# The Mésalliance. Part 1. (Updated 4/18.)



## Sepulchrave II

*The Mésalliance. Part 1. (Updated 4/18.)*

Time for a new thread, I think. Updates will continue to be slow - the house-hunting continues in earnest!


****


*The Parley - Part 1*

The meeting took place in early autumn at dusk, three days after the full moon, in a glade deep within the woods of Hethio. Mid-way – Nwm remarked ironically to himself – between Groba, where the Uediian rebellion had begun, and the eaves where Hullu’s last encampment of _Bagaudas_ had been set. With the Tunthi tribesman’s abdication of leadership, the focussed organization of the Uediian uprising had rapidly degenerated into a motley rabble of outlaws and bandits, who now prowled the farmlands of Wyre’s richest province in gangs of twenty or more. 

But not near here. All shunned this spot. Fear had descended upon the woods.

The Umbral Lillend, Nhura, was coiled in a posture which suggested both calm and confidence. To her left, mounted upon a griffon of singular size and evil disposition, Jetheeg – in her hag-form – sat impatiently, a look of cynicism and contempt upon her hideous face. Around them were arrayed Loquai knights of varying stature and reputation, who appeared as numinous shades from whom darkness flowed. To the right of Nhura, standing impassively below the Lillend’s standard – a hanging sable pennant upon which the device was utterly obscured – was Koilimilou the sidhe-cambion. All the company were surrounded by compacted demons – a score of jariliths which prowled and circled ceaselessly. 

_Sh*t,_ Ortwin thought to himself. _This better be for real, or we’re all dead meat._ Despite Eadric’s assurances to the contrary, the Satyr felt less than confident in the motives of the recently styled – and now exiled – Queen of Afqithan or her entourage. 

Ortwin glanced over his shoulder. Behind him, Mostin, Shomei and Nwm stood silently; _telepathically bonded_ and buoyed by potent wards and augmentations, and ready to unleash a devastating magical attack if things went awry. Iua raised her eyebrows in a gesture which combined reassurance with a sense of deeply appreciative irony. 

Ortwin grinned, and trotted forwards.

"Beautiful ladies," he bowed, causing Jetheeg to scowl yet further. "Elevated Triptych of incomparable grace and poise. I am King Ortwin – welcome to my realm."

Jetheeg snarled.

The Satyr smiled appreciatively before continuing. "I believe that, in our haste to create a favourable impression with one another, we may have overstepped the normal bounds of propriety and – inadvertently – caused each other mutual inconvenience."

"Must we endure this fool’s prattling?" Jetheeg snapped, at no-one in particular. "Get to the point, Satyr. Bring out the box, bow and armour. And the other treasures which you have looted. And then we’ll speak."

"My apologies," Ortwin bowed again. "In a previous parley we may have acted somewhat precipitously, and this time I wanted to be sure to observe the formal niceties." The Satyr gave Koilimilou a sideways glance. "Believe me, I share your impatience."

He strode forward five paces, and unslung a heavy sack from his back. As he hurled it to the ground, it opened. Armour, a slender sword, a buckler, a compound bow, and several other enchanted objects of enormous power spilled forth. The _box of shades_ fell upon the moss, and the Cambion inhaled sharply. 

Nhura gestured, and two of her knights approached Ortwin with a black canvas held between them. It sagged with the weight of gear won from the Satyr and the Infernalist.

Nhura smiled. "I regret that, at this time, it is impossible for me to return your _stone of sendings_. It remains in Afqithan in the hands of one of my servants."

Inwardly, Shomei groaned. For her, it was a particularly useful item.

Ortwin licked his lips, and prepared to engage in more small-talk, but from behind him he heard Nwm – who appeared wilder and more unkempt than ever before – grunt disapprovingly.

"They are here."


**


Eadric’s return, some days before, had been a solemn event. The _Ahma_ had seemed weighed down with concern, and his eyes had conveyed a sense of pain and horror. He had witnessed near infinite brutality and suffering. The brief ecstasies enjoyed by demons – at the expense of naked souls, whose eternal lot was perdition within Soneillon’s Abyssal demesne – coupled with Throile’s madness-inducing warp of dimension and time, had left a knot of sickness and loathing in his gut.

