fiend led one of these areas of resistance; his chain mail aglow with a faint green light, a similar sickly glow limned his massive sword.  The fiend led his group slowly backwards, trying to make for the more open area at the back, and a chance at freedom.  Gyv, flanked by Jeria and Blised moved to intercept the group, "Don't let them get away!"

Her voice was triumphant, breathless from the exertion of battle.  Jeria grinned back, his own bloodlust at the fore from the extended battle.  Blised remained silent, but followed eagerly.  Mekior, fighting on his own, his fiendish form and armour covered in the blood of other fiends, spotted the form of Gyv moving towards the massive fiend.  He looked from her to her target and spotted the green glow from the arms and armour.  He leapt forward, trying to make his way towards her, stop her from engaging with the fiend, "Gyv, stop!  His weapons are rune fed!"  He screamed, all his strength, all his might behind his cry, but in the chaos of battle, in the noise and bedlam of battle, his voice was lost.  She could not hear his anguished cry.

Gyv faced the massive fiend, her blade held before her.  Next to her, Blised and Jeria hacked with their axes, the three providing each other with support, but enough space to move and fight without interfering with one another.  Gyv turned and looked at the fiend, "Today you die, you piece of filth. Invading scum!"  She moved, her sword dancing and, darting in to score a line against its armour, bending and displacing some links, but not penetrating.  

The fiend moved its own sword back, smashing it against her blade, and, as it did so, the blade in Gyv's hand shattered.  She cried out, watching as the blade darted forward, cutting across her stomach, spilling her guts onto the ground.  She dropped down, her hands trying to hold in the intestines that spilled out.  In a spray of blood and internal organs she fell to the ground.

Jeria turned as she fell and saw her body on the ground.  His own cry of despair rang out, his axe smashing down on the fiend's helmet, only to rebound, the only damage being to stagger the fiend and send it stumbling back a few steps.  It bared its teeth, sharp fangs visible.  It darted forward again, its blade aimed at Jeria's chest.  He pivoted at the last moment, so the blade that cut through his armour only scored a mark across his chest, throwing droplets of blood across his body, a few landing on the blade of his own axe.

Blised battled on, stopping the battle from coming near to them, using his massive size to keep the battle at bay, ensure that no fiends came to distract Jeria from his lethal foe. 

Jeria and the fiend faced off, Jeria using his superior agility and mobility to keep its blade from scoring.  Desperately, Jeria kept the fiend at bay, not knowing how he was going to bypass a weapon that would shatter his own, armour that seemed impenetrable to his axe.  The wound across his chest burnt, and he spared a glance down, fearing that it was worse than he had at first thought, or that it was poisoned.  He could feel it burn, feel his blood oozing out.  So it was that he saw, for the first, as his blood started steaming, the blood evaporating into the air instead of falling to the ground.

Surprised at what he was seeing, he almost missed the thrust, but once again was able to turn away enough that he took only a cut across his forearm, the blood running down his arm, his wrist, along the axe shaft and onto his axe.  This blood, too, began to boil and steam.  He spun around, the axe almost slipping from his bloody grasp, but he managed to control it, guide the blade into the fiend's midriff.  As it made contact, so too did some of his blood that flowed down the haft and onto the axe head, which exploded, with a loud bang and a bright flash that left him blinded.  

When his sight cleared, Jeria stared at his foe, who lay dead, most of its body blown away, disintegrated in the blast.  He stared at it, before passing out, falling senselessly to the ground, his head lying across the feet of Gyv's corpse.

***

General D'Haan stood with the kin upon the walls of Fort Livian.  The night was passing and, as yet, there had been no sign of the devils.  He turned to the king, his face a mix of emotions; disappointment vied with relief.  He looked out, lost in thought, and then addressed D'Mier.  

"I thought I was ready to die, to face my end.  It seems that I am actually pleased that it will not be yet."

D'Mier looked over at his elderly uncle, a legendary soldier and commander in his own time.  "I, too am glad.  Dawn will come soon, and nothing will approach from the outside without our knowing of it."  

The two turned, calmly walking from their post behind the crenulations to head back into the city.  As they did so, Eria walked up to them.

"I come to take my leave, your Majesty.  My Master has another errand for me, one more urgent than waiting for battle. "

He bowed, and disappeared from sight as he straightened.

D'Haan and D'Mier looked at where he had been, their thoughts flowing in the same pattern, why did Eria choose this moment to leave?

***

D'Fir looked over the battle, and saw the slow attrition of his forces, saw how soon they would be overrun, that no matter how they fought they would be defeated.  He left his command post, tightening buckles and feeling the comforting weight of his axe in his hand.  As he moved towards the battlements, he was flanked by Sister Egrit and Commander Hulia, both of whom now seemed content in each other's presence; the mutual foe beyond the walls enough to unite them for the moment.

"Let us die well.  There may not be any of us left by the time the sun clears the hills, nor any to carry tales to bards to immortalise us, but the gods watch this day and will reward our valour."

Commander Hulia bowed, "Prince D'Fir, it has been an honour to serve with you.  That is not something I would have ever thought to say to a mere mortal.  But the time has come for me to leave.  Already I have exceeded my orders.  My Master never intended for the Gir'Thia to be lost in a battle  of a minor outpost."

Sister Egrit gave him an incredulous look, and then a look of scorn crossed her face as first Hulia, and then the remaining Gir'Thia, teleported to safety.  "Never fear, D'Fir.  Neither I, nor my compatriots will desert you.  Not in this time of need!"

"Ah, that is how it should be, devils deserting while angels stand firm."  The voice came to them from above, musical and clear even in the noise of battle.  D'Fir and Sister Egrit watched as the newcomer floated down on immense white wings, golden hair flowing behind.  The huge figure landed before them and bowed.

"Look beyond your walls.  Gerion is in for a surprise."  The angelic figure smiled, golden eyes meeting theirs.  "I am Aspith.  I met with some friends of yours recently and I thought you might appreciate some help."  At their shocked looks Aspith laughed.
"I am different to what you expected?  Ah well, hopefully the same can be said of my forces that now assail Gerion's army."

The three moved to watch over the battlements.  The battleground below was black with the devils of Gerion army.  As they watched, flashes of blue light started appearing over the battlefield, each flash leaving a group of devils below.  The immense fiends of Aspith's forces started moving outwards, each one with a line of blue light connecting them to a vulture-headed sorcerer.  They wielded massive great-swords whose blades glowed dimly in the pre-dawn light.  As they struck out, each blow killed the fiend to whom it was directed, every contact with a foe a burst of blue light, an explosion of destruction.

Overlooking this sudden reversal of fortune, Gerion looked over the field of battle, turning to his oval-headed sorcerer.

"Who are they? Show me those who stand and watch!"

Obedient to his master's commands, the sorcerer invoked his power, pooling his arcane might into a sphere of light that showed those who stood and watched.  

"I don't know who they are, General, but it looks like a pair of angels talking to the leader of the dwarves."

Gerion inspected the two figures in the sphere and took a step back. He remembered a long ago battle, one in which the celestial light had been invoked.  Surely that figure was the one that had sought to usurp the throne of Hell.  But how?  He was long thought dead.  Why he would reappear here was far more important than winning this battle.  He turned to the sorcerer, "No, only the one is.  The other is one that sought to be a Lord of Hell and has long been believed to be dead!  Abandon this battle. There are more important issues at stake than the retaking of the fortress."  

He stared once more at the sphere, musing over the implications.  "It seems that our foes grow bold, that old taboos have been put aside.  Sound the recall; I must speak to Jelial with no further delay."

***

Jelial had grown tired of the revel and had taken to his throne, sitting in the dark of his court.  He stared into space, his mind working, wondering what it would feel like if his plan succeeded.  Thus, he was surprised when, without any bidding, the torches flared into life once more and Gerion marched towards him.

"I take it you have successfully retaken the Fort then?  I am sure that is the task that was set."  Jelial spoke softly, his voice just carrying to Gerion.

"No.  We abandoned the attack."  Gerion stopped speaking, seeing the fury on Jelial's face, "We abandoned it since we were attacked by a superior force, of devils."

"Devils?  Who led them?  Who could bring enough might to bear?  Secheriab could not have brought through sufficient numbers for an army that size."

"Not Secheriab."  Gerion's voice was almost gloating, "It was Aspith.  It seems that the one time wannabe Lord of Hell fled here when his attempt to usurp the throne failed."  Gerion watched as Jelial's face fell.

"Aspith?  Here?  But why wait so long?  What has changed now?"  Jelial looked at Gerion, the confusion clear, the implications of this turn of events shredding some of his carefully laid plans.

***

At Harmony Hall, the last of the fiends was being destroyed.  A small group stood surrounded, watching as the renegade fiends slaughtered their comrades.  One, more loyal than the rest and with just enough ability to do so, used his last moments to send a message to Jelial, "We have fallen.  The renegades aid the mortals!"  The communication died as claws from a renegade pulled his heart out through his mouth, silencing him forever.


----------



## Ghostknight (Apr 30, 2007)

*Chapter 29*

The aftermath of the battle saw a triumphant city celebrating riotously into the night.  Not all joined in the party, outside the city groups of soldiers laid out the bodies of their fallen in neat rows; each covered with a plain white shroud bearing the symbol of ultimate death.  The bodies of the devils were thrown to one side, piled high in their anonymity.  The renegades sorted through them, putting their own to one side for proper burial, leaving the rest for the carrion eaters.

In one corner Mekior sat, a scarred face resting upon his knee.  He stared ahead, saying nothing, just stroking the hair still matted with the blood and dirt of the battlefield.  His eyes were blank, dead.  Deep within them, the fire danced.  He looked up as Jeria arrived, contemplating the features of the half-breed.

"I tried to stop her, she did not hear."  Mekior's voice was flat, toneless, devoid of any hint of emotion.  "I saw the rune light from his sword and knew she would die if she faced him.  But she didn't hear."  He continued staring straight ahead, hands mechanically smoothing the hair that fell across his lap.

Jeria moved, and came to sit beside him, his gaze lost in the darkness of the cavern.  He said nothing, his presence a companion to Mekior's grief.  Eventually he reached across, his hand gripping the green scales of Mekior's hand.

"It is time to let go of her."  Gently he clenched Mekior's hands in his, before moving them the side.  Jeria stood, and turned to Mekior.  "Help me bring her to the ultimate peace."

For a moment Mekior's blank stare didn't change and then he stood.  He gently clasped  Gyv's head within his cupped hands, as four bearers lifted her body, carrying her within the shroud of a hero laid over her body, an honour guard as she was brought to her final rest amongst the rest of the fallen that day- each name carefully recorded for eternal memorial.  In silence they kept vigil, until the funeral pyres were lit and the ashes gathered to be buried in the centre of the city beneath the memorial to those who fought to keep the city free.

With the low tones of the funeral dirge still being chanted, those gathered to honour the dead turned as one, to face the city, their refuge from the dark outside.  The crowd fell silent, returning in silence and contemplation to the city.  For some, it was to return to the council chambers to discuss what next.  To plan and to try to dispel the fear that next time Jelial would be successful. 

***

"Prince D'Fir, your father awaits you."  The steward looked over the Prince, noting the battle stained armour, the grimy axe and the dirt of the field stuck to his face and within his beard.  He nodded in approval; such was the custom, that when a General returned triumphant, he should come to be honoured by the King still bearing the grime of the battlefield, as the king had been honoured by his actions upon that field.

D’Fir marched down the centre of the hall, the stones echoing the footfalls of his iron shod boots.  At the throne, King D'Mir stood as his son approached.  As D'Fir neared, he sank to his knee, his voice rising over the assembled nobles.

"All hail to Prince D'Fir!  All laude my General who first won, and then held the Fort of Peaks."  Amidst the tumultuous cheering of the assemblage, the King rose, reaching out to grasp his son's shoulder and turned him to face the assemblage, to accept their accolades, and to let him bask in their adoration.  Soon the feasting would come, and the celebrations would cross the city.  For some, a celebration of victory in a distant fort, for others a celebration of their continued life and the battle that never came; but there were also those that sat quietly upon low benches, with but the flickering of candles for company, mourning those whose funeral pyres had lit the sky in distant peaks.

All celebrations have to end, and so it was that three days later the council came together, sitting in session to decide on the future.  King D'Mir looked over those present.  Aside from the obligatory representatives from the noble families, the assemblage included General D'Haan, Prince D'Fir, Eria, Sister Egrit and Aspith.  The King's gaze lingered first upon Eria and then Aspith.  He understood Eria; felt comfortable that the devil was as expected, something understandable, but Aspith disturbed him.  His angelic appearance at odds with what he knew of him, a powerful devil that had contended for the throne of Hell, and had been only defeated by the combined might of those that ruled.

"We stand at a historical cusp.  Jelial has been defeated, even as he made a bid for greater power.  Lord Aspith, we thank you for your help.  Without your timely intervention, we would have been mourning, not celebrating.  Ambassador Eria, we thank you and Lord Secheriab for the assistance you rendered.  Now we have to decide what happens from this point onward."  Silence fell across those present, each looking towards the king.

"We won a battle, not the war.  Jelial is licking his wounds, for the moment.  He will seek revenge.  So what do we do?"  The King's voice died down, his gaze meeting the eyes of each present.  Aspith looked back at him, his head higher than the King's, even while seated, and started speaking.

"Jelial will not move quickly.  He will spend time consolidating his forces, finding out how things have changed.  He knows me, and my history, though he will be wondering what has brought me out of hiding.  He will suspect I seek the same as he, a seat at amongst those that rule."  Aspith stopped, looking at Eria, a smile playing across his feature.  "It's what we all want, what we spend our eternities seeking.  Any fiend claiming otherwise is lying.  Once I did, and it cost me the life of my love, of many friends.  I have lived for millennia since then, in peace, content to rule my domain beneath the earth.”  He laughed, “First I warn against fiends claiming they have no interest in the throne of Hell, and then I claim it of myself.  I speak truthfully, though.  I contended for the throne, and lost.  I shall not go down that path again, it can but lead to my doom- none of those in the ruling council would sit still and let me ever return to Hell without being destroyed by their combined might.  Even now the Lord of  the Eighth will have informed the rest of the Lords of Hell that I yet live.  I am content to be left with my kingdom here.  Perhaps that will be enough for them .”  He paused, looking down the table, his gaze lingering on Eria.

“Jelial will not leave me be.  He cannot afford to ignore my existence, he knows from my actions that I will oppose turning this world into a reflection of Hell.  He knows that I will not allow him to turn this world into his personal demesne.”  

“Then there are the Renegades that attacked his forces at Harmony Hall; yet another group of fiends that opposes his rule.  Most of the renegades have never seen Hell; they regard this world as their home.  So, Jelial has gone from having a world he thought he had under control, to one filled with enemies, powerful enemies.  Do not underestimate him; he gained control of this world through careful planning, and he will use every bit of knowledge and power available to him to hang onto it."

Aspith looked around the table, and held up his hand as Eria started to speak, silencing him.  "We have a far mightier alliance to stand up to Jelial than at any other time.  But this is just one corner of the world; there are other hidden cities, other communities and races that lie in hiding.  Who knows how many of those, faced with Jelial's ultimatum, decided to succumb?  We cannot know how much closer Jelial has come to his ultimate aim.  Now is not the time for complacency, now is the time to build our alliance, to find more of those that might add to our strength as the war progresses."

Those at the table did not look pleased at what Aspith had said, but none moved to gainsay it.  No one challenged it, in their hearts they knew he spoke the truth.  They had hoped to continue celebrating the victories they had achieved; they had not truly wanted to contemplate happenings outside of their ken.  Silence reigned for a few moments more, and then D'Fir spoke up.  His voice was clear and firm, as he addressed the council.

"I have to agree with what Lord Aspith has said.  Many of you do not trust him; after all, he once sought to rule over Hell.  It is strange times we find ourselves in; for so long we have fought and hated the evil ones that came from planes and realities beyond our own, outsiders that have come to rule our world and dominate our lives.  Now I have fought alongside the Gir'Thia, devils considered deadly and violent even by the standards of their own kind,sent by Secheriab to aid us, and I HAVE seen that they, too, have a nobility of purpose.  True, some would say that they deserted us before the end," and here his glance shifted quickly to Sister Egrit, "but they were never promised to us as troops, only as a means of moving our own soldiers into the conflict.  They fought well, and without them we would not have lasted until Lord Aspith and his force arrived.

We have built a strange fellowship indeed.  Eria the Red, Ambassador of Secheriab, represents a fiendish power that once sought to destroy Lord Aspith.  The Renegades, now encamped at Harmony Hall, represent a fiendish contingent that owes loyalty to no Lord, whether in Hell or otherwise.  Then, to complete the otherworldly aspect of our alliance, we have the angels, the representatives of the celestial spheres, whom have long been foes of all the fiends. Standing betwixt these conflicting ethos are those of us native to this world, hoping that one day we will again breathe the air of the world above as free beings and not as slaves.

I find myself trusting all these allies, as strange as that may seem.  Each has their own reasons for aiding us, and, in those private motives I find reason to trust, and because I trust, I bow to the wisdom of Aspith."
He stood and walked to his father's side, to kneel at his side.