Upon his arrival at Deorham, at the climax of a furious storm of Nwm’s devising, his heart had sunk yet further. The courtyard of Kyrtill’s Burh had been spattered with celestial and demonic ichor; human entrails lay strewn about, and the doors to the chapel were smashed against the base of the Steeple.

Outside of the entranceway to the sanctum, a great blackthorn reared, its sudden growth demonstrated by the shattered cobblestones nearby. Several of its branches were like huge, barbed lances, upon which the stricken forms of demons hung motionless, pierced and raised skywards as if in dreadful sacrifice to the storm and the Goddess.

Eadric had barely glanced at the tree as he walked into the chapel. Inside, his servants sat quietly in a small group whilst Iua had stood guard over them. Mostin and Shomei had been close in whispered conversation, and Nwm had appeared catatonic and wrapped in a heavy cloak.

Ortwin had grinned, and tossed him his weapon. "Glad you could make it. Better late than never, I suppose."

"I have struck a deal with Soneillon," Eadric had said.

Shomei had looked up with an expression which combined awe with profound concern.

"Welcome to the Path Sinister," she had sighed. "May your progress be as traumatic and as bewildering as mine."

"There are no paths, nor were there ever any. I act from instinct now."

"You are an adept already," she had smiled.

*

It had happened as the _Ahma_ had predicted. The next morning, a _summoned_ succubus had arrived in order to impart a message from Nhura: a parley in five days, if all were willing. An exchange of captured goods was to take place. Eadric had explained that it was part of the agreement reached with the Queen of Throile. 

Nwm had groaned loudly. "She has maneuvered everyone into this situation. Irknaan and Crosod are conveniently eliminated – no doubt Soneillon doubted their tractability. Has it occurred to you that she may herself have had a hand in betraying Nhura to Graz’zt?"

Eadric had nodded.

Shomei had shrugged. "Such is the nature of demonic alliances – they shift from hour to hour. It requires considerable will and insight for a leader to maintain any kind of cohesion. We should not even begin to think that we understand her true purpose, however. It will remain hidden for some time yet."

Eadric had mentioned that the demoness wanted something ‘returned to her.’

Mostin had tutted and shaken his head. "I don’t suppose that she mentioned – in passing – what this ‘thing’ was?"

"No."

"I thought not," the Alienist had sighed. "You are perceptive, Eadric – that much I reluctantly concede. But surely you cannot actually _trust_ this creature?"

"I trust her to do that which is in her own best interest," Eadric had answered. "I think it is up to us to try to determine exactly what that is. I don’t pretend that it will be easy. We have little other choice. Afqithan is an obvious locale for a confrontation – and neither you nor Shomei will be bound by the Injunction there. You may conjure hideous entities to your heart’s content."

"I fully intend to," Mostin had replied casually. "But why five days? Why not today?"

"I need time for reflection," Eadric had said simply.

Four days later, he had returned to Throile again, to the dismay of Nwm. He would meet them at the appointed time and place.

"Is he ensorcelled?" The Druid had asked Mostin.

"Not to my knowledge," the Alienist had answered. "But I make no claim to omniscience."


**


Within the glade, Ortwin took several hasty steps back again as the Void began to manifest. Fear spilled from it – dream-phantoms which lingered in the waking world, before evaporating in the ruddy sunset.

Eadric’s form materialized. Next to him, almost as though she were a ward in his care – or his lover, the Satyr wrily observed – was a slender girl clad in a traditional folk dress.

_So that is her_, Ortwin thought. _Intriguing. Less compelling than I had imagined._

As if in response, her eyes brushed over him for the briefest moment. The Satyr immediately felt desire of a magnitude he had never before experienced. His stomach twisted into a knot, and his head span.* He was thankful that he was _mind blanked_ and he knew instantly that, without protective magic, had she laid even the simplest enchantment upon him, he would have been utterly incapable of resisting.

Under the watchful eyes of Nhura, Jetheeg and Koilimilou – suspicious that the Alienist might attempt a _time stop_ and attack – Shomei erected a _screen_ and Mostin _fabricated_ a large, circular table and thirteen chairs from an oak tree, together with a wooden awning supported by slender pillars.

"Not bad," Shomei remarked nonchalantly, and immediately sat down. Eadric watched her – despite her bravado, he knew that she was tense and nervous. Demons – and their allies – were less predictable than her usual diabolic associates.

Soneillon stepped away from the _Ahma_ and smiled.

"Thank-you all for coming," the Queen of Throile said softly. "As you either know, or have guessed, I am Soneillon. At this moment, we share a common purpose which outweighs any other petty concerns which we might have. How we have arrived here is now irrelevant, and we should put these thoughts behind us. This is a parley and a truce. No weapon will be drawn, and no offensive magic will be invoked on pain of annihilation."

Mostin looked sceptical. "You are powerful, but hardly omnipotent, Soneillon. The same conditions apply to you: I will blast you if I suspect counterfeit or magical manipulation, and if the last act I commit is to have you dragged screaming to _Uzzhin_ then I will die happy – I suspect that your dubious ontological status will prove to be of no importance in that paradigm. You should be aware that you cannot effectively be both an arbiter and an interested party in this matter."

"Graz’zt is your enemy, Mostin, not I."

"That remains to be seen," the Alienist countered. "But as none of us trust each other, I am inclined to proceed with utmost caution. I should like to ask several questions before we go any further."

"Are all Wyrish Wizards so arrogant and disrespectful?" Jetheeg asked incredulously. "And openly insulting a Demon Queen is an act of questionable wisdom."

"Truth – even if presented in a most bombastic way – may be my ally at present. I would be misrepresenting myself if I allowed Soneillon to dictate the terms of this arrangement."

Ortwin’s eyes bulged. Eadric smiled. Nhura said nothing, but her eyes narrowed as she studied the Alienist. _Very powerful. Very dangerous,_ she thought.

Soneillon seemed unfazed, and opened her palm, indicating that Mostin should proceed.

"What is this _thing_ that you desire to repossess from the Prince of Azzagrat, and what is Rhyxali’s role in this? What becomes of his sanctum if he is eliminated: can another demon – magnate or no – benefit from its power, or is it attuned only to him? How many succubi within your retinue are sorceresses, and what is their relative power? And what is your defense in Throile against assault from Azzagrat? I assume that, on that count, there is some kind of ongoing spell or magical protection in effect – or the Prince would have overwhelmed you long ago. Finally, I would be grateful if you enlightened me with regard to Pazuzu’s involvement – if any – and, out of intellectual curiosity, any information regarding the entity _Carasch_ would be much appreciated."

Eadric glanced over the Loquai. Despite their practiced hauteur, he detected discomfort among several of them when the name of Rhyxali was mentioned. Nhura’s emotion, if she experienced any, was unreadable.

[Shomei]: _?_
[Mostin]: _There are hidden fingers in this pie. I am merely informing her that I have considered the possibilities of who they might be._

Soneillon gave a wry smile and leaned forwards towards Mostin. "Your speculation is insightful. Have you heard of _Pharamne’s Urn_?"

Mostin wracked his brains. "I confess that I have not."

"This is the item that I wish returned to me," the Succubus said simply.

"Evidently, it is not yours by right, else it would be called _Soneillon’s Urn_. What is its function, and who is – or was – Pharamne?"

"An Aeon**," Soneillon answered.

Mostin looked dumbfounded and stared at the _Ahma_. 

Eadric groaned. "Please, Mostin, explanations surrounding these matters may take all night. Since I last mentioned this item, I have made inquiries and Soneillon has been forthcoming – I will explain later. Rhyxali’s involvement will also become clear in due course."

"Then she is implicated?"

"She is the heretofore secret co-sponsor of the Loquai. Koilimilou is her chief representative."

The Cambion tilted her head, and stared venomously at Eadric. The air seethed with unmanifest arcane power. Nearby, the jariliths began to bay and snarl.

"Stay your temper, Koi," Nhura said drily. "It would appear that Queen Soneillon has thoroughly instructed the _Ahma_ – for reasons I’m sure she will divulge presently."

"Rhyxali will lend aid in any effort to retake Afqithan," Soneillon  explained.