"I beg you, Lord D'Mir, king, liege lord and father, to give me permission to seek out those whom we could add to the roster of allies."

***

Kint walked through the quiet streets of Gunder's Hall, flanked by two fiends sent by Aspith.  They were both thin and moved with the agility of dancers, or trained martial artists.  Simple white robes covered their bodies, long billowy sleeves showing only their wrists and six fingered hands.  Their heads were featureless ovals, their blankness disconcerting to all who had to deal with them. Where did you look when no eyes could be met?  From where did the sound, and rose scented breath, come when they spoke?  How did they hear when they had no ears?  Yet those six-fingered hands, with silver nails and golden scales that disappeared into the dark, billowing sleeves, healed any wound, any sickness upon which they fell.

"I will call together what remains of the council for your Master's visit.  Unfortunately, many have died in the plague, including Vixel, once the chief councillor that dealt with those from outside the city.  Gebril still lives, but Seridi, mistress of the city, fled when you arrived.  A search of her quarters has not revealed anything."

One of the fiends chuckled, that strangely aromatic breath wafting over Kint.

"Take us to her quarters.  I have many suspicions as to why she would have fled.  If my suspicions are correct, it would explain the origin of this plague."

With a nod, Kint changed direction, and headed into one of the more constricted side tunnels.  The way was brightly lit, and many survivors stuck their heads out to peer at Kint, and the fiends, as they passed by.  Fully half of the populace had died, and most of the rest had been healed at the hands of the fiends, but most had been too sick, and the fiends too rushed, for them to have satisfied their curiosity.

The three walked down the tunnel, until they reached a dead-end.  In front of them was a massive door, flanked by two guards in the cities livery.  They opened the door when they saw Kint, known to them as the head of the Healer's Guild, and stared unashamedly at the two fiends that entered with him.

The fiend that had spoken previously or at least Kint thought it to be the same one, stepped out of his white robe.  Kint saw that the golden scales covered the entirety of its body, no patches or wrinkles marking the golden perfection.  It stood there, any genitalia hidden away and not visible. The fiend started to dance, the light reflecting off its scale, reflected light bouncing off the walls, ceiling and floor.  The dance was a whirlwind of motion, stunningly beautiful in its execution, and frightening in its unearthly nature.  It seemed an eternity, but the unwavering intensity of the unnatural light from the tunnel showed it to be but a few minutes, before the dance concluded.  

The fiend said nothing, made no sound, but simply turned and walked to a spot on the wall. It stood with both feet wide apart and rested its hands on the wall before it.  A shriek seemed to rip from its throat, syllables in the dark tongue of the fiends rippling forth, taunting the ear of the human that heard them.  The wall disappeared, revealing a large room with unadorned stonewalls.  The walls were lined with shelves, all  stood empty except for a few near the doors.  The fiend reached out and took a small vial in which the remnant of a thin, red liquid coated the bottom.

"Here is the disease that attacked your city.  And this one," he picked up a slightly larger vial which was filled with a blue liquid, "is the antidote.  No doubt, Jelial would have offered to spare the remnants of the city in return for your worship."

Kint looked at the two vials, a gut twisting sense of betrayal rushing through him.  "So, the one person we relied on to protect us from Jelial was the greatest traitor of all."

The fiend placed its hand upon Kint's shoulder.  "My Master seeks an end to this.   Make sure the council knows of this betrayal, and of my master's works in helping first to save those fighting at the Fort of Peaks, and then his sending of us to do the healing.  My Master can be trusted, but you will find it hard to get most of your fellows to place their trust in him."

***

The three days of the revel had ended and Jelial stood before his court.  The massed nobility of the fiends gathered, as was their norm, to pay homage to the one that had conquered this world on their behalf.  Few were truly loyal; amongst fiends loyalty was not an emotion often found, but they all followed the one they thought would increase their personal power.  In his moment of glory in the wake of the revel, Jelial stepped off his throne and walked down through those gathered at his feet.  As he did so, he singled out part of their number.

"Those I have chosen today go forth as my governors to rule over those cities that have bent their heads in supplication.  Let it be seen that those who are loyal to me shall be rewarded!"  He smiled, turning around to allow all present to bask in the warmth of his victory.  He stopped turning, facing a small devil whose grey skin seemed to soak in the light.

He smiled as those features began to boil, the acrid, nose burning smell of acid thick in the hall.  He watched as the devil, screaming in agony, collapsed to the ground, the ooze leaving its body pitting the floor below.  Jelial's smile did not waver as he watched, and his voice, though soft, carried over the pain-filled screams.

"Remember what happens to those that betray me.  Next time, I won't be so merciful."  He stomped on the remnants of the body, grinding it into the floor and emphasising, at the same time, his immunity to many of those things deadly to others.

Jelial left the hall, stopping before he left to turn and call out, “Ceriask, Gerion, Ahrith, Shinfe and Breth join me in the Chamber, NOW!” 

Those hearing the command could feel the magic in it, the call reaching out to those who were not present, a compulsion that forced them back to Jelial’s court.  Only Jelial knew the gamble he took- in his moment of defeat if even one of his generals chose this moment to stand against him, it could well rend the entire empire he was trying to build- and at least two, and perhaps even three, of those named had the power to resist the compulsion!  

Showing none of his inner misgivings, he turned and stalked off, out of the sight of those within the court.  Once out of their sight, he stood still for a while, gathering energy, before disappearing with none of the obvious chanting or waving of hands that lesser magi were forced to use in their channelling and directing of arcane magical energy.  He reappeared before what appeared to be a single massive block of stone, its dark black sides drinking the light that fell upon them, igniting flecks of light that glittered within.   

It stood within the centre of the market place, perhaps twice the height of Jelial and eighty paces long.   No doors could be seen, and neither did openings of any kind grace its smooth black sides.  All in the market place avoided coming near, assiduously making sure they stayed as far from it as they could. 

Jelial’s appearance caused a panic within the market; instantly, all activity stopped as all those present dropped to their faces, avoiding the gaze of their lord and master.  Seemingly at random, Jelial pointed within the crowd, and someone would be flung out- their body flailing through the air- their heads smashed open upon the block of stone.  After, perhaps, the fiftieth such victim a red-limned doorway appeared.   Smiling, ignoring the cobbles made slippery by the gore and ichor of those killed to open the doorway, Jelial stepped inside to await the arrival of his chief generals.

***

Gerion received the summons, even as he prepared to leave to deliver his report on the defeat at the Fort of Peaks.  Briefly he contemplated ignoring it, sending out his own summons and seeing how many would gather under his banner, but then decided against it- he had lost too many battles recently to be seen as deserving of the support of the others.  Still, it seemed that others might be vying for Jelial’s position, for even as the sound of Jelial’s voice was dimming in his ears, another voice reached him, low, sibilant, and filled with all the malice its owner possessed.

“Gerion, attend me.  We need to talk before we confront Jelial.”

Gerion closed his eyes, following the thin arcane thread that Ceriask had left.  It was tiring, but he compelled his sight out of his body, sending it ranging across the miles, inspecting the place at which it terminated.  Once satisfied that the area was free of traps, he raised a portal and stepped through, leaving it open in case he needed to get away quickly.

Gerion arrived in a small room.  It was bare, but for a small chair upon which Ceriask sat.  No chair was available for him.  Inwardly Gerion smiled; Ceriask was too sure of himself, too sure of his own power.  He examined the seated figure whose bottom two arms lay calmly upon the seats armrests, his middle arms and top arms folded across his chest.  His powerful legs were garbed in a shimmering purple garb, his chest covered in alternating bands of leather and gold.  To Gerion’s vision, the whole shone with the power of the enchantments embedded within.  Once again his inner voice chuckled- Ceriask was too dependant on the enchantment upon his garb, and the weapons he thought were invisible against his sides.

“You invited me here, Ceraisk.  Speak quickly, Jelial awaits our presence!”

“Gerion.”  The voice was low, smooth, controlled in its power.  “Shall we play games, or are you ready to get right to the point?  Come, old friend, old adversary, old acquaintance.  We have known each other for aeons, sparred against one another, and been allies when it suited us.  Surely we can dispense with the games and pretences and speak plainly.”

Gerion listened to the voice, easily filtering out the compulsion built into the words.

“You always did like to control those you considered your lesser.  Do you think so little of me, Ceriask?  Now speak, why did you summons me here when our Lord and Master awaits us”

Ceriask stood, his face not reflecting his disappointment at the failure of his magic.  

“The time has come, Gerion.  Jelial has overplayed his hand and is ripe for a fall.  I have allies, powerful allies, allies from home that will welcome us back if we dispose of Jelial.  I know that I cannot confront him by myself, but together we can overcome and destroy him!”

“You act as a mere pawn of another and wish me to do likewise?  You are a fool, Ceriask!  You always have been foolish, but to try and ensnare me within your crass attempt at assassination is a level of foolishness and stupidityyou have never displayed before!”

Ceriask looked at Gerion, his red face swelling, his hands unfolding, hovering near the blades of his swords.  Gerion watched as Ceriask brought himself back under control, and turned away, only to quickly swing around, his words hissing through his lips as he confronted Gerion.

“I tire of this place, Gerion.  I know you must too.  Surely you cannot like this world and its puny creatures that we twist to our wills!  I do not believe the stories of your ‘son’ that has become our foe; it must surely be no more than another of your plots.  If you will not follow me, then tell me what your plans are, and maybe I shall follow you!”

Gerion laughed, throwing his rejection of Ceriask straight at him.

“No, Ceriask, I will not be joining you and neither will you be joining me!  He leapt back, arcane bolts flying from the ground by his feet straight into the face of Ceriask.  Silently he had sent the power out, and he watched as Ceriask’s defences dealt with the assault.  

With a cry, Ceriask drew his swords, the blades almost leaping into his outstretched arms as he charged at Gerion.  For his part, Gerion stood where he was, concentrating his power on defusing the arcane protection that was embedded within the clothing that Ceriask wore.  He saw Ceriask coming, and at the last second spun on his feet, his hand slapping down on Ceriask as he passed by.  A loud “crack” could be heard as his palm smashed into the back of Ceriask, and dull silver light surrounded him, causing him to stumble and pause, horrified, as he felt the magic leeched out of his clothing and weapons.

With glee, Gerion drew his own weapons, charging forward, letting his bloodlust overcome him.  His sword clashed against the swords of his foe, easily sweeping through them, the magic in his blade reducing his opponent’s swords to mere stubs in their wielder’s hands.  He spun round, kicking out with his legs, caving Ceriask’s face, making a pulp of Ceriask’s nose and mouth.  His motion continued, his sword sweeping through the air, trailing light and then blood as it cut through first Ceriask’s upraised arms, and then his neck, leaving his head to drop to the ground and bounce off his knees.  In his bloodlust, Gerion barely noticed and hacked at the corpse, leaving nothing identifiable, just a bloody mass upon the ground.  Eventually, the bloodlust left him and he came to his senses.  He calmly walked to the patch of ground upon which Ceriask’s head lay, picked it up and cradled it under his arm.  With a few whispered words he faded from sight.

***

Jelial stood within the chamber fuming as he looked at only three of the five that sat there.  His anger was fuelled by fear; Ceriask and Gerion were his two most powerful generals.  One missing would be bad enough, both missing raised the spectre of them working together.  He had long feared that Gerion, as his second-in-command , might rebel, but he had never considered Ceriask a likely rebel- he was too cowardly, too careful about losing his position and life though he was clearly one of the senior devils within the hierarchy.

The other three around the table shifted uneasily- unlike their more powerful brethren, they had been compelled to be there, to make there way with as much haste as was feasible.  They understood the implications of the two missing fiends and worried at their positions, and continued existence should open war breakout.  Thus they were as relieved as Jelial when the chamber resounded to the single note of the gong that indicated that someone had entered the door for which so many had been killed to open.

Gerion strode into the room, aware of the impression he made with the coating of fresh fiendish blood that covered his armour and the head of Ceriask cradled under one arm.  As he entered, he tossed the head so it hit the table and rolled until it came to rest just before Jelial.  With a flourish he bowed before Jelial.

“I give you the head of a traitor! Alas, he did not reveal to me just who it was that had commissioned him to try and kill you, my Lord, just that they were from ‘Home’.  It seems the poor lad had gotten confused and failed to remember that this was home now.”

Gingerly Jelial reached out, his long nails turning the head till the eyes stared out at him   All watched as blue flame leapt between him and severed head, drilling into the eye sockets.  Above the head formed a picture, a replay of the events as they had transpired.  He grunted, and knocked the head off the table onto the floor, casually kicking it into a corner where strange green and purple beetles swarmed out of a nearby hole and began to feast upon it.

“Many thanks, Gerion.  It is always comforting to know that my subjects are loyal.”  Jelial looked at Gerion, waving him to the seat to his right, the seat of honour next to the head of the table.  Smirking, Gerion took the indicated seat and looked at the others present.  After this, none would dare to mention his defeat at the Fort of peaks again.


----------



## Rikandur Azebol (May 1, 2007)

Nice and smooth, Ghostknight.


----------



## Ghostknight (May 2, 2007)

*Part IV -AFTERMATH Chapter 30*

*Six months later*

In the far north, the snow lay thick on the ground.  The high walls of the compound were unnecessary; nobody lived beyond them in the freezing cold and utter desolation of snow and ice.  The compound itself existed for but one reason, to house the slaves that were used to harvest the crop of snow beetles, thin, long, almost cylindrical insects that lived in just this one location, feeding off the bright blue plants that grew from within the ice, fuelled by the warm water that boiled out from somewhere deep within the ground.

The compound was large; in the centre stood four buildings and a large arch, surrounding this were vast fields of the blue plants, some within the walls and some continuing beyond the walls.  The first of the buildings held the rooms in which the slaves slept.  The walls were thin, and only a few embers lay within the massive fireplace, keeping them just warm enough to survive, but never warm enough to be comfortable.  A further level of discomfort was what lay over the barely burning fire- a spit upon which the remains of a person could be seen; the remnants of a feast held by the fiends a few nights before.  

The next building on held the fiends and their favoured slaves.  In there, the fires were banked high and the rooms well lit.  Merriment was the order of the day, their sorrow at being assigned to this backward, hostile area being drowned in the bottles of ale and wine that never ceased to flow.  

All too often, they found inventive excuses for needing to punish slaves, and often entertained themselves with devising new and imaginative ways of torturing these unfortunates.  Indeed, the expected lifespan of slaves within this outpost was no more than a few months.  For this reason, new arrivals were common, and this day was no different.  Outside, four fiends stood upon black blocks that had been heated, and then magically bound to hold the heat.  To a human (or any others of the mortal races), the heat would have been blistering and almost definitely fatal, but for them it was a balm against the cold.  They watched as the portal was powered from the other end and began to glow just seconds before slaves started being herded through from the other side.  

Sighing, they noted that, as usual, those on the other end were too eager to finish their duties and the first slaves were pushed through before the portal was fully ready.  Those unfortunates arrived in a tangled mass of limbs and organs.  Still, that was why there were slaves here with them, who rushed in to remove the mess, even as others were being forced out, often stepping on top of the remains of their fellows.  The new arrivals stood there shivering, their thin, threadbare clothing completely inadequate for the conditions to which they were now subjected.  Other slaves ran forward, throwing old and worn jackets and boots at each person, waiting nearby to help those who were too overcome by the cold to dress themselves.

No more than ten minutes had passed before the mass of new arrivals stood there in the snow, dressed and in ranks before their new Masters.  With a shout of command, and the p[rodding of whips and clubs, they started forward, following behind the slaves that led them to their new quarters for however long they remained alive.  If any of them noticed that a few of them seemed too well fed, too unscarred to fit in, nobody said anything- one did not ask about the details of another, after all, everyone here was here in lieu of a death sentence of another kind.

For the next two days life continued amongst the slaves.  As was usual, the arrival of the newcomers brought a brief flurry of interest from the other slaves.  Everyone crowded around the newly arrived slaves, hoping that some would come from the same herd or at least the same area as they had.  Each hoped for news of people left behind, of loved ones and friends.  As always, the hope of those first brief moments did not last for long, the despair of their everyday lives, of daily work from before dawn until after dusk wearing them down with exhaustion.

One night, after they had been kept in the fields struggling to find the elusive insects in the dark and not being allowed to rest while their quota remained unfilled, the slaves were herded back into their quarters.  Cold supper awaited them, and the fire, even the smallest of the embers in the massive fireplace had died.  Horrified they looked on the dead fire in despair.  They had no means to light another- and many of the weaker ones amongst them feared they would not last the night.

One of the newcomers came forward, digging through the remnants.  More than that, he found a broken, unusable chair, and threw it into the fireplace.  He leant over the pile, muttering under his breathe.  Suddenly, there was a bright flare  of heat and light, leaving behind a fire burning brightly and strong.  More than that, the fuel was not visibly being used.

“By the Gods, you have saved us!”  A large burly man, another of the newcomers, came forward to bask in the heat of the blaze.

“But how did you do it?  We are grateful, it has been too long since any of us felt warm, but how did you conjure up this fire?”  Askeletal man stood before the fire, his gaunt face smiling as the heat hit him.  Others crowded around, similarly feeling the heat and revelling in the unaccustomed feeling of comfort.  Someone put their cold meal near the flames, and soon everyone had their first hot meal in a long time.

The man that had started the blaze was an instant hero, everyone congratulating him.  Over and over the question was raised, “How had he conjured up the fire?”

“Enough.  I will not answer this question.  If I told you, you would hate me, perhaps even kill me.”  If the crowd noticed, no one remarked on it, but those others from the newcomers that seemed too well fed crowded closer to him, making sure that no one could get too close.

“Tell us”, the clamour of the crowd grew, worry that their benefactor might disappear and they would never feel this comfortable again.  “Tell us and we swear that we will bring no harm to you.” Reluctantly, the man allowed himself to be persuaded and started to speak.

“I prayed to Jelial for the fire.  It makes sense, does it not?  In the old days, we prayed to Gods and they used their divine will to give us our needs.  Jelial is a devil, akin to the flames, and one who holds the power of life and death.  It did not seem such a terrible thing the first time I tried, and look, now I can summon fire at will.  Perhaps this explains why the Gods have abandoned us- Jelial has replaced them!”

The group looked at him in horror, but some looked thoughtful- a strand in the tapestry that grew as he started to teach others how to summon flame in the name of Jelial.

***

In summer, in the deserts, the nights were hot and the days even hotter.  In the deepest, driest, hottest areas grew the malinor plant.  Small and hard to find, it survived by living where little else could and being highly poisonous to prevent anything from sampling it.  Its vibrant red, orange and golden leaves was warning enough to the few lizards, snakes and birds to stay away- even merely brushing against it could prove fatal, particularly since its long, thin, needle-like thorns could penetrate most natural armour.  It was well equipped by nature for survival in its ecological niche, until the arrival of the fiends.

How the taint entered the area was a matter of conjecture- after all, the rains only fell in those areas once every thirty or forty years; so unlike in most areas the taint could not have been waterborne.  How the taint had arrived was really only of academic interest, it was there, and, as always, it twisted things to be sicker, twisted shadows of their former selves- in the case of the malinor, the taint interacted with the plant’s native poison in an unique way.  The malinor was just as lethal, just as dangerous as before, but now it had an additional property, its leaves, soaked in wine and powdered with other herbs created a hallucinogenic enjoyed by the seniour fiends of the hierarchy (it was too expensive and rare for lesser beings.)

To obtain this highly desirable commodity, small camps of slaves could be found dotted through-out this hostile, lethal environment.  Each camp was clustered around a magical font, which produced water at the command of the reigning fiend.  The human slaves drank as much as they needed from this font, the fiends lost enough slaves to the plants that they saw no reason to kill them with thirst.  In order to gather the plants, the slaves ranged widely, while wearing thick leather gloves interwoven with flexible metal fibres.  Even these were not always enough to stop the poison, but trying to collect the leaves without them was certain death.  

The camp was lead by a fiend named Virtel, who now stood talking to Lhitek, the master of a convoy that had brought in a fresh load of slaves, and would take the latest harvest back to the cities.

“We are to teach them the charm then?”  Virtel looked quizzically at Lhitek.  “It seems strange to do so now.  We never have before, it always seemed risky to let slaves know any magic in case they experimented for themselves and discovered something we would rather they did not know”

Lhitek shook his head and stared down at the huddled group of slaves that had been unshackled from behind the pack beasts and were being herded into the massive tent in which the slaves were housed.

“I don’t question the orders.  Back in the cities it does not serve to be in disagreement with the high lords.  They have been known to take offence, and that can lead to a slow, painful death.  I find it strange myself, but that is the order.  Perhaps the scroll will make it clearer.”  From an inside pocket Lhitek pulled out a gilded ,and beautifully carved, ivory scroll case which he handed to Virtel.

Virtel looked at the case carefully, and, noting certain elements within the design, muttered a phrase before attempting to open it.  From within he extracted a beautiful piece of leather upon which letters of gold shone.  As he read them, the letters disappeared, but his eyebrows raised and a look of fear came across his face.

“So that is the game that is afoot.  Lhitek, forget what you told me this day, and never mention your orders to another.  If you disobey they will destroy you, and not just on this world.”  He looked down at the slaves and shook his head.  “Who knows if the plan has any chance of working?”

Amongst the new arrivals were Ferio and Sherik, two slaves from the herds of the southern lords.  Both had known each other for years, growing up in the same litter.  They were closer than brothers were; after all, brothers often never met their entire lives whereas they had grown up in the same litter with the same parent-teachers.  Together they had worked and studied, becoming strong and serving their masters well.   So when they had been removed from their trusted roles within their masters house they had been confused- both their backs were bare of the tell tale marks of the disobedient slave- the welts and scars from whips and torture implements used to instill discipline.  What was more confusing was that the other slaves that had been shipped here with them were from similar situations- all were intimate or friendly with at least one other slave, and all had been in trusted positions.

As former favoured slaves, they suffered from the hard work, heat and dry conditions.  They fatigued easily and luck kept alone them going, and alive even as the sun sapped their strength and caution.

On their fourth day, Sherik’s luck ran out, and his carelessness resulted in the inevitable.  Bending down to pluck the leaves from a plant, he failed to notice that another plant, contrary to the norm, was growing just to the right of the one from which he was picking leaves.  As he reached down, the second plants thorns scraped along his arm.  Instantly, fire exploded along his arm, shooting through his body, wracking him with convulsions.  His screams were heard, and Ferio, quickly running to his friend’s aid, was forced to watch in despair, as already Sherik's arm was grossly deformed and swelling up.  He could but mourn and grieve as the swelling migrated across his body, a preface to the rotting that would lead to death.

The screams were noted by others, including the fiends that were overseers, who had been waiting for just such an occurrence amongst the new arrivals, and who hastened to inform Virtel of what was happening.  When Ferio looked up, he saw the fiend that was master of this place standing above him.  He dropped to his knees, eyes staring at the ground, trembling with fear as he realised he had abandoned his own work to rush to his friend’s side.

“Speak, slave.  Why are you here?”

Swallowing his fear, Ferio answered, as he knew he must, though he knew his words might earn him a slow death.  “Master, I heard the screams and came to aid him.”

Virtel looked down at the slave, stopping his near instinctive reaction to punish the disobedient slave; he had his orders.  “Human.  Know that our divine ruler Jelial has decreed that humans who call on him for help shall receive aid.  In order to save your friend, call on his name.”  Outwardly Virtel smiled, while inwardly he cringed at the magnitude of what Jelial attempted. “I know you were a house slave and can thus read.  Save your friend by memorising the phrase upon this parchment and then calling on Jelial’s name, begging of him divine favour.”

Unbelieving, Ferio knelt by his friend, read the parchment and called out to Jelial, invoking his divine will to cure his friend.  It worked, and more, the phrase remained embedded within his mind.  What a boon to them all, a way to survive the plants that had killed so many!  So he became a disciple, teaching the phrase and its intonation to the others that laboured in the sun.  Another thread woven into the tapestry, another weave in Jelial’s plan that was slowly growing to fruition.

***

Firevale was a minor city with perhaps three thousand inhabitants, of which two thousand were slaves serving the fiends and their allies.  Most of the remaining thousand were fiend blooded, with a few in whom the blood ran strong enough to make them akin to their masters.  The reason for the cities existence was threefold; the fertile plains outside of the vale, the comfortable conditions within the vale for the fiend and fiend blooded (neither of which cared about the comfort of the slaves) and the presence of the open veins of magma.  The open veins of magma were caused by the nearby rift within a volcano and kept the temperatures high and the air filled with the smell of burning.  Daily trips by slaves to the veins of magma, armed with long tongs to retrieve pieces of purified elemental earth that flowed within the magma, served as the cities main source of income.  The slaves only recovered 2 or 3 kilograms of the precious material a month, the danger involved meant that slaves that had become experts in its retrieval were highly prized.  

The recovered material was fashioned into armour and weaponry, then treated and enhanced by the magicians within the city.  Only the wealthiest and most powerful of the fiends could afford even a simple dagger of the substance- and full suits of armour were owned only be Jelial and his generals, and then only used on ceremonial occasions.  The smiths capable of working with the material were a special class within the slaves, well treated, fed and looked after.  No more than three within the family were ever trained at a time, and only their children were allowed to stay with them, the rest were sent back to live with the rest of the slave population.

So it was that one day these elite slaves, the miners and smiths, were brought into the grand hall of the city.  Before them stood Rioner, Master of the Guild of Crafting Magicians, and Hernet, Master of the Rites.  Both were half-fiends, yet their innate power, combined with their studies of magic, placed them at the top of the hierarchy, their power surpassing that of most of their full-blooded cousins.  They cast their eyes over the group, and then conferred.

“Sind, Deri, Vishnu and Hokli of the miners, as well as Rory the smith and Jecklith the apprentice stay where you are.  The rest of you, leave!”

The abrupt command, emanating from Hernet, was rapidly obeyed.  Unlike normal slaves, those told to remain behind did not feel apprehensive, after all, they were members of the elite and had done nothing wrong, but they felt curious as to why they had been singled out.  They stood facing the two Guildmasters, awaiting their fate.  Rioner wandered amongst them, touching a face here, an arm there.  He seemed satisfied and nodded to Hernet.

“You have all been chosen for a new project.  Until now, you have mined the elemental earth and crafted the basic items, leaving it as a mundane object, until it was given first to the Guild of Crafting Magicians and then to the Hall of Rites to be enchanted.  It has been decided that since you have come from families in which the loyalty to our lord and Master, Jelial, runs deep, you can be entrusted with some of the secrets of imbuing enchantments first within the mined earth, and then within the completed item.”

He smiled, his red features with long, golden fangs looking at the five slaves before him benignly.  “You will form new families within the miners and smiths, new dynasties that shall work for the glory of Jelial’s rule.”

The assembled slaves looked at one another in delight.  New duties and new dynasties meant they would receive even more comfort and luxury, perhaps even equal to that of some of the lower castes of nobility.  As one they sank to their knees, their heads bowed, their voices reciting the required formulae, “We hear and obey, Oh Master.  Order us, guide us with your wisdom so that we may serve you well.”

Blue clad members of Magicians Guild stepped forward, lifting them to their feet and hustling them out of the hall.  They were led into the massive spire of the Guild’s Halls, never before entered by slaves.  They were robed in the blue and black, the blue of the magicians subservient to the black of the slave, but still present, and still demanding of respect by the casteless and those unfortunate enough to be neither noble nor affiliated to a guild.  Around each neck was placed a silver chain, upon which hung a medallion of silver and gold bearing Jelial’s symbol.

“Remember, the symbol of our Lord and Master will bring you luck.  Kiss it each morning and night.  Call on it for help and perfection in all things you do.  Know this, without it none of the magic we teach you will work.  Only through the gifts of Jelial can you perform this mighty work.”

If the slaves wondered at the orders or thought them strange, none spoke of it.  They were used to relying on the fiends for all elements of their existence.  That it was only possible through the intercession of a fiend that they could perform magic seemed natural to them.  So they learnt, and so they prayed and called on the name of Jelial, another thread in the tapestry that Jelial wove.  

Jelial may have lost the battle, but he planned on winning the war.

***

Aliat paced his chambers.  The archmagus was disturbed by the sign she could read, and by recent events.  As he completed each circuit of his chambers, he passed the aeliogh who served as confidant and spymaster.  

“Fiesch, I don’t like the fact that we find ourselves in such a predicament.  Half-fiends hailed as heroes, fiends hailed as allies.  And worse of all, the half-fiend is the son of Gerion, cursed be his name.”

The aeliogh noticed the signs of mania within Aliat’s eyes, could read within his mind the coming insanity that it presaged, but held his tongue.  Few trusted him, and few would tolerate him without the support of the archmagus.  He looked at Aliat, sending his thoughts to him, communicating without words.

“_Archmagus, he is seen as a saviour, as are the other fiends.  They have engineered a victory over Jelial, something that has been unknown for so long that they are almost seen as gods.  Do not speak out against them, it would reflect badly on you, perhaps even cost you your seat on the Council of Magi, regardless of your personal power and knowledge._”  He moved forward, his face hidden by the cowl of his robe.  “_Leave them be, Archmagus.  In time, all will see the fiends and half-fiend for what they are.  When it becomes apparent that this victory is, ultimately, valueless, they will loose the respect and veneration of the masses.  THEN you can speak out against them._”

Aliat snarled, his eyes blazing with power, his hand clutching his side.  “No!  Get the assassins and kill that half-fiend.  The fiends are too powerful, but the half-fiend does not yet know the extent of the power he has inherited from his father.  Destroy him, now!”

The aeliogh bowed, and left the room.  He moved through the keep, passing doors engraved with various arcane marks, all shut and locked, sealed against all but those skilled in arcane magic and with the ear of the Archmagus.  He walked down long halls, circling ever higher, reaching the upper levels of the Tower Arcane.  Here, in heights so extreme that to venture outside would be to die from lack of air, was a small room, furnished with a small table made from crystal, two crystal chairs, a crystal decanter and glasses upon the table.

Fiesch sat down; the crystal chair beneath him more comfortable than it had any right to be.   He poured a glass of water, sipping at the ice cold, sweet spring water.  He looked out into thin clear air, and started chanting.  If anyone had been listening, and been able to understand the rarely heard holy language of the Aeliogh, they would have heard something never heard outside of an Aeliogh city- the lay of Gerogh, an addendum to the well known prophecies.  Still chanting, Fiesch stood, stepped through the wall, and dived into the air, his body falling forever, down into the clouds below.

Within his chambers, Aliat felt as the link he had long had with Fiesch was snapped, as the aeliogh fell to his death.  Briefly his eyes blazed with fury, but he held his anger in check.  In a cold fury, his mind turned to forbidden rites, to lessons learnt millennia ago from one who spoke as he died for his crimes.  The madness he had long fought off pushed to the fore, the death of his long time servant, combined with his anger and grief sweeping away the barriers.  

Long strides took him through the tower, into a chamber shielded from prying eyes, one that admitted only the most powerful of the arcane order.  Working swiftly, but carefully, he inscribes the circle of protection, and the runes of command and control.  He stood within the circle, his arms raised as his throat started the chant, the arcane words familiar, but the gathering energies, the shape of the summoning was new, different.  Unlike the summoning of those from above, or from within his own realm, it seemed that energy flowed into him,as if the denizens of the realms below rewarded him for his opening of the gate.  Grimly he continued, the words flowing out, shaping what he sought, not just any resident of Hell, but one of power, one of singular might, one whom he had defeated in the days before Jelial, when the Elves still lived and reigned supreme within their own abode.  One who had held the power to dare assault their very fortress, and come close to destroying the very symbol of Elven might.  

From before him he watched as the energy gathered, watched as air itself began to form, to coalesce into solidity, forming a dark cloud before his eyes.  He chanted, until the dark cloud itself answered, grew and began to feed on itself.   Satisfied, he stopped his own chant, and laughed as the being in front of him strained, tested the strength of the runes entrapping it, and relaxed into quiescence.

“I have summoned you Grix of the Nine, once Master of the Hordes of the Fourth, and now no more than another of the failed generals of Hell that seek to remain hidden lest they be destroyed for their failure!  I, Aliat, the one who defeated you, now seek to bargain, power for service.  Do my bidding and I shall grant you the means to once more gain the favour of your master!”

The devil moved, its massive bulk flowing, armour reflecting the light of the chamber in coruscating rainbows, its eyes tiny black dots within the light display coming from its helm.  Grix regarded Aliat, the mage by whom he had been defeated.  Millennia had passed, and still he was paying for that defeat.  Yet, if Aliat had been able to defeat him, surely he would have the means to restore him to his former glory, or was he no longer under control?  Had Aliat began the descent into madness that struck the near immortals who survived beyond their times?

“Speak, elf.  As last of your kind I am surprised that you have the temerity to use such forbidden magic, and that you would use it to bind me, one who has sworn himself to your destruction.  What bargain would you strike for my service?  And what service could one such as I offer to the Archmagus of the Tower Arcane?”

Aliat smiled.  He knew the bargain would be struck, that this mighty devil would destroy the half fiend, the target of his hatred and madness.  Grix, in striking the bargain, laughed inwardly.  It was obvious that the mage had fallen, that his age long grief had finally stripped him of sanity.  Now all that was left was to turn him into a good servant, or a mouldering corpse.  In the summoning the mage had already stepped onto the path that would doom him.  As for the bargain?  Worthless!  Whoever had taught the mage had told him just enough to make sure he doomed himself!


----------



## Rikandur Azebol (May 3, 2007)

Just brilliant. Fiends and stuff, yet Jelial seemingly knows what is he doing.


----------



## Ghostknight (May 3, 2007)

Rikandur Azebol said:
			
		

> Just brilliant. Fiends and stuff, yet Jelial seemingly knows what is he doing.