"I would have been informed," Koilimilou hissed.

"You are a thrall, nothing more," Soneillon said lightly. "Do not overestimate your importance."


**


The two kelvezu, Cociz and Dramalaz – erstwhile servants of  Prince Socothbenoth, but lately retained by Graz’zt – took due pleasure and satisfaction in the task appointed to them in Afqithan. As Ainhorr’s chief inquisitors, they left, in a matter of hours, a trail of mangled and mutilated forms which stretched across the breadth of the demiplane. Their retinue – which consisted of a variety of lesser demons – soon found that the fear evoked by the rumour of their arrival manifested itself in generous bribes from a number of Loquai nobility.

The information which was relayed back to Ainhorr, and thence to Graz’zt, was of a conflicting nature. A Duke from Faerie – Rhalid – had been in Afqithan with a hunting party. Rhalid or one of his cohorts had, in fact, been the despised Eadric of Deorham. Soneillon was implicated. Irknaan had been involved, but was slain because of an internal feud. Lehurze. The Infernal nobles Murmuur, Titivilus and Furcus were somehow enmeshed in the affair, as were a number of Afqithan’s significant figures who were now, apparently, on the Prime – Nhura, Koilimilou, Jetheeg, Crosod and Threxu.

Graz’zt immediately smelled a plot, retired to his sanctum, and deployed a potent divination.

Upon emerging from his reverie, the Prince of Azzagrat acted swiftly. The periodic portal in Afqithan – upon which Irknaan’s palace had been built – had closed, but Graz’zt opened a series of further _gates_. He reinforced Ainhorr’s contingent with thirty nalfeshnees and around a hundred glabrezu. He issued orders to the marilith Janiq – one of his most experienced, competent and trusted generals in the field – to vigorously renew her assault within Throile, and bolstered her armies there. For the sake of completeness, the ongoing war against Orcus – which had raged inconclusively for millennia across a dozen planes, and absorbed most of the Prince’s resources – was stepped up a notch. 

The succubus, Nehael – by Graz’zt’s arts now stripped of her flesh, rendered insane, and subjected to continual torment – was confined alone within a prison world mere yards across, and warded against location by any form of magic or supernatural power. The only _gate_ to the prison was sealed and similarly hidden, and the key – a silver cylinder some twelve inches long, and carved with indecipherable glyphs – was secreted in a location known only to the Prince himself. 

Graz’zt turned his mind to the three Infernal Dukes present in Afqithan, and pondered upon Murmuur’s tower and how best to overcome it. The connection between Titivilus and the _Ahma_ was known to him, but Murmuur was a Duke of the Order of the Fly, not a vassal of Dispater. His involvement was a concern, and bespoke the machinations of subtler devils, and tacit agreements between Dis and Malbolge. And Murmuur’s tower was close to impregnable: Graz’zt recalled its deployment upon the Blessed Plain – along with the other contrivances of the Adversary and Belial – in the early stages of the Great Revolt. 

For an instant, a feeling of enormous poignancy welled up from within him: a profound melancholy, which consumed him utterly. Ideals and ancient oaths broken, and bright visions of bliss and freedom brought guttering to cold ash.

When it had passed, his brow furrowed in dark reflection. It was becoming hard to recall, and the memories seemed like dreams: divorced and incomplete, as though another, and not he, had taken part in those awful events.


**

"What of the succubus who followed me through the _reality maelstrom_," Mostin asked. "She is your cohort?"

Soneillon smiled. "Sometimes."

"And presently?" Mostin asked irritably.

"Her name is Lehurze," Nhura answered. "Narab indicated that she disappeared prior to Ainhorr’s attack. She is very slippery. If we meet again, I will likely kill her out of caution. I suspect that she covets Afqithan; Irknaan intended for her to supplant me."

"And where is she?" Mostin asked, exasperated.

Soneillon stared hard at the Alienist: she had no doubt that he could locate Lehurze if he so desired. "She has returned to Azzagrat."

Nhura cursed. "I knew that the whore was a turncoat, but…"

"Graz’zt does not know that she is there," Soneillon interrupted, "although, doubtless, he knows that she is somehow involved in events to date. He probably also guesses that she has Maihodrot’s _cubic gate_. Before you ask, Mostin, Maihodrot was the demon responsible for overseeing Afqithan. Graz’zt executed him for dereliction." 