Jelial knows what he is doing.  He has his goals, and he will do whatever he has to in order to achieve them.  Devils aren't known for their love or caring for each other or other beings, and Jelial has no qualms on leaving heaps of corpses behind in order to find his way to divinity.


----------



## Need_A_Life (May 3, 2007)

Phew!

Back up to date...

Amazing read!
I am actually starting to think of this as the equal of the newly-published "Metamorphisis"


----------



## Ghostknight (May 3, 2007)

Hi praise indeed!  Ah, now all you have to do is convince Morrus and we can have a second published story hour...


----------



## Rikandur Azebol (May 4, 2007)

Wich devil of sucess isn't ? 

Am I right that Jelial's big gamble is interrupted at ... delicate moment ?  

I remember one campaign where guy tried to became a god. PC's went in, and after being beaten Bard talked with a guy for long enough to the best moment to pass. And BBEG wasted unique chance. And then bard told him: 
"Stop whinning. It's all Your fault anyway. Were You casting these spells, instead of gloating, You'd be a god now loser."
Of course end was less climatic where PC's come to an agreement that waiting for another try is worth it and put themselves to _stasis_ with contingent _dispel_. BBEG became sidekick.


----------



## Ghostknight (May 5, 2007)

My apologies for missing Fridays post.  I am re-editing the chapter, seems the computer gods decided to allow some taint to enter into my machine (rumurs that veins of some foul smelling, red substance bein found oozing out from beneath the microprocessor remain uncomfirmed...)

On a scheduling note:  Book 1 finishes in the next few chapters- and then book 2 starts.  This als means to posting only one chapter a week as book 2 is unwritten (not just unedited as was the case with book1).  That will mean 1 post a week.


----------



## Rikandur Azebol (May 6, 2007)

Don't let minions, like Jelial, to disturb Your magnificent creative processess.  

Take all time You need to write things, Ghosty. We won't abadon You just because of little waiting.


----------



## Ghostknight (May 7, 2007)

*Chapter 31*

Jeria waved the guard’s forward.  Before them, a young Outwalker motioned the party forward.  Jeria had spent much of the trip trying not to laugh at the earnest young human, obviously one of those who had heard the exaggerated tales of his exploits.  It bothered Jeria that the ruling council refused to allow him to correct the stories that were rapidly growing around him.  It seemed that they felt it served everyone for him to be a larger than life hero.  Everyone but himself- and even with all of their rationalisations he refused to take up the mantle as the Chief of the Outwalkers or to take a seat on the ruling council.  The Master Harpist had not taken that refusal well!

He moved with the group of diplomats, mostly dwarves travelling from Fort Livian to Harmony Hall, though a few Dark Paeons had used the caravan, with its heavily armed guards as an opportunity to return to their homes after visiting, or more generally doing business with the dwarves.  Bringing up the rear, riding next to a cart filled with cold iron, rode Mekior.   In deference to his dead love, he wore his natural shape.  To make his allegiance more obvious, he had engraved, and embossed in gold, the symbol of Harmony hall- the city’s coat of arms easily visible into the scales on his right shoulder.  On the left, he had the coat of arms of the destroyed city of Weald Hall, though here the embossing was in black, his mourning for the lost city not yet done.

Mekior smiled and nodded at Jeria as he saw his gaze upon him, but his smile slipped as he gazed beyond his friend.  Jeria turned quickly, in time to see the legs of the young Outwalker standing in the front disappear down the gullet of the massive cave worm before them.  The guards moved forward quickly, pushing the diplomats behind them as they freed their crossbows from their backs, bending, and working their cranks, loading them with bolts of cold iron.  Other guards took up position before them, their pikes sticking out in front, forming a defensive wall of sharp points.

Mekior looked at the massive black and purple worm.  “Jeria, you know this thing?  The non-tainted ones are used for mining in some areas underground.  The tainted ones are stupid, just keep it away from people and you should be able to pick it off!”

Jeria didn’t look back as he answered.  “I have seen the ones used for mining, they are half the size of this one.”

Jeria raised his arm, and the crossbowmen knelt, their aim steady as the worm rushed forward, falling back before the points of the pike.  As Jeria dropped his arm, the crossbowmen released their bolts, their cold iron tips sinking deep into the flesh of the worm.  Enraged, and not yet dead, it reared up, crashing down onto the pikes.  Several men were flung upwards from its weight pushing against them; one had the handle of the pike driven backwards into him, the end piercing his mail, driven into his midriff, crushing his diaphragm, pushing bits of ribs into his lungs.  He sank to the ground, coughing blood into his hands.

The rest of the guards reformed into a circle surrounding the worm, poking and prodding it, slowly widening its wounds.  The ground began to get slippery from the ichor of the worm that was spurting out, while two moved their wounded comrade away from the combat arena.  The ground was rapidly becoming wet, making the footing treacherous on the slippery, wet rock.  The crossbowmen frantically reloaded, then turned to release another volley into the enraged, near mindless creature.  Finally, the combined effect of the cold iron, and lost body fluids could be seen working on the worm as it collapsed, twitching feebly as it tried to reach the group, but could no longer move.

Jeria moved forward, kneeling by the wounded man.  He examined the open wound, the chips of bone, and the ichor that had splashed onto the man, mingling with his blood. 

“I’m sorry”, his whisper was inaudible to all but the wounded man, and the two guards that had moved him.  With tears in his eyes, he drew his dagger, keeping it out the wounded mans view.  Eyes locked together, he quickly drove it in, beneath the chin, punching through skin, cartilage and veins into the brain.  Standing, the two guards quickly lifted the body onto the back of the iron bearing wagon.  

The group fell back into position, and moved off, heading down the passage, past the new tunnel burrowed by the worm.  As they moved past the hole, the guards moved between the diplomats and the opening, nervous what might come out, what unknown areas were now linked to this formerly safe passage.  All passed by safely, all seemed fine, and as it disappeared into the darkness behind them, the light from their torches disappearing into the distance, no one noticed the figure emerging, the twin glows beneath the helmet contemplating the figures now deep in the darkness ahead.  

Grix watched as the group moved onwards, chuckling to himself, happy with the result of his little experiment.  He extended his senses, moving them beyond the mundane, into the arcane realms and beyond, feeling the currents around the young half-fiend.  The power and potential were obvious, the question was how to turn him, corrupt him to his service.  With the Archmagus and this one serving him it would be an easy matter to gain a seat at the ruling table.

Mekior, felt something, but could fathom no reason why; he just knew he was uncomfortable, watched.  Turning he looked back into the darkness, but his eyes were defeated by the darkness, and the arcane power hiding the demon from his sight.  Disturbed, knowing he felt something, but unable to account for it, he moved forward, urging his mount till he rode alongside Jeria.

“There’s something out there.  I don’t know what it is, but I know it is there.’

Jeria looked back, his eyes taking a faint sheen, piercing through the darkness, but seeing nothing more than the empty darkness not even his vision able to see through the arcane protection hiding Grix.  He stared backwards, waiting as the rest of the convoy moved past him.  He trusted in the Fiend Hunter’s instincts, in his ability to detect fiends and their works.  

‘We will push on.  We can reach the city’s gates by late tonight, if we push forward and take no rests.  Stay behind, watch our backs.  I will let the guards and diplomats know what is happening, and break the news that we are going to push on with no breaks.’

Mekior nodded at Jeria’s words.  “No one is going to like it.  The guards will follow orders, but you may have to drag those useless diplomats along.”

Jeria laughed.  “I’ll just whisper in a few ears.  A little hint that we may be being followed should be enough to get them moving.”  His face turned serious, “of course that is not just a hint, but a suspicion we both share.  Truthfully, I have no desire to hurry back.  Young Shedrig has a large family, and over protective mother, who is also a council member.  She will create a scene about his death, and most likely bring it up in council.  .And the death of Kirilos was blow.  He could have survived that wound, but there was no doubt that he had been infected by the taint with that amount of tainted fluid on him.  I hate the decisions of command, Mekior, having to decide whether a wounded man, one with whom I have fought, drank and wenched, will get the healing draught or the merciful dagger,”

Mekior clapped him on the shoulders, falling back, keeping watch for what he felt must be there, but could not be seen.  In the meantime, Jeria moved forward, letting first the sergeant in charge of the guards know of the forced march, and then the merchants, diplomats and hangers-on.  As expected, the soldiers accepted, the decision, the merchants clenched their teeth and said nothing, while the diplomats raised their voices in complaint.  Assistance came from an unexpected quarter as one of the Dark Paeons, who had decided to travel in the safety of the caravan, spoke up.

“Be quiet, all of you!  You make a cacophony of sound that reminds me of the out of tune noise emanating from striplings in their first concert.  Do you forget who speaks?  This is the Outwalker that brought the ones that saved us.  This is the one who led the group into areas in which no other would venture, who spoke to ones before whom others trembled.  If he says there is danger behind us, then we must take his word and do his bidding!”

The rest of the group looked at the Dark Paeon.  Throughout the trip he had been quiet, moving in silence, never bonding, never talking in a way that would bring attention to him.  Now, for the first time, the others truly looked at the young man.  He did not seem remarkable, until one took in the details.  A cloak cut in a certain fashion, a flash of colour from beneath the sombre black he wore, the little earrings, with shining stones- heartcells from deep within the earth.  This was no Dark Paeon from Harmony Hall, but one from one of those other cities buried deep, and hidden well, one pf those who had cut themselves off from the other races in favour of keeping their slaves and a solitary existence.  Questioning looks flashed between them, since when die those cities venerate the half-devil?  

Jeria smiled at him in thanks as the disgruntled diplomats fell silent, amidst a mix of curiosity, pique and shame.  The Dark Paeon bowed his head and smiled, before moving along with the rest of the group, sticking to the edge, and to him-self.

After eight hours of marching and the group was losing its cohesiveness.  The grumbling of the diplomats had moved from a subdued murmur to continuous and loud protests. Protests that had become loud enough to lead the sergeant of the guards looked questioningly at Jeria.  Jeria shook, his head.  They were two hours away from Harmony Hall, attempting to quieten the diplomats now would create more problems and delays.    With an exchange of hand signals, the sergeant directed part of his force to the sides while Jeria dropped back, joining Mekior at the rear.

Mekior looked disturbed, his green scaled skin showing a sheen of some oily substance, an effect Jeria had not seen in the many years he had known the fiend.  He reached over, his hand lightly touching the fiend-hunter’s shoulder.

Mekior jumped, his hand darting to his sword as he twisted to face Jeria.  He relaxed as he saw his friend, but his eyes held a hint of panic.

“I don’t know.  Something is out there.  Something or someone.  Perhaps if I had grown up in the planes of Hell instead, of being one of the native born I would understand more, know more.  But all I have is fragments, vague stories of the effects the powerful can generate.  I don’t know what is out there, and, for all my abilities at detecting at fighting fiends, I am scared.”

Two hours.  May the Gods grant us just two more hours of peace.  Jeria let the group, including Mekior, move ahead.  His gazed travel backwards as he relaxed and let his mind free.  He raised his hand to his mouth, the red skin hovering besides his dark red lips.  He bit down, tasting the bitter blood, and surge of power as he swallowed.  He had only attempted this a few times since the power of his blood had been revealed in the battle outside Harmony Hall, and always in secret.  He stood still as the power surged through him, as his face changed, the skin darkening till it was almost black, his eyes becoming deep red pits in which flames danced.  

“Well done, fledgling. “  Grix’s voice came through to Jeria as he stared at the demon before him.  “Most impressive for one who knows so little of himself and is stumbling blindly along; learn the power of your blood, it will serve you well.”

Jeria drew his axe, grasping it near the blade, letting the blood from where he had bit through his skin drip down the blade.

Griz eyed the axe, with the blood winding down the blade warily.

“Never fear fledgling, I am not foolish enough to attack you.  Not when you can see me.  I don’t know which would prove more potent, my enchantments of protection, or your blood; but I do know I have no desire to test the matter.”

Grix stepped back, circling round Jeria warily.

“I bring a warning, and a word of advice.  First the warning.  Beware your allies, there are those whose despair takes them beyond the mundane limits of sanity, and in their abandoning of all sanity, they embrace far more power than they know.  As for the advice; know that Jelial’s grip tightens as he grasps at divinity.  If you seek to break that hold, then you must travel north, travel beyond sane limits to the very edges of reality.”

Jeria looked at the demon, his voice stressed with the control he had to exert over his body from the rage and power suffusing his body from the blood.

“Who are you?  Why do you tell me this?”

“I am Grix.  And some of your questions will be answered when you understand that he who brought on my downfall, thinks to now use me to his own ends.  A bargain has been struck, but his insanity, though increasing his power, has made him careless.  The bargain makes us face one another, would make me bring on your downfall.  And if you follow my advice, that is your most likely fate.  If you do not follow my advice, then you have already lost.”  Grix smiled, a most unpleasant sight, but one that did not trouble Jeria for long.  For even as he let his control go, as he let his power drive him to swing his axes, a feint in a half circle that turned into a slash upwards, the axe blade swinging up, blood dripping as it slashed upwards towards Grix, who disappeared, teleporting to his place of safety. 

Jeria stood, trying to reign in his anger, the blind fury that overcame him each time he tasted his blood.  He moved in jerks as he fought down the fury, fought down the urge to turn around, to sink his sword into the bellies of the smug, loud diplomats, the parasites his men had defended, and died for!  Kirilos dead, for what? For those rich, obnoxious dandies that complained about a little march?  Jeria turned, screaming somewhere deep inside.  He knew he should calm down, he knew that those ahead were not his enemies, but the blood ruled him.

He stumbled forward, his sword swinging forward as he moved past Mekior.  His bloodshot eyes turned towards Mekior, contemplating the half-fiend.  In the light, the dark embossing of the symbol of Weald Hall was invisible.  Perhaps on purpose?  Maybe he had made it so when he met his friends in the dark, when he had plotted their downfall.  He turned to Mekior, to the fiend he was sure had betrayed them, brought that worm onto them, killed his men.

Mekior looked at Jeria, saw the change in him.  He could see the change in Jeria’s skin, the eyes that were red pits in which flames danced, lips black with suffused power.  Mekior felt fear, real fear.  He did not know what had happened to Jeria, but he could feel the power, could feel the fiend within.  He stepped back, scared of what he saw, scared of the obvious power Jeria had.  And he knew that Jeria was by far the superior of the two if it came to a clash of weapons.

“Jeria, what is wrong?”  Mekior continued to back away, his eyes on his friend as he did so.

“You betrayed us, did you not?  You brought the worm to us, fed my men to it.  You have always been in with your fellow fiends, merely biding your time until you could do the most damage.  You just lost control did you?  Just sought to spill a little of our blood, and thought we would never find out!’  Jeria stalked forward, his axe held low, both hands on the shaft.

Mekior took in the words, his appearance, the blood dripping along the axe.  He reached out with his mind, trying to make contact, to touch his friend mind to mind, but all he met was a maelstrom of fury, a raging tempest that threatened to engulf his own mind, sending him fleeing in terror.

‘Ah my friend, whom have you faced?  I will not run.  Strike me if you must, but I will not fight.”  He stopped spreading his arms, the light from the phosphoresecent moss on the walls giving his green scales a strange yellow air- making the emblem of the lost Weald Hall dance in the dim light.

Jeria stalked forward, a sneer on his face as he raised his axe.  He brought it up, the blade of cold iron silvery in the yellow light, black were his blood dripped along it.   He held it suspended, ready to strike, but the blow never fell, for from behind, undetected by him in his single minded fury, a dwarf gave a blow to his head, knocking him senseless and sending him sprawling.

Mekior heaved a sigh of relief.

“My thanks are endless, corporal.  But what brought you back here?”

“I came to see that you were all right, fiend hunter.  I saw Captain Jeria here menacing you, and could see he was not in his right mind?  You think it taint?’

“I do not detect taint within him, but there was something following us earlier, and whatever it was disappeared a short while back, just before he returned and confronted me.   Keep him under watch, but keep him safe, we will ask Sister Egrit and the other healers to look at him when we are within Harmony Hall.  If it is taint, and he cannot be recovered, then at least it will not be me that condemns my friend!”

“Its true what you say, fiend hunter.  But the Captain here is never the one to spare himself hard decisions.  I guess that’s why he is Captain and we are not.  I, too, would never be able to make the decision that would condemn a friend!”

Soldiers loaded the unconscious Jeria onto the back of one of the wagons.  The muttering of the onlookers was loud, and the accusatory tone many were taking against Jeria set Mekior on edge.  He whirled around, only to have the sergeant place a restraining hand on his shoulder.

“Carefully now!  They are scared and looking for someone to blame.  We only have a few more hours march to the city, and then they will be off our hands. “

Mekior held himself back, his back to the diplomats and merchants as they went on ahead.  He searched down the corridor, his senses straining, trying to detect that chilling presence he had felt earlier, but seemed to have disappeared.  Every instinct told him that Jeria must have encountered something, someone, and that his condition was as a result of the encounter.  What he couldn’t understand was how fast the taint seemed to have affected Jeria, if taint it was.

Their arrival back in the city was a muted, despite the diplomatic reception.  Tired and angry from their forced march, the diplomats had shrugged off the festivities and made their ways to their respective lodgings, embassies in some cases, rooms in some of the better inns in others.  Mekior had watched them disperse thankfully, able to focus his attentions on his unconscious friend.  Jeria had yet to stir.  So Mekior watched, scared of the result, as a fiend hunter bent down and pierced his skin with a testing pin.  The two fiend hunters stood together, though the human would not look at Mekior; since he had revealed his deception and started to wear his natural form none of his former compatriots had spoken t him, not just because of his deception, but because of the doubt it raised- if they had been unable to detect him, how many others had similarly infiltrated the city?

So they stood, watching the prone body, bound to a stretcher with chains of silver metal, laced with cold iron, strong enough to hold all but the most powerful of fiends.  Was he twitching?  Was his body about to convulse, to tear itself apart as the taint within fought with the poison of the testing pin?  Or was he just lying their, free of taint and assailed by some other malady?  They waited, and when the bells tolled and no change had come over Jeria, Mekior breathed a sigh of relief; his friend bore no taint, but the mystery of his condition remained; he showed no signs of waking.


----------



## Ghostknight (May 14, 2007)

*Epilogue*

Outside in the market, the cries of the hawkers rebounded along walls, penetrating into windows covered with thick drapes.  Gerion turned to look at the woman laid out on the floor.  She had been stripped, and was chained, spread-eagled across the floor.  Red welts were raised across her body, forming arcane symbols which flowed as she writhed in pain.

He watched as his minions worked on the intricate carvings in her flesh, and he compared the scarred, weathered flesh, to the voluptuous flesh that Sianar had possessed when she had been ordered to bed his son.  The years of punishment, of working in painful conditions, had damaged her, and left her with none of her previous beauty.  Once Jeria had escaped, all around him had been punished- from guards to slave girls.  Truthfully, Gerion had been surprised to find her still alive.  Well, that would change soon enough, and hopefully her death would give him the information they sought.

One of those that had been carving up her flesh stood and came up to Gerion.

“Master, the work is complete.  The ritual may start.”

Gerion nodded, ‘Very well, every one leave this room.

Silence descended, except for the moans that came from the mutilated woman.  Soft moangroans that came from a mouth without a tongue or lips, from a body rapidly losing strength as her blood flowed, pooling on the floor beneath her.  Gerion moved around her, his feet beating out a pattern, his lips moving in a silent chant.  The woman convulsed, her back arching in pain, her mutilated torso pushing into the sky.  Still Gerion chanted, his feet beating in a rhythmic dance, his hands etching arcane symbols, bewildering motions too fast for a mortal hand to make, a mortal eye to follow.  He continued as the woman’s gurgling sounds, the piercing, shrill cries of pain from a mouth unable to form anything articulate burned out, the magic sustaining her, preventing unconsciousness, her pain fuelling the spell, until a small blue wisp detached itself from her body, floated into the air, landed in a specially prepared bowl.  Smiling, Gerion stepped forward and crushed her head in his hands.  Licking the remnants from his fingers, he took the bowl, and the wisp of Jeria’s essence that had remained on the woman, and left the room.

***

Aliat paced around the tower, waiting.  He peered out over the ramparts into the nothingness of the other-worldy realm into which it projected.  He awaited the return of Grix; of the news of the death of the hated scion of Gerion, of the death of Jeria.  If he could not have revenge on the murderer of his kin, he would have his satisfaction in the death of his son.

The return of Grix was accompanied with the sudden feeling of constriction, of his arms being bound to his sides.  His eyes burning, Aliat turned to face Grix.

“What is the meaning of this?  You are bound to obey!”

Grix laughed, running a sharp claw down the side of Aliat’s face, leaving a line of blood.  Aliat screamed, his face burning from pain as the poisin from Grix’s claws burned into his face.

“Whoever taught you the rites with which to summon me, sabotaged you.  They only taught you enough to compel me to service, but once that was complete, I was free to do as I wished.  And that was to return here to gain my own revenge.”

Horrified, Aliat watched as Grix approached.  As Grix reached out to him, he snapped out of his fear induced paralysis, and pronounced a word, filled with arcane energy.  Grix merely smiled as the arcane energy rolled over him.  The word had been imbued with more than just the power to dispel him, it freed Aliat from the magic the bound his arms, freeing them to move, to surreptitiously begin the movements to call even more powerful magics.

Grix’s hand closed over Aliat’s head, and started squeezing.  Pain filled Aliat, but through it he managed to concentrate, his tongue twisting through words that burned his throat, that were never meant for a mere mortal’s mouth, his fingers flying, dancing as they shaped, manipulated the energies only one as well versed in the arcane as he could sense.  Within seconds his hands were limned in burning black energy, sinking into the body of the fiend, ripping into Grix’s very essence, cutting him off from his own plane of existence before shredding, dissipating him emptiness, destroyed forever.  Staggering up, he felt the blood flowing down his face.

He stared at the empty space in which Grix had been standing, his eyes alight with delight, and madness.

“Farewell Grix, named in truth as As’lik’Gerit’Derito’ulk.  Did you really think me so unprepared as to not know your true name and how to destroy you forever?  Did you think I would let you survive to exact revenge upon me?’  He laughed; a mad laugh that would have chilled any who heard it, if any had been there to hear him.  “The question is, how far did you pervert your orders before returning to me?”

***

Rage, anger, a red plane filled with spikes.  Blades diving through red air trailing blood, slashing into the intruding mind.  Mekior plunged on, trying to penetrate into the mind of his friend.  His mind, under attack. dived in, trying to understand what kept Jeria in his comatose state.  Three weeks had passed, and still Jeria languished in the coma.  No clues had been found that gave an indication as to his strange behaviour before he had been subdued.  As time passed, Mekior had grown ever more desperate to find what ailed his friend, until he had decided to try this desperate course.  

Pain filling him, every breathe an effort, Mekior sat by Jeria, foul smelling sweat dripping off his brow, cheeks and chin onto Jeria’s face.  Mekior remained unaware of the sweat that dripped down, his entire being subsumed in the struggle to penetrate the psyche of his friend.  Pain assailed him, the psychic pain of the mind he invaded defending itself.  Pure rage swept over him, a physical force in the psychic realm.  Heedless of the damage to himself Mekior pressed onwards deeper and deeper into the torment.  Those watching saw his body start to reflect the damage his mind was taking.  Large gashes appeared in his skin, leaking foul smelling, greenish ichor which marred the stone of the floor.  

A healer stepped forward, her hands limned in pure, holy light.  As she reached forward, Sister Egrit’s fist shot out, knocking her away.

“FOOL!  He is a fiend, a full blooded one, the holy energy will harm, not heal!”  She looked at the fiend, obviously dying from the battle he fought within the mind of Jeria.  

“Long have I held this, and long ago I swore never to use it.  Is it not strange how the profane can suddenly be holy?”  Her hand reached into a small bag she carried.  It was a strange bag, covered with runes denoting the holy sphere, mixed with runes of binding and hiding.  From within, she withdrew a small vial.  Its very look was disturbing; A small black skull, the holes blocked with a red veined black stone.  The skull bore five horns, each with razor sharp edges, in a crown atop of three empty chambers which had once held eyes, the jaw was filled with sharp incisors.  Carefully she lifted the crown of horns from atop the skull, revealing a spout.  The smell of rotting corpses filled the room, and got stronger as Sister Egrit poured a thick, black liquid down Mekior’s throat.  Even as most of those in the room gagged, the gashes on Mekior’s body flowed together, leaving his skin healthy.

Inside Jeria’s mind, Mekior had felt his strength ebbing.  Surrounded by the shards and cutting, flaying blades, he had tried to flee, only to be blocked in all directions.  Now, strength filled him, and hope, fuelled by desperation led him to take one last desperate gamble, to put all his remaining strength into one last probe, a beam of pure darkness that cut through the blades and shards, that paved the way for him to find the core of Jeria that did not rage, and bring that up to the light.  And with that last push, he left Jeria’s mind, back to the room of healers.

“North.  We go north.”  Jeria’s voice was low, weak.  He coughed, and a healer leaned forward to dribble water into his mouth.

“Hush, Jeria.  You have been ill.  Rest and then we shall talk.”  Sister Egrit’s hand caressed his brow, pouring holy energy into him, thankful that Jeria was merely fiend blooded and thus not opposed to her powers.  

“Ahh, that feels better.  But we cannot wait.  I don’t know how long I have raged.  I faced a fiend, perhaps the most powerful I have ever faced outside of my father.  He did not attack.  He just warned me against my allies, spreading dissension and lies as is the wont of fiends.  He said to go north, to beyond the limits of sanity.  It did not make sense then, but in my rage my mind was freed, and I discovered that I could walk certain paths to discover the truth.  In the north there is a discontinuity, a crack in reality, and that is where the Jelial’s trap for the celestial spheres lie.  Break that, and the celestial spheres will be able to descend and help us in our battle against Jelial.”

He sighed.  “But with a return to sanity I cannot walk the paths, and the way is no longer clear.  There is also danger, not just from Jelial and his hordes, but from what creates the discontinuity and maintains it.  They are not fiends; I do not know what manner of entities they are, nor how Jelial attracted them to his service.”

Sister Egrit’s eyes were alight with hope- at last, an end to the trap that had destroyed so many of her kin.

“By the light of the celestial spheres, who cares what the beings are that stand in our way.  Get rid of the infernal trap, and we can have allies we trust, not emissaries from the Lords of Hell or exiled rebels who aspired to the throne of Hell.”  She started pacing, but a few paces taking her from one end of the room to the other.  ‘We must go, we must find those who block the celestial spheres.  With the help that could be drawn from there, we could mount a proper defence against Jelial, without risking the souls of all those below by consorting with devils.’

***

The small group moved into the light of day.  Jeria led the group, Sister Egrit close behind, her eyes alight with hope and enthusiasm.  Mekior trailed behind, in close discussion with D;Fir, granted leave by his father in an attempt to find a lasting solution to the world’s travails.  The last member of the group was new to them all, sent by Aspith as his emissary and aid In the quest.  Dialre was tall, her musles well defined.  She wore finly crafted chainmail, each link a blend of silversteel and cold iron, the padding underneath replete with enchantments of protection- detectable by those attuned to the arcane.

Unexpectedly, Mekior turned to her.  D’Fir stood behind, and to her left, his axe held ready, Mekior in front.

“Tell me, now.  Is there anything we need to know about you?”  Up front, Jeria and Sister Egrit came to halt, watching the scene behind them.

“What do you mean?  What do you need to know?”  Dialre licked her lips clearly nervous.

Mekior’s form blurred, his natural form coming to the fore.  “Its quite simple, really.  Are you what you seem or do you hide your true self?  Secrets can but harm us as we move forward.  If you hide something, tell us now.”

“I know of you, and Sister Egrit.  I have nothing to hide.  I am human, and nothing more.  Test me, if you will, I am not possessed, tainted or hiding any other form.  I am just as I appear.”

Mekior peered at her, and Sister Egrit’s eyes glowed briefly, with her giving a brief nod to Mekior.  

“My apologies then, let this be an end to the matter.”  Mekior bowed quickly to the Dialre, before turning to move forward once more.  The group moved forward, heading into the far north, heading into the unknown, into realms that no one had trodden in millennia.


----------



## Ghostknight (May 14, 2007)

*The end of Book 1*

And gere endeth book1- book 2 Prologue will be up in a weeks time.  I will be trying to post a chapter a week (if I can get them out faster- then I will, but currently 3000-5000 words edited properly seems to be my weekly output...)


----------



## Mahtave (May 14, 2007)

Excellent read as always GK! I for one will wait patiently for the start of book 2


----------



## Land Outcast (May 14, 2007)

> book 2 Prologue will be up in a weeks time.



Sweet


----------



## Ghostknight (May 15, 2007)

Nice to see the regular readers still around!

I had a very productive writing session last night (I worked late- got home still in a work mode to a sleeping wife and kids.)  I should hopefull yhave the prologue of Book II out before the end of this week (assuming nothing untowards happens...)


----------



## rathlighthands (May 24, 2007)

*Bump*

Can`t let this slide too far down.


----------



## Neurotic (May 24, 2007)

*Regular readers*

I suspect most of us who encouraged you on on the beginning still read the story. We just don't comment too much 

Still good work, keep it up.

Now stop complaining about lack of readers and get on with the story


----------



## BLACKDIRGE (May 24, 2007)

Neurotic said:
			
		

> Now stop complaining about lack of readers and get on with the story




Yeah, don't you hate those story hour authors that make you wait a long time between updates? Man, the nerve.    

But seriously, Ghostknight, you are one prolific writer. I mean you've been doing this for what, 3 months? And you already have 31 chapters. That's 8 more chapters than Metamorphosis, and I've been writing that frickin' thing for three years.   

Don't worry about finding readers because -- good writing + frequent updates = many happy readers.

BD


----------



## rathlighthands (Jun 12, 2007)

*Can`t let it slide away from us*

Bump


----------



## Ghostknight (Jun 12, 2007)

*Book II: The Realms of Madness: Prologue*

My aplogies for my tardiness- life just isn't fair at times.  But, never mind that- on with the story!
***​Prologue


Three hundred bears before the establishment of Harmony Hall
Captain Ferilice looked at the massive rent in the walls that protected Hidden Vale.  The scars on his face danced, and, slowly, the pattern they formed created a blue light which spread across the ground, creeping over the wall, through the gap that led deep into the darkness.  Behind him, his troops stirred, anticipation running across their faces as the blue light changed to red and a trail of light pointed their way.  Smiling, the captain waved the troops forward.  One question remained, one whose answer he wished he had before his force came into contact with those who had destroyed the wall that led deep into the unknown, deeper than even the Dark Paeons would tread, those that had led a large number of slaves, undetected, through his city and into this tunnel.  

The troops moved forward, their eyes seeing easily through the darkness, their weapons and shields of the finest steel, the edges lined with cold steel, the blades engraved with runes that drew magical energy within, energy that enhanced and made them far deadlier than the mundane blades wielded by the majority of those they attacked, to kill or enslave.  So they feared nothing as they went down, as they moved forward in deadly silence, familiar and comfortable in the utter dark of the world below.

The first of them fell silently, not even feeling a faint stir of wind as a shadowy figure stepped out of the solid rock, plunging its hands deep into his body, ignoring armour and skin, to draw out his heart, its other hand catching the body and letting it drop gently to the floor.  One by one they fell, their blades unbloodied, their deaths uncontested.  Eventually the slaughter was noticed, and the remaining Dark Paeons huddled together.  As they stood there, one fell, his chest a bloody hole through which his blood gushed and from which his intestines hung.

“By the Gods of Ruin, we need light!”  Captain Ferilice’s voice was gruff, his fear and stress not visible in his face or actions, but making his voice tremble.  His fingers reached up, tracing his tattoos, a nail with a razor sharp edge scouring the pattern, drawing blood.  As the blood fell, light burst forth, washing across them all, showing a plain stone passage, littered with the bodies of his men.  There was no sign of their attackers.  Slowly they moved backwards, the light illuminating the passage clearly.  No one relaxed till they arrived back at Hidden Vale.

“Collapse this tunnel.  The slaves are lost, as are the men we left behind.  Whatever lies below must be left undisturbed.”  The Captain’s voice was clear, his tone indicating he would listen to no arguments.  He turned and stalked off, ignoring the miners and others who had hoped to explore, to plunder the depths.

***

The slaves were hurried down the tunnel.  They had been summonsed by the strange lights, the voices resonating in their heads, calling them to freedom.  Was it the promise of freedom that drove them?  For some, perhaps, but many had been born to slave families, had known no other life and did not know what was meant to freedom.  Perhaps they were driven by the fervour of their captured fellows, those that the Dark Paeons had captured and enslaved.  

The hundreds of slaves hurried down the dark passage, the dwarves helping the humans who were blind in the darkness.  The tunnel was smooth, unmarred, as if the rock had been melted, flowed down into the depths like a river flowing towards the sea.  Eventually the tunnel levelled out, and a glow could be seen from ahead.  The slaves hurried forward, those who could not see in the dark rejoicing at the light.

As they neared the light, the noise began.  A humming that came to their ears, slowly increasing in volume, a disturbing noise that set their teeth on edge  As they neared, they could distinguish more than just the one hum, but overlapping notes that interwove between each other, creating a harmony that was disconcordant, a mad melody that was a raucous noise.  Uncertain, scared of the unknown ahead, the group slowed down, coming to an uncertain halt.  That was when the flames sprung up behind them, moving slowly forward, shepherding the slaves into the light ahead.  With no choice left to them, the slaves moved forward, stepping into the light,

The chamber was huge, massive globes floating in the air, shedding light downwards, leaving as much hidden as was revealed.  The floor was covered in murals, marked into the ground with precious stones, cemented into the ground with cement stained red and gold.  The slaves saw the murals, each one illuminated by the globe hanging above, the closest ones representing massive beings, creatures out of nightmare, bulbous bodies covered with tentacles, legs and arms sticking out at odd points which made no sense, heads adorned with massive mouths filled with fangs just as haphazardly placed.  Disturbed, the slaves wandered between the murals, noting that each one produced its own note, the humming emanating from beneath the murals.