"That was long overdue," Nhura remarked acidly. "He was an incompetent fool."

"What of the devils?" Shomei asked. "What is their rôle in this?"

"I suspect that they are waiting to see how events unfold before acting." The Succubus answered.

"Ainhorr has more than sufficient strength to force their retreat."

"Not so," Soneillon countered. "He can partially contain them, nothing more. They have erected a tower which is all but impenetrable. It is also a planar nexus, and leads to a number of worlds – including several Hells, no doubt."

"But Graz’zt himself could overcome it?" Mostin asked.

"Yes, given sufficient preparation. As could I. Or you maybe, Mostin; or Shomei. Or the understated Nwm. I know what you did to Hazihe, Druid. It was most impressive."

"I would have done the same to you," Nwm said coolly. "My current concern is to see you – _all_ of you – return to whatever grim, depressing realities that you issued from. Or at least out of mine, in any case. I am hoping that this parley might expedite the process."

"You arrogant bastard," Jetheeg snapped. "As I recall it was first _you_ who trespassed in Afqithan. And now you cry foul at our presence here? Mortals are perpetual hypocrites."

Eadric held up his hand. "The point is well-made. I think, however, we should move on before it becomes a point of contention. What has passed, has passed. The root question, which everyone is carefully avoiding, is this: _can Graz’zt be lured to Afqithan and eliminated?_ Do we have the wherewithal? More importantly, I have yet to be convinced of the authenticity of you, Nhura, and your company: when allegiances change as quickly as yours, you must understand that it is impossible for me to hold even a modicum of trust. I speak the plain truth. What is preventing you from betraying us to Graz’zt?"

The Umbral Lillend laughed. "Nothing at all, _Ahma_. But Graz’zt is somewhat unforgiving of those that deceive him. And Soneillon would, doubtless, punish me for any transgression against her. And Ainhorr sits on my throne, which irks me more than a little."

Shomei shook her head. "I think that if Eadric of Deorham were delivered into Graz’zt’s hands, then he would forgive more than a little. Perhaps even the Queen of Throile has considered as much. We can, however, assume that this course of action did not appeal to her: she has had the opportunity, and did not act upon it. Here is your answer, Nhura: if you betray us, be sure that we are _all_ dead. Because if either Mostin or I survive, we will find you, and kill you. But first, the glooms will stalk you, and the horrors will tear your mind apart. I am more vindictive than others here."





*It’s worth bearing in mind that Soneillon’s stratospheric  Charisma – 50, when buffed – is close to impossible to portray meaningfully in game terms. Given the fact that she is primarily a sexual being (or nonbeing), Ortwin’s response – given his predilections – was natural.

**Aeons are (or were) understood to be cosmic celestial entities; emanations (or possibly avatars) of Oronthon. They are charged with tasks of great magnitude: establishing physical and metaphysical laws; the creation and maintenance of matter, space, energy and time. Orthodox Oronthonianism denies their existence, and long ago branded speculation regarding Aeons as heretical. Both Irrenite and Urgic belief, however, have a place for Aeons within their respective schemas: they are amoral or trans-moral but finite; removed by several degrees from the standard celestial hierarchy, and unconcerned by relative terms such as good and evil. Irrenite belief links them with the Inevitables, who otherwise occupy a very inconsistent place within the Orthodox world-view.


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## Spatula

This properly belongs at the top of Sep's first post, but in case any new readers have made it this far, here are the previous threads in this story hour:

Lady Despina's Virtue 1
http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=762
Lady Despina's Virtue 2
http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=10950
Heretic of Wyre 1
http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=13733
Heretic of Wyre 2
http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=18032
Rape of Mourne 1
http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=24127
Rape of Mourne 2
http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=37452
Soneillon 1
http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=43542
Soneillon 2
http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=55868

And the story hour's Rogue's Gallery:
http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=5652


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## Cheiromancer

Another place to get all the previous episodes is here:

http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?t=58227


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## Gez

Yay! More French words are creeping in!