A curious orc, Sheriak of the Hidden Claw tribe, one of the lsesser clans that had hidden themselves with their traditional enemies, the dwarves, leant down, running his green hand across a massive emerald, his fingers tracing the space between it and an equally gigantic sapphire.  He shook his finger, a tear from a jagged edge of one of the gems.  He sucked on it, shrugging and smiling at his fellow escapees.  A silly mistake, anyone could make.

The blood rolled across the sapphire, dropping of the edge, into the cement.  It hit the cement, and evaporated in a puff of smoke.  Simultaneously, Sheriak let out a shriek, his hand flying out as the cut on his finger smoked, blood shooting out, disappearing into red tinged steam that floated into the over hanging globes.  It did not take long, soon there was nothing left of Sheriak but an emaciated corpse, the green tinged skin blackened from being cooked from within.

The rest of the escaped slaves gathered together, their fear driving them together.  Terrified, they peered around, their eyes peering out from the bright lights into the shadows they could not see, the incessant humming hurting their ears, the conflicting notes driving their unease.  Thus, when the apparitions appeared, dark talons dripping with some strange colourless ichor, most were too terrified to move or even to scream.  Some tried fleeing, only to find that the strange apparitions were coming in from all sides.  The screams started as the cutting started, and echoed long after the throats from they had been uttered had been ripped apart.

The blood from the hundreds of slaves steamed into the air, absorbed into the floating globes, the light changing from white to red.  The red light shone down onto the murals, the red light hiding their details, but their growing, the stones of their murals flowing together, growing into the creatures they depicted was all the more frightening.  The apparitions that had slaughtered the slaves knelt down, their heads bowed.  As one they bowed their heads and unsheathed their claws, driving them deep into their own bodies, their blood going to feed the growth of their masters.

***

Present Day
The peaks broke through the clouds, their tips eternally hidden from sight.  The peaks formed a barrier, one beyond which only legends lived, beyond which no one ventured except for in stories told of many years ago.  Now dive down, head north into those legendary lands.  Find the sea at their base, the massive waves crashing against them, the white spray flying high into the sky.  

Be the bird that flies above the waves, skimming across the water, flying forever further north.  Ignore the cold as it starts to bite, the ice floating in the water, taking ever more space until nothing but a sheet of frozen water lies below.  Go even further, ignoring the massive winds that buffer you, that drive everything before them, throwing them aside.  Let the winds take you, through up the iron sided mountains that thrust the ice, through the gap into the hidden valley  

Stay hidden, speak not, move not, for now you see the pack.  See how the massive creatures run, their legs ending in massive pads, blue steel claws retracting and emerging in their agitation, the hooks on the bottom of their pads gripping the ice, letting them run faster than a horse in the sure footing of a grasslands plain. 

Soar away, leave them, flow further, up to the cavern mouth at which stands Briokel.  White fur flows down his arms, his back, forming a mane that turns into a crest atop his head.  Huge arms hang limp at his side, his face turned towards the sky, his elongated snout sniffing the air.  His mouth opens, fangs lining his mouth, rows of teeth going all the way down his throat.  He throws his head back, howling into the night.  As his howl reverberates across the vale, he change; his body bends, arms become legs, hair shifting till he looks like just another member of the pack below, though larger, stronger, his mane more pronounced.  He races down, ready to lead the pack, to do the bidding of the hidden masters with the cavern, to once more ensure that any who dare venture this deep into the unknown return to tell no tales to those that live beyond the mountain barrier.

***

Leave the pack and their fiendish master, return over the sea, travel to the lands where the sun is warm.  Soar over the mountains; look down onto the endless plains, at the grass that undulates, razor sharp leaves dripping red sap onto the ground.  Pass over the sea of bones through which the dead walk, their endless hunger unsated, their faces forever turned to stare across the ocean of grass that would shred them, destroy even their undead existence if they dared to venture through it.

Through their ranks passes Glazerou.  Once a mighty king, he sold his soul, and those of his people, to the devil’s that rule.  Now, he rules nothing, just the remnant of a mighty nation, those strong enough to survive the taint, to give in to their fiendish masters and embrace a new existence.  He raises his staff and darkness flows forth, engulfing all around him, the dead and the Changed alike.  Those still alive rejoice in the darkness, feeling it invigorate them, those already dead loose their free will, and turn blank, unseeing eyes to him, their jaws hanging slack.

As if it were waves breaking on the shore, the red grass dips, falling to the side as a massive stone ship pushes through, its obsidian hull undamaged by the grass.  Rope ladders, the rope of woven metal fibre are thrown down and the dead swarm up, filling the hold of the colossal ship.  Glazerou and his people climb up behind them.  Nothing awaits them on board, save a massive black crystal that pulsates softly.  Galzerou nods, he has his orders, and mounts the forecastle.

“The message has come from Jelial.  We go forth to find those who reject his mercy, who seek to deny is ascension.  Those who call us traitors for choosing Jelial, the divine one, over archaic notions of holiness, good and putiry, will soon learn what they miss, as they watch us feast ion their friends dead bodies, before supping on them as they writhe, alive as we enjoy their bones!”

A cheer breaks out from amongst the Changed, greedy red eyes staring forth, tongues slipping between sharp teeth and small tentacles unclasp from their necks, slithering forth, trying to find sustenance.  Morse ships arrive, and are filled with the dead and the Changed, until a small armada sails forth, heading towards the mountains.


----------



## pogre (Jun 26, 2007)

*Bump*
So I can finish reading it later tonight.
Plus, a rec. from BD is good enough for me.


----------



## Neurotic (Jul 16, 2007)

*Update update!*

Hey, Ghostknight where's our update?!

I know Blackdirge is your rolemodel but you don't need to take everything from him   

Let real life out of your life and write, write, write!

Please?!


----------



## BLACKDIRGE (Jul 16, 2007)

Neurotic said:
			
		

> Hey, Ghostknight where's our update?!
> 
> I know Blackdirge is your rolemodel but you don't need to take everything from him
> 
> ...




What, this rookie? Man, I could go 6 months between updates without even trying hard.   

But I will admit, it's nice to bump someone _else's_ story hour for a change.   

BD


----------



## Ghostknight (Jul 31, 2007)

My apologies to everyone.  A chapter will be up in the next 24 hours.  Unfortunately I have not had an internet connection- it happens when you are going bankrupt and are busy negotiating with the banks...  Ah wellm such is life.  Now if only I could be the next JK Rowling- somehow I don't think Jeria has quite the same appeal  :\


----------



## BLACKDIRGE (Jul 31, 2007)

Ghostknight said:
			
		

> My apologies to everyone.  A chapter will be up in the next 24 hours.  Unfortunately I have not had an internet connection- it happens when you are going bankrupt and are busy negotiating with the banks...  Ah wellm such is life.  Now if only I could be the next JK Rowling- somehow I don't think Jeria has quite the same appeal  :\




Wow, sorry to hear that, man. But as corny as it might sound, some of my best writing has come during times of personal distress and disaster. For some reason, nothing gets the creative juices flowing like angst and misery. Don't ask me why. 

I'm not a Rowling fan, but damn, I wouldn't mind being a billionaire. 

Let me break down her success real quick. The average novel you see in a bookstore will sell around 12,000 copies. In fact, on most book deals a writer can expect a greater royalty if his book sells over 15,000 copies. (Don't take this as gospel, but it's what a couple of literary agents have told me.)

The inital press run for Deathly Hallows was 12 frickin' million, with 2 million pre-sold through Amazon, Barne & Noble, and so forth. That's just mind-boggling, and it's why Ms. Rowling is the most successful writer on the planet.

So, hang in there, man. You're readers will be here.

BD


----------



## Ghostknight (Aug 2, 2007)

*Rule of Darkness- Book II Chapter I- Book 1 complete  Updated 2/8/2007*

The streets of Ger City ran with ichor.  Bodies littered the street, each surrounded by its own pool of liquid; some red, some green, some indistinguishable from the black cobbles over which it flowed.  Occasional shadows darted across the streets, often cut short by a scream as dark wings dipped down, grabbed a body, only to drop it broken; rent and torn onto the street below.   

Gerion sat within his fortress, staring deeply into a pool of water.  His eyes glowed green as he stared within, their arcane energy suffusing the bowl, turning it into a window on the outside.  He saw his city, the bodies littering the street, the once proud houses and spires in ruin, flames dancing in the night as thousands of the dark fiends fluttered overhead, killing everything that moved.

His focus shifted, moving across the city, centering on a wide boulevard, once paved with white marble, now coated with the bodily fluids of the piles of corpses that littered its paving stones.  Deep red veins suffused the stones, rippling through it, pulsating as they absorbed not just the fluids, but the very essences of the souls that had died upon it, the power flowing through the stones, up the edifice, into a huge crystal that floated in the air.

“Beautiful, is it not?”  The voice was quiet, cultured; the tone friendly, and all the more menacing for that.

‘Did you need to destroy my city to feed your toy?”  Gerion turned quickly, uncomfortable with his back to such a powerful being.  He grows in power.  Once he would not have been able to breach the defences, send his minions within my demesne.  His power grows, and if I do not act soon, I will be forever left behind!

Jelial laughed, his hand coming to rest on Gerions chest- the neatly manicured nails, arcane symbols etched into them in silver-steel, pressed lightly against the muscles.

“Games, Gerion?  Surely we are well beyond that.  Millennia have passed; millennia in which you have served me well, and loyally.  This city was as meaningless to you, as it was to me.  The only reason it was of any use to you, was for the corrupted temple and the font.”

He turned, his eyes passing over Gerion, resting on the pool.  “Ahh, I see that the font was not lost to you.  You put it to good use.”

Gerion knelt on one knee, bowing his head before rising.

“As always, I am at your service, oh liege.  I have not known you to jest before; you know, as well as I, that your gem hovers above it, absorbing its power, as it absorbs the souls of those that used to live within this city.”

Jelial paced, turning, his walk circling his minion, his dangerous minion, more powerful than any other in his service.  What was to come was a gamble, a roll of the dice; even now he questioned his course of action.  I must reveal my weakness to him, but how far will he go?  Will he continue to bide his time, or do I flirt with disaster?

“It was necessary.  I need the power.”  His eyes came to rest on the pool, on the pool, his will turning it to his desire.  The surface flowed, a picture forming, shifting as they watched; different scenes of slaves and others calling his name, working magic and “miracles” thereby.  

“You know my plan, Gerion.  Get them to worship me, fuel my power with the power of their faith.  Yet it goes slowly.  Till now, their faith does not flow into me, but my power must flow ever outwards.  I have extended much power to fuel their prayers, and that power needs to be replenished!”  The picture shifted, now concentrating on the immense black gem pulsating with power.  “Your city was a necessary sacrifice; its destruction an atonement for your past failures, for the allowing of the escape of your son which cost us victory over Weald Hall, let them escape and establish Harmony Hall, now one of the major points of resistance to my rule!  And then your failure at the Fort of Peaks, the one which you blamed on legendary figures from the distant past.”  He stopped, his hand coming up, the rune encrusted nails pointed directly at Gerion, “You have yet to show any evidence of the existence of Aspith, beyond blaming your inability to retake the fortress on him.  You failed me Gerion, as loyal as you have been, you failed me.  So, payment had to be made, and your city was that payment, be glad I did not demand the payment from you!”

He smiled at the rage on Gerion’s face, at the heat he could feel rising from his body.  Yet Gerion did not strike.  

“As you say, my liege.  But my son will be mine, and the fort will yet fall.’  Gerion turned his back on Jelial, leaving Jelial to wonder; was his lack of fear from not caring, or because he no longer perceived him to be a threat?

***

Filio straightened his back.  As he did so, sluggish streams of blood broke free from the scabs on his back, a legacy of another bout of disobedience and a session with the lash.  The map-work of scars, freshly healed lashes, and the newer, scab encrusted slashes across his back were testimony that he was often in trouble, and thus why he had been sent to work in the fields so close to an area in which war raged, and his death, or loss, would not be considered of any impact.

As he stood under the sun, the pain of shoulders and back burnt from no protection in the torturous, near-desert conditions, Filio risked a quick glance around himself, hoping that he would not be noticed by any of the guards, or the overseer.  The fields of the cacti which they were harvesting, their fruit considered a  delicacy by the many of the fiends, surrounded him on all sides, the path behind him and the other slaves speckled with spots of blood where their feet had been pierced by thin, near invisible thorns.  His abandonment of his job, however momentary, had been noticed though, and the sting of a lash across his shoulders, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to raise another welt, bent him back to his task.  As he did so, he thought he caught the sight of a dust cloud out in the desert.  A puzzle he thought about as he carefully tried to extract the fruit of the cacti without piercing his hands on the thorn:  What was making that cloud. The day was windless and nothing lay out in that direction

Filio did not wonder long for long, it was but a short time before one of the guards noticed the approaching cloud, his shouts raising the alarm.  The dull sound of the massive brass bell tolled across the field, sending herders amongst the slaves, chivying them with lashes of the whip, moving them towards the compound and the protected walls.  Filio risked a glance behind, and saw the gigantic lizard-like beasts bearing down on them.  Their riders wore red armor, their faces were covered with clothe that kept the dust from their noses, and goggles that protected their eyes.  

He grinned; the stories of the desert raiders were true!  And, if they were true beyond their mere fact of their existence, then the raiders were human!  With glee in his eyes, he dived out of the line, running towards the raiders, ignoring the lash that fell across his back.  His gamble paid off, the herders were worried about their own safety and the guards about protecting the compound- no one cared about one more disobedient slave!   He stopped, out of breathe, as the dust surrounded him.  He felt the air being knocked out of him, as he was suddenly swept off his feet by a massively muscled arm and placed across the back of the mount.  The raider carrying him swerved out of the mass of the raiders, heading back in the other direction.  Filio felt elation, even as the uncomfortable ride took him further into the unknown.

Five days into the desert, and Filio had become friends with the raider that had picked him up, freeing him from slavery.  Hesdith was not what he had expected, aside from the fact that he was human and untouched by the fiendish taint that marked the allies of those that ruled.  Instead of the swarthy, weather hardened skin of the natives of the region, Hasdith was fair, his skin burnt golden by the desert sun.  Eyes of bright blue appeared below eyebrows so fine they were almost invisible, and the eyebrows were of the same fine, golden color of the hair cropped short above.  

Filio sat behind Hesdith, watching as the unchanging desert moved around them.  He looked at the riders around them, all bearing their load of raider and freed slave.  He remembered their flight, their arrival at the stone outcropping after a whirlwind ride through the sand, to await the return of the other raiders.  When they had arrived, more of the lizard-like mounts stood there, burdened with food, water and medical supplies.  As they had come in, one of those tending the beasts had come forward, and taken Filio off the mount.  Behind him, Hesdith dismounted and removed his goggles.

“This one broke away from his captors and ran towards us.  I wanted to stop and see to those cuts on his backs, but orders were no stopping until we got back here.”

The man that had come forward grunted, and started inspecting the wounds, both new and old.

“There is nothing of concern here; most of these are ugly looking, but superficial.  Evidently a troublemaker though, surprising that he is still alive.  What’s your name and story, boy?”

Filio listened to the two, but took no offense at the words or at being spoken about.

“Sir, my name is Filio.  Originally of the Ger city herd, and then transferred to the plantation herd here.”

Hesdith looked at him closely.  “Ger city?  It’s a long way from there to here, how did they get you here?”

Filio turned to look at the raider that had rescued him.  “I don’t know.  We were loaded into a box, which was sealed and placed onto a wagon.  A short while later the wagon stopped and we were let out.  Some had died from the heat and the lack of air; those that had survived were here.”  He shrugged, “We were there, and then we were here, wherever here is.”

The two raiders looked at each other, trading glances that seemed to suggest that what Filio said was of great import, yet he could not understand why.  The one that had met them at the meeting point looked towards where the raiders now fought with the fiends and their allies.  “We shall have to see how many others are from Ger city or other far flung places; it could be a serious problem if they have established a portal in the area.”  Hasdith looked at him grimly, Filio stared back, nut with a complete lack of understanding. 

“You speak truly, Cynd.  This news may be more important than the slaves we rescue this day.”  Hasdith looked at Filio, clasping his shoulder, though carefully avoiding the welts, new or old, that adorned his back.  “It would seem, Filio that you may have more to offer than you imagined.”

They had waited as the sun had wheeled across the sky, at least a quarter of the day, as other raiders returned: singularly, in pairs or in small groups.  Throughout that time, the raiders had shared water and food with the ex-slaves, and stories of the good life ahead of them.  Amongst the ex-slaves, were some that had heard of the House of Souls, the group the raiders represented.  They, to the obvious amusement of their liberators, shared their stories with the others, gleefully telling them of the Houses’ dedication to freeing slaves.  As time passed, the stories were embellished, tales of their mighty armies confronting the slave caravans of the fiends being elaborated on in great detail. 

As they told their stories, Cynd listened in, eventually stepping into their circle.  “You labor under some misinformation.  The House of Souls does not possess armies, or the means to directly confront and oppose the fiends.  Raids such as this one are the limits of our capabilities.  For the true resistance against the devils, we have the Alliance to thank.,  They are the ones the fiends of this area fear; we just use their fear of the Alliance to aid us in our work.”

He sighed at the confused looks on their faces.

“The news of the Alliance is not yet known to those who toil in slavery?  Ah well, in brief it is an alliance between many races that have lived in fear, renegade fiends that have no desire to see Jelial rule…”  He broke off as he saw the automatic gesture of subservience many of the recently freed slaves made when the name of the fiendish ruler was used.

“None of that!   The name of Jelial is hated and cursed by us; those gestures merely serve to increase his power!  Now, let me see, where was I?  Ah yes, those who make up the alliance: the renegade fiends that oppose Jelial, plus fiends from the planes of Hell that wish to stop Jelial before he can demand a seat amongst the rulers of Hell, with yet more fiends coming in to fight against Jelial- these serving under one known as Aspith, who claims to be a descendant of both fiend and angel.  Which brings us to a very bizarre addition to these groups a group of angels from the Celestial sphere, whom are allied with the Mages of the Tower Arcane, Harmony Hall, Fort Livian and Ginder’s Hall. There are rumours that even the Dark Paeons of Hooded Vale have joined. Now, come, we must mount and be gone, the fiends will be coming after us as soon as they have brought their forces to bear.”

In the five days since, Filio had thought often on those revelations; fiends that opposed Jelial, agents of the Celestial spheres fighting with them to defeat the invaders from Hell.  He had spoken to Hesdith at length as they had ridden, but still could not grasp the concept of devil and angel working, and fighting, together towards a common goal.  He looked forward to the future, as confusing as it might be.


----------



## Mahtave (Aug 2, 2007)

Good to see you were able to get back online Ghost!  Excellent start to another book as well.  As BlackDirge stated, we readers will always be here.


----------



## Ghostknight (Aug 2, 2007)

BLACKDIRGE said:
			
		

> Wow, sorry to hear that, man. But as corny as it might sound, some of my best writing has come during times of personal distress and disaster. For some reason, nothing gets the creative juices flowing like angst and misery. Don't ask me why.




Unfortunately, I find creative juices hindered by the upsurge of activity from my hernia- nothing like feeling nauseous to make one not want to stare at the screen!   :\ 



			
				BLACKDIRGE said:
			
		

> I'm not a Rowling fan, but damn, I wouldn't mind being a billionaire.



  I'm not a big Harry Potter fan myself- but I do wish I had a fan base like that to make some money off!



> Let me break down her success real quick. The average novel you see in a bookstore will sell around 12,000 copies. In fact, on most book deals a writer can expect a greater royalty if his book sells over 15,000 copies. (Don't take this as gospel, but it's what a couple of literary agents have told me.)




Sigh, its much the same as I have read- though in South Africa, with an even smaller market, the numbers are lower.  And I don't see any of the local publishers running to publish fantasy here- the market just doesn't exist- and pushing a manuscript overseas without an agent or such is not particularly easy!


----------



## Neurotic (Sep 4, 2007)

*Get well, Ghostknight*

I hope you get better soon.

It would be shame to see this story goes to nothing. 

Hang on in there, your fans will wait it out...

Best wishes from Croatia


----------



## Ghostknight (Sep 5, 2007)

My apologies for the delay- but it is likely to still be .longer.  Unfortunately ny life is just falling apart.  In addition to the financial woes- now my wife wants to get divorced.  It just piles up- and at the moment i am a bit of a wreck, trying to knit myself together, while making sure the kids are as unaffected as possible.  We all know they will be affected, but hopefully we can make the transition as smooth for them as possible.  

Ahh, its the start of a long process- and I'll get to writing when I can, but at the moment things are still too raw.


----------



## Neurotic (Sep 5, 2007)

*I'm sorry...*

...to hear that.

I found out hard way that woman go with the money  Once you lose it, you lose them too. Children suffer, but they don't seem to care too much except for the alimony it gets them 

Maybe I'm little too harsh, but that just impression I got from my experience...

I hope you (both of you) manage it better.


----------



## Ghostknight (Sep 5, 2007)

Unfortunately it wasn't just the money.  that we would have worked through.  But I was an idiot.  I came very close to having an affair.  It didn't happen, but the fact as far as my wife is concerned is that she basically has decided she can't trust me anymore and thus that she cannot live with me.  Its harsh- but I can't blame her.  Its my own actions that got me to this point.  Yeah, the affair didn't happen, I didn't go through with it, but it still went far beyond the boundaries.


----------



## Neurotic (Sep 5, 2007)

*Well...*

It wasn't ONLY money in my case, but pretty close to it. Luckily we didn't have children...it was actually clean break, but bitter taste remains.

And I would blame her. The fact that you didn't go through with it even given the chance should give her security that you wouldn't not that you would.

Of course, If you would go through then it is a problem.


----------



## Rikandur Azebol (Sep 7, 2007)

Ghostknight, my condolences. And ... since You hadn't this "sidejump" I'll tell that Your soon to be ex-wife is a person who thinks only about herself. And You got children, too. IMO it's horrid, for them.

Important question is, do You want to continue Your life with her ? If Yes, spare no effort in persuading her that separation might be better. You can sleep in other room as long as she wishes to be alone. Explain to her that if she hates You, why kids have tu suffer ?

And, on the cynical sidenote, let me guess ... You trusted her judgment and told her everything about your "almost betrayal" ? Or You were "busted" ?

EDIT: Nevermind, sorry for shoeing into Your private life GS. I just miss Your prose.


----------



## Ghostknight (Sep 11, 2007)

Its over- I'm staying at my parents until I sort things out a bit.  What a model for the lost middle aged fart- divorced and living with his parents!  

Initially I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, now, yeah she is starting to get nasty and the kids are the ones that are going to get caught in the middle.  Ah well, I have three siblings, and all three are lawyers, so at least that won't be an issue.


----------



## Rikandur Azebol (Sep 13, 2007)

I am sorry for You and Your children. From Your posts it seem that You soon-to-be ex-wife is caring less for them and more for some sort of "vengance" against You.  :\ 

[stupid joke]Is she a demon ?[/stupid joke]

But seriously, You got my best wishes. For You and for Your kids. Hope it will not harm them too much.

BTW, three lawyers in family ? Now I know why You wrote about devils.


----------



## Neurotic (Sep 14, 2007)

*Lawyers*

No, Rikandur, AT LEAST three lawyers in the family. I believe he said siblings, not mentioning father, grandfahter, uncle etc.

I'm sorry Ghostknight, I hoped you will have better experience then I did, but seems not.


----------



## Ghostknight (Sep 15, 2007)

Yeah- three siblings that are lawyers, as well as some cousins that are lawyers.  At last count, it was in the region of around 7 lawyers in the family- though the bulk are in commercial law.


----------



## Rikandur Azebol (Sep 24, 2007)

At least 7 ?   

*Runs away in terror*

And seriously, is law and it's enforcement as stupidly complicated in Your country as it is here in Poland ? For example, if I want to understand anything from lawyer-speak I have to ask someone to perform translation to me.


----------



## Neurotic (Jan 9, 2008)

*Hidden bump?*

Rikandur, I believe that in any but mostly military countries, laws are so convolute you need to give fortune to have a lawyer otherwise you loose by default. No mere layman can grasp all of the intricacies of modern law (not that all lawyers can, but at least some do)

Ah, for simplicity of old times, he guilty, hang him! 

With that, Ghostknight, when do we see continuing punichment of Gerion and success of Jeria?


----------



## Rikandur Azebol (May 4, 2008)

Bump.


----------



## Ghostknight (Jun 6, 2008)

*I'm back...*

Well, if anyone is still around- I'm back, and editing the next bit.  There WILL be an update by the end of next week.  (This week end is with the kids- then Monday/Tuesday are Jewish holidays- leaving me with Wednseday and Thursday to update.)

So, if anyone is left out there- soon the noble Gerion will be eating the cowardly Jeria... (hmm or should that be the other way around?  Hell- why not have Jeria eat his Dad, there are insects that eat their parents!   )


----------



## Neurotic (Jun 8, 2008)

*Welcome back*

Yes, there are still few of us around. And there will be more if you keep the story going !

I guess you reached some agreement with the wife? Sorry, prying. Ignore this.


----------



## Ghostknight (Jun 11, 2008)

Agreement with my ex?  Only over access to the kids- other than that we have agreed to exchange court documents...

(Next chapter at 1100 words and counting.)


----------



## Ghostknight (Jun 13, 2008)

*Rule of Darkness Book II, Chapter II- updated 13 June 2008*

Mekior knelt over the fire.  Its flames danced, their light barely breaking the darkness about them.  On the outskirts of their camping site, Jeria walked in, returning from his check to make sure that bushes and branches concealed even the dim light being shed, scared that a fire in this place would attract unwarranted attention.  He knelt next to Mekior, warming his hands near the flames.

On the opposite side, Dialre laughed.  The human woman was wrapped securely in blankets, a thick woollen head covering hiding all but her nose.  

“After months of watching you two, I still find it amusing how you love that fire.  Neither of you can really feel the cold, and yet you warm yourselves as if it had some meaning to you.”

Mekior just glared at her.  The two remained opposed to one another, despite the months of close proximity and shared dangers.  Jeria had hoped that, in time, they would at least become used to one another and be at peace, yet every barbed comment from Dialre bit into Mekior; every time Mekior displayed even a hint of his fiendish nature it seemed to taunt the woman.  

“Fire, it is an universal comforter, is it not?”  Sister Egrit’s voice was soft.  As always, she was playing the peace maker between the two.

“Fine you bloody fiends and angels to take comfort in the flame.  For use mere mortals this land is frozen.  We feel it; we feel the lack of food, and a sun we have not seen for weeks now.”  D’Fir stood up, swinging his arms, his breath freezing on the outside of his scarf.  “We have searched for six months, and so far, nothing.  Can’t one of you, with all the power of the fiends or the celestial realms do something?  Consult with higher beings?  Send your power out to find something?”

Sister Egrit sighed, her eyes resting on the dwarf.  “It is not as simple as you would think.  Of the three of us I am the only one with any real power, arcane or divine. Mekior has no real power outside of his body and Jeria runs the risk of madness if he taps into his fiendish nature.  And me, I fear to use my power out here.  Look around us, tell me what you see.”

D’Fir looked at her, “What do I see.  Nothing.  Its bloody dark when you don’t see the sun weeks.  ‘Go Nortg’.  Well, we’ve gone North.  We walked under mountains, even got that really scary Aspith to move us through his realms to get us here.  And what have we found?  Nothing.  Ice, and a sky that remains dark for months.  Six months we have searched here, and nothing.  Unless something happens soon, we may as well go home.  There is not much more north we can go without dying.”

Jeria stayed where he was by the fire, but his voice was strong.  “You are right about one thing D’Fir, us fiendish types, as well as Sister Egrit, can ignore the cold.  We can also ignore the hunger of no rations for an extended period of time.  You, and Dialre cannot.  It is time you went home, time for Mekior, Sister Egrit and I to continue into realms too hostile for you to survive.”

“You always were too noble for your own good,” the voice was familiar to Jeria, but not to the others that had never faced Jeria’s father before.  They jumped to their feet, looking into the darkness for the speaker.

“So, you have found me, General.”  Jeria’s voice was soft, hatred apparent.  “I am not what I was when we first met, come forward so you can meet my axe.”  Heedless of the danger to his sanity, Jeria cut himself, feeling his blood flow down his arm, along the haft of his axe onto its blades.  The heat and fury of battle lust whelmed up, yet he held back, awaiting his father.

“You mistake my presence here, whelp.”  Gerion stepped into the light, the group shifting, almost unconsciously into a defensive pattern.

“Never mind, I will not be here long enough for you to attack, nor to harm me.  I came to give you a word of advice.”  Gerion’s smile was cold, and Jeria, stepping forward barely controlling his released battle lust, spat on the ground before him.

“You come to give us advice?  And why would we believe you tales?  You are nothing but the cur of Jelial, a pup he toys with.”

“You, whelp, know nothing!”  Gerion grew, his body suddenly reaching the sky; more immense than the greatest of giants.  “Play the games of Jelial as he reaches for divinity and you will fail.  He seeks much; he extends himself, strengthening all his defenses, making sure there will ne none to oppose him.  I do not want to see him succeed anymore than you do.  How could I seize his place if he were divine?”

“So listen closely, pup.  Your quest to the North is more urgent that you think.  Let the North go unmolested, and you will fail, in everything.  Seek the three peaks, and ware Briokel and his pack.  They will feast on you if you do not seek out a way past them.”

“And just who is Briokel? What manner of creature do you warn us against?”  Sister Egrit spoke up for the first time, the pain of addressing the fiend obvious on her face.  

Gerion looked at her, at her pain, and laughed. “You cannot even address me without feeling pain?  And you would go North and face the demons that Jelial has placed there? You are foolish, Celestial: foolish and doomed.”

“Perhaps, but still I go and do what you fear to do, do I not?  Now speak, what, or who is Briokel.”

“Seek the answer yourself, Celestial.  I have told you, my son and this pathetic rabble with him, all I will.”  A flash of light and Gerion disappeared.

Jeria looked at the now empty spot, his hatred and bloodlust still powerful, still driving him.  He saw the fiend, the celestial and the puny human.  His rabble, Gerion had named them, and his rabble they were!  A smile and he shrugged of the red haze that threatened to engulf him.

“So, do we trust him?  Do we seek knowledge of this Briokel?”  D’Fir’s voice was gruff, voicing a concern all felt.  Gerion could not be trusted, yet they knew that for now, he would not want Jelial to ascend anymore than they would.

“Do we have a choice?”  As always, Sister Egrit voiced the pragmatism that would have to drive their actions.  “I will commune with the spheres, see what, if anything, I can discern behind the veils and shields that Jelial has blocked us with.

Jeria stepped forward, his hand grasping her arm.  Deftly, she removed it, her eyes not leaving his face.  “You know it must be done, and I am the only one that can.”

Carefully she drew out the symbols of the deities that people had not invoked in the millennia since Jelial’s ascension.  Her words held a soft cadence not heard for centuries, her pleas rising out, engulfing the symbols in a light that brought thoughts of Joy and rejoicing.  For a moment, it played over her, her face transformed, ecstacy playing across her features.  Then it changed.  Black lines started from its heart, reaching out, brushing across the faces who all watched- cold, clammy, leaving thoughts of despair and the grave, at least, they did on all but Sister Egrit.  Into her they dove, her eyeballs exploding in a stream of mucus, the tendrils of darkness exiting through her ears. Dragging her into their center, and she disappeared. Silence fell, and the ground where once the light of the celestial spheres had played, lay dark and burnt.

***

Jelial stared out of the broken city.  Charred buildings thrust into the air, bodies littered the streets, and the smell of burnt flesh, blood and rotting meat caressed his nostrils.  Still, the time for enjoyment was over, with the renewal of power it was time to return to the wider conflict.  With a last look at his handiwork, Jelial soared into the air, heading for the coast and a rendevous.

The massive stone ships lay anchored in the bay.  By rights they should have sunk beneath the waves, their immense stone hulls too dense, too unwieldy, to serve as anything save coffins for those that would dare to venture into the sea in such vessels.  Yet they floated, and on their decks hundreds milled.

Glazerou looked towards the shore, to the forest that lay before them.

“Any word from our Masters yet?”  His question was aimed at a short, squat creature that stood before him.  Once, this creature had been a pageboy of the court, beautiful and sought for liaisons by the ladies of the court.  In him, the change had been particularly cruel; his body was shrunken, the colour of pale maggots, his skin lay in folds and wrinkles, while all his hair had fallen out.

“No, my liege.  Our Masters have yet to send word.”

Glazerou looked towards the crystal- its black facets mocking him.  The orders had been clear, board the ships of stone to cross the grass seas and then the real sea.  Come to his far away land and wait for orders. But the waiting was growing hard.  The dead who sailed the ship did not care, their lack lustre existence held no imagination, no desires, no needs.  But to those who lived, they had needs.  Food was running short, tempers driven by the change leading to confrontations.  Already, three had been killed by others over minor matters.  Jelial needed to issue them new orders soon, or it would be difficult to hold the Changed under control.

Sighing, Glazerou turned to head down to his quarters when he was thrown to the deck by a strike in his back.  Furious he jumped up, staff at the ready, already incantating words that would destroy the one who dared to attack him.  But as he turned, his words dried up as he sank in obeisance to the ground.

“You turn your back on me and then threaten me with your puny magic?”  Jelial’s voice was soft, lilting almost humorous, yet the look in his eyes was deadly.  “You really are a worm and a traitor- first your people to me, and now me!”

Shivering and filled with fear Glazerou kept his face downwards, not daring to look at his Master.  “Master, I did not see you!  I did not know who attacked.  Forgive me, for I remain your faithful servant and serve you willingly and with my whole heart and soul.”

“What is your soul to me, worm?  You sold it to me ages past for the safety you sought for yourself and your people.  For now, I will hold judgement and punishment in abeyance.  Prove your loyalty with actions, not words!”

“Your task is simple, through that forest is a mountain and an entrance to the under realms.  You will go through and seek out the place where the city of Weald Hall once stood.  You will unearth it from beneath the rubble, rebuild it and occupy it.  I intend this to be my first step in wiping out those who hide underground.  Slowly we will take it over, leaving them nowhere to go!”

“As you wish, my Master.  How will we find our way through this forest?” His eyes still cast downwards, Glazerou hoped he would not enrage the powerful fiend any further.

“A guide will be sent.  Now go and do as I ordered.”  Jelial looked down at the creature that had once been a mighty human king, and was now nothing more than a pitiful slave.  If the human had shown any real courage, he may have felt some pity for his plight, but as cowardly and pathetic as he was, he felt nothing but disdain and disgust.  He would prove an useful tool, but how long would he even survive?  Once again Jelial took to the air, soaring skywards as he left the pathetic remnants of an once great human kingdom behind him.

Briokel ran with the pack.  Howling into the darkness, they rejoiced in the freedom, in the chase.  Ahead of them, the massive stag ran, its red tinged skin showing its tainted nature, its massive horns razor sharp and dripping ichor.  Soon, it would probably turn around and fight, then the pack would have to mind the horns and their poison, but for now- just the pure joy of the chase.  

He ran, but then he saw figure watching the chase from a nearby hillside.  Leaving the pack, he turned, heading towards the watcher, his figure flowing as he ran, until it was almost manlike when he arrived.

“My liege, it is a long time since you graced me with your presence.”  Briokel bowed before Jelial, turning to watch the chase with his king.

“I have news for you, Briokel.  Sources tell me that those who oppose me may have learnt of what I hide, and what you guard.  The shamans dance, but they cannot divine further no matter how much I push them.”

“Ahh, then my days of the hunt are at an end.  I will stay close to make sure that no one approaches.  I have long since ensured that the way is guarded and I would be warned in good time if anyone approached, but if they come, I will watch closer.”

He fell silent as he and Jelial watched the end of the hunt.  The stag turned, its massive head flung around, its horn cutting across tow of the chasing pack before they could react.  One was decapitated and lay still on the ground, the other almost cut in two.  As they watched, its wounds started closing, even as the rest of the pack circled the stag.  A bite, and a chunk of flesh was torn from the stags hid quarters, as it turned t attack the source of its pain, another bite, another chunk of flesh gone.  Slowly the pack ate the stag, the bites shallow, more to inflict pain than to satisfy any hunger.  For four hours they tore at it, only finally killing it when its innards were spilt across the ground and its cries of pain had died away.

“Ahh, the pack does well.”  The whole time Briokel and Jelial had watched the spectacle, revelling in the pain and torture of the stag.  They felt refreshed, and Briokel’s comment summed up their feelings well.  “They will do the same to any who approach.  Let those who seek come, the pack will feed and enjoy the hunt.”

“Beware Briokel, those who come will not be so easily despatched.  There are those of power amongst them, not least the scion of Gerion.”

“Gerion spawned a whelp?  I am surprised he did not just eat it as it was born as he has done so often.  He is not one for feelings of filial duty!”

Jelial laughed, at ease with Briokel whom he knew would not attack him as he was so much weaker.  “It seems that the General rutted with one of his slaves, who then escaped and gave birth in one of the free cities.  This child is proving problematic.  He has not yet come to his full power, but he has already been disruptive.  When they come Briokel, try to keep this half-fiend bastard alive and available for questioning.  I have suspicions that Gerion uses him for his own ends, though the two have no feelings of love or duty to one another.”

Briokel nodded, wondering how he would carry out his lord’s orders.  As much as it was phrased as a request, he knew that failure to deliver Gerion’s spawn for questioning would reflect badly on him, resulting in his own punishment.  “As you speak, so shall the pack and I do my liege.  We will destroy the interlopers and obtain Gerion’s spawn for questioning.


----------



## BLACKDIRGE (Jun 13, 2008)

Hey man,

Good to see you back to work.   

BD


----------



## Ghostknight (Jun 15, 2008)

Thanks    Question is, after the long layoff is m y writing still up to standard or have I completely lost it? (not my sanity- that I mislaid years ago, never missed it.)


----------



## Rikandur Azebol (Jun 15, 2008)

Yes. Good to have You back.


----------



## Ghostknight (Jun 15, 2008)

AH so then the fiendish, half-hobbit gelatinous blob should be just fine...  

(Hmm- maybe I better remove this spoiler- it will give too much away!)


----------



## Rikandur Azebol (Jun 16, 2008)

Who'll eat the half-vermin ?


----------



## Ghostknight (Jun 17, 2008)

That'd be the celestial half swarm half black pudding with the vampire template.

(Ok, dunno if I can get it any more incongruous than that! LOL )


----------



## Ghostknight (Jun 19, 2008)

*Chapter 3*

Below, the lights of the city blazed into the night.  Strains of wild, disconcordant music broke the night, underlined by the shouts of drunks, screams of passion and the cries of the tortured.  Hulia, Commander of the Gir’Thia looked at the ranked fiends behind him.  He smiled, fangs showing as his red face took on a mask of cruelty, there was no joy in that smile, merely the look of a predator about to feed.

“Our task is simple.  Go in, kill as many of the revellers as we can, get out.  None of you can truly die on this plane, so fear not, if you fall, you will be returned to us shortly.  We break up their celebrations, free some of their slaves, and deny the worship of Jelial, turning their ceremony into a bloodbath!”  Hulia laughed, “this is a task I am sure we can all enjoy!”

The devils behind him pressed forward eagerly, each opening a small wound on their fingers to let their blood anoint the blood red blades of their scythes.  Each scythe took on a green glow, and with their faces reflecting black in the night, the green mingling with the red of their flesh, each winked out, reappearing in the city to create mayhem.

Hulia laughed as he appeared in the midst of a drunken group; half-fiends, fiend touched and their offspring danced around him, celebrating and shouting out their love for Jelial.  A few looked up, saw he was a fiend, and returned to their party.  But not for long- his scythe shot out, swung out in a wide arc, two heads flew through the night, whilst another grabbed at his intestines as they spilled from his body.  Laughing, Hulia jumped into the middle of a group, his scythe coating him in the blood of others, even as he opened his mouth wide to drink in the rain of blood that flew around him.  His joy knew no bounds when he realised that he had come into the midst of a group of the fiend’s children, who sat their staring in fear.  The slaughter awoke joy -in his heart, the fierce joy of murder, destruction and the sewing of fear for no reason other than he could.  Yet, he pulled himself from his blood frenzy when the city reacted and sent their troops after him.  The nights work was done.  With a mocking glance he looked at the fiends coming to hunt him, “Your master Jelial is but a second rate fiend with no power.  He fled from his true Master , the ruler of the eighth, and came here to lead a pack of worthless hounds.  Return home, offer obeisance to your true Master, and leave Jelial to rot in his self-imposed exile!”  He waved his scythe, blood from it flying off, but he had disappeared, teleported to safety, before that blood had touched the ground.

General D’Haan stood before the council.  The ranked dwarven nobility were silent, considering what he had said.

“So you say the Gir’Thia go into the cities of Jelial, massacre hundreds of innocents, and then leave?  That they do not differentiate between innocent and guilty, child and soldier?”  Kier’s voice was gruff, his question pointed.  “We ally with those that are no better than our enemy!”  The High Priest of the Forge father looked around the table.  His eyes blazing in fury, “Do they give any excuse for their actions?  For their wanton slaughter or do they do it merely for enjoyment.”

“Clam yourself, High One.  They claim to have good intentions, that they disrupt the revels that are designed to feed power to Jelial for divine ascension.  Their motives are correct, though obviously their means are ones we cannot condone.”  General D’Haan looked at the priest, “They do something we cannot in pushing the revels off from their intended effect.  Do we have room to complain?”

The King leaned back in his chair, his hand rising to finger the hammer of the Forge Father, his symbol of office that rested on the table before him.  “Do we stare into the face of evil and remain silent?  In doing so, do we not stand to loose what we are?  We fear for us, We fear we will become our enemy, willing to do anything to win and in so doing loose everything we have, even in victory.”

The King stood, his decision made.  “We will summon Eria, We will tell Eria we are against these raids.  There is not much we can do if he chooses not to stop them for we cannot enter into an open war with Sechariab and his Master.  But we will speak, and hopefully we can try to moderate some of the worst excesses.”

Slowly each member of the council stood, bowed to the king, and left.  Sighing, the king sat down as Eria materialised form a corner of the room.

“I told you they would find out, and it would be a problem.”  Eria looked at the King, his face betraying nothing of his thoughts, the perfect diplomat.  “So, what do we do now?”

“What do we do?  We continue to do what we have to do.  The Gir’Thia must continue to break up the revels, to cause them to question the ability of Jelial to protect them, even within their own cities.  We need the doubt to prevent Jelial’s ascension- did you not tell me that yourself?”

Eria turned rapidly, looking at the door where High Priest Kier stood, his mouth open.

“So, my liege, even as we talk you have a fiend listen in.  You break the sanctity of Council to let one such as this hear our deliberations.  You state one thing to council, and then act in a different way?  Brother, you have lost your mind!”  Kier’s voice was low, angry, emotion driving him as he entered back into the council chamber, facing his brother, ignoring Eria, “What drives you to this madness?  What sorcery causes you to act thus?”

King D’Mier looked at his brother, the one who had foresworn the throne in favour of serving the Forge Father.  “Kier, do you realise what we face?  Jelial reaches for divinity, the revels are part of his means.  I sell myself, my place in the Forge Father’s halls in order to ensure my people will be safe.  Let the Council and the people out there rest in their innocence, let them think that we can have victory without the cost of sinking into depravity.  I rule Kier, I make the sacrifice of my own soul for the benefit of my people.”

Kier looked at his brother, saw the sadness, the desperation of one who had lost a son to an assassin in the city, who placed the burden of their entire race on his own shoulders.  “You say you willingly give up your place in the Halls of the Forge Father to save us all.  Brother, you have lost the path, you need to return and look for other ways.”  Kier turned to Eria, his eyes locking with those of the fiend.  “You have corrupted him, you brought him to this, to the point where, in despair, he acts like one of you.”

Eria shook his head sadly.  “No, Holy One, you do not understand.  I told him what Jelial sought and how he was going about it.  It was your brother’s plan to use the Gir’Thia to attack them in their cities, to slaughter the innocent to create despair and thus turn them away from Jelial.  He’s right, of course, it is one of the best ways that, despair.”

Kier, unbelieving turned to his brother, looked into his eyes, and knew the devil spoke the truth.  

***

The ground where Sister Egrit had sat was scoured clean.  The sand was fused into black glass, the plants along the edges burnt, the smell of their taint burning the nostrils of those standing around.  Numbly, Jeria felt the ground.  He could not believe this turn of events.

“What was that?”  Dialre looked at the place where Jeria knelt, her question a mere utterance of everyone’s thoughts.

“My guess?  We just saw Jelial’s trap for the celestials at work.  Evidently he has altered it, made it more powerful since they helped us defeat him at the battles for Harmony Hall and the Fort of Peaks.”  Mekior felt along the edges of the fused earth, his fingers reaching under to heave up the disk.  “Look, beneath, the ground is clean of taint.”

D’Fir looked, his brows contracting in consternation.  “Surely an act of that should have increased the taint from the fiendish sorceries involved, yet it appears to have cleansed it instead!”

Dialre stood, raising her hands in front of her.  “By the Great Mother, talk to me.”  She knelt down, digging her hands into the earth, her eyes glazing over as the sand ran through her fingers. The others watched in consternation, never before having seen her invoke any form of arcane or divine power.

For an hour she sat, hunched over, her hands continuously digging into the cold, hard earth, the sand running through her fingers.  Slowly her eyes turned to normal as she sighed and toppled over.

“I hate doing that, I will have back ache for days!”  Dialre slowly stood, stretching her back, trying to relieve the pain of muscles knotted from being in such an awkward position.  She looked at the three around her, looking at her questioningly.

“So, I worship the Great Mother, the Earth Mother whose very being is being corrupted by these fiends.  More than most, we seek to rid the world of these fiends, for it is not just us that are threatened, but our very Mother and the sustainer of us all!”

Jeria smiled.  “I have never met a worshipper of the Mother that could commune with her.  I thought them all gone, along with the rest of those who sought the help of the Gods, help that never came.”  Jeria looked at her, remembering the consigning of the body of Gruzz to the Earth Mother many years ago on the journey with Gyv and Mekior, the journey on which he had met his father.

“There are not many of us, and we stay hidden.  In the first purges the fiends sought to kill us all, they hate us more than even those who worship Gods dedicated to their destruction.  Our sustaining of the Mother fights their corruption- most of us spend our time in healing the wounds of our Mother, we do not call on her powers lightly, for she needs her power to fight the taint.”  Dialre closed her eyes, lying back on the cold ground, her body flat against the earth.  A short while later she sat, refreshed from her contact with the Great Mother.

“I must tell you what I learnt when I communed with the Mother.  The power that took Sister Egrit, it was not that of the devils, but something colder, something that is as alien to the fiends as it is to us.  Jelial bargains with this power, yet he does not rule it.  What it does with the captured celestials is unknown, most probably to Jelial as well.  One thing, though, is that it took her.  She may be grievously wounded, but she is still alive.”

“So, our search for the secrets of the Celestial trap just got even more important, now we need to rescue one of our own.”  D’Fir looked into the darkness, pulling his thick jacket around him as he came closer to the fire.  “Yet I suffer, as does Dialre, from this abominable cold.  If our search is even further north, then how do we proceed?  I cannot survive much more of this cold, and I doubt Dialre can either!”

“The Mother did show me one more thing.  Nearby there is an underground entrance.  Beneath, the caverns are warmed by the earth beneath, though we will have to be careful as in places the crust is thin and molten stone flows, hidden from sight.”  Dialre looked to an outcropping not far off.  “We will have some work to do to find our entrance, but once beneath we can proceed Northwards, though I do not know if it will go far enough to get us to our destination.”
***

Glazerou followed his guide.  The small, emaciated fiend moved with surprising agility.  Watching it, Glazerou wondered how it stayed so thin, every time he glanced over, it seemed to have caught yet another small creature on which it feasted, stuffing it whole down its gullet, occasionally spitting out tails or feathers.  He had not lost his curiosity about the fiends along with his freedom, but he had lost the courage to voice his questions.  So he stayed silent and wondered.

For five days the fiend led his people through the forest, before it came out on the side of a mountain into what had obviously been a battlefield.  Bodies of fiends, humans and other littered the ground.  Looking at it, Glazerou at first assumed the battle was fresh as the corpses lay there whole, undecaying.  But when their guide went to one of the corpses and tried to wrestle a piece off to eat, the body suddenly rose, think tendrils of red linking  it to the ground.  Quickly it grabbed the fiend, its mouth opening wide as it bit off its head, and then sucked out the insides of its body.  Quickly, it finished, and then sank back into quiescence. Glazerou did not need to see more to fear,

“Find the entrance to the caverns on this mountain, and leave the corpses.  Do not touch them or attempt to molest them in anyway!”

Quickly his men moved to obey, but as they moved amongst the corpses, they rose, some obtaining victims, others missing.  Galzerou could see he had no option.  With a wave, he sent his undead forces in, the mobile undead vs the tethered undead.  Those tethered to the ground were stronger than ordinary zombies or the minor undead, but the sheer numbers that Glazerou commanded overwhelmed the forces they faced.  Dismayed, Glazerou looked at his forces- he had lost hundreds of servants, though only a handful of those with any sense of will. Silently, the undead started to clear the battlefield as those more capable searched for a cavern entrance.

It didn’t take long. The entrance was found underneath some loose boulders, piled over it some time in the past to hide the passage that had been hewn out to allow the passage of an army.  While happy with the discovery, Glazerou was upset that it had been found at the cost of yet more of his undead troops- it had been discovered by them setting off an avalanche and being trapped beneath it.  So five more dead troops, and the rest cleared the loose rack and shale out of the way.

“My lord, do we go in?”  Videk towered over his king.  Before the corruption had taken, he had been tall and well built- the corruption had twisted him, making him even taller, easily eight foot, but his legs had split, giving him four legs which more often than not got in his way.  Or so he pretended, Glazerou had spied on him using arcane means as he trained, and, in truth, he moved faster and quicker than any normal man though he kept that hidden, an advantage in a court where assassination was a tool of diplomacy – both in love and war.

“Of course we do.  We find this city Jelial spoke of and rebuild it as we were ordered to do so.  We obey, we always obey.”  With that, Glazerou stared back in the direction of the bay, their ships, and a home destroyed and to be forgotten.


----------



## Neurotic (Aug 19, 2008)

*Continuing story?*

We want more...we want more...we want...we...hmmm, cobwebs.


----------