Mésalliance, of course (would be misalliance in English).

And "rôle" (rather than "role"), said by Shomei. (Of course, I've already theorized that Infernal is based on French, since there's all these devils with modified French names, barbe-azu, corne-ugon, gel-ugon... So it may be an Infernal influence.)


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## Tanager

Barbe = beard
Corne = horn
Gel = freeze

so assuming that the suffixes -azu and -ugon mean devil (or similar):
bearded devil,
horned devil 
and loosely rendered, frozen(ice?) devil.

Lost the books a long time ago but weren't these the names in parentheses in the original AD&D MM ?

And another big 'wow' for Sep. this SH alone is worth the money I donated to keep these boards up, I can never wait for my Shomei fix 

A quick question or two, Sep. have you read any of Jeffrey Burtron Russell's books (_Lucifer_,_Satan_ and _Mephistopholes_)?


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## Gez

grodog said:
			
		

> Very interesting Tanager.  I'd pretty much thought that the 3e design team were trying to take all of the coolness out of the demon, devil, daemon, etc. naming conventions (by maintaining some usage of 2e's tanari, bateezu, etc.)---I hadn't realized that the name changes they introduced were based on anything, much less French




Some devil names are not based on anything, however. Amnizu, Bezekira, Kyton... Or the more recent creations, Xerfilstyx (well, there's styx), Kocrachon or Paerliryon. (Hidden conventions disappear when team change.) Also, the Advespa is Italian (vespa meaning wasp). Imp and erinyes are actual names, not made-up words.

Finally, Malebranche is the name of a philosopher and mathematician. French, of course. (Nicolas de Malebranche, 1638-1715.)


Note that these name change weren't introduced by the 3e team, but by Planescape.




			
				grodog said:
			
		

> Many of the parenthetical names were individual names for the demons, devils, etc., especially once you get to the more powerful ones.  3e changed some of those individual names into generic names, as you can see from Appendix E of the 1e DMG demons which follow (the DMG lists more names than the 1e MM did):
> 
> 
> type 1 (vrock)
> type 2 (hezrou)
> type 3 (glabrezu)
> type 4 (Bilwhr, Johud, Nalfeshnee) [note the use of capital letters beginning here]
> type 5 (Aishapra, Kevokulli, Marilith, Rehnaremme)
> type 6 (Alzoll, Balor, Errtu, Ndulu, Ter-Soth, Wendonai)
> 
> Curiously, only the demons were given such treatment---devils were not listed with individual names....




I never found it very chaotic to fit everyone into 6 set categories that are numbered rather than named.


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## Tanager

Gez said:
			
		

> Imp and erinyes are actual names, not made-up words.




Very true, not sure of the derivation of Imp but weren't the Erinyes the Furies in Greek mythology, I seem to remember them in _Orestes_ and then finally transforming into the Eumenedes when Orestes is forgiven by Athena



			
				Gez said:
			
		

> Finally, Malebranche is the name of a philosopher and mathematician. French, of course. (Nicolas de Malebranche, 1638-1715.)




Don't know much about Malebranche, any idea why they named a devil after him? Other than the fact it sounds cool?




			
				Gez said:
			
		

> Note that these name change weren't introduced by the 3e team, but by Planescape.



I thought they predated Planescape, but as I said I haven't seen the 1st Ed. MM in quite some time so my memory may be faulty.



			
				Gez said:
			
		

> I never found it very chaotic to fit everyone into 6 set categories that are numbered rather than named.




Agreed, the random 'hordling' table (was that in the FF?) would have suited better, but such is life.

Why do I have a sudden urge to read Dante?


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## Gez

I forgot another devil name: Osyluth. "Os" meaning bone...

Hamatula and Bezekira don't seem related to any words, however, they were just made up.


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## Fimmtiu

The name "Malebranche" for a devil has a much more distinguished lineage, actually -- that was Dante's name for the winged, pitchfork-carrying devils of the Inferno.

_Then I turned round, as one who is impatient
    To see what it behoves him to escape,
    And whom a sudden terror doth unman,

Who, while he looks, delays not his departure;
    And I beheld behind us a black devil,
    Running along upon the crag, approach.

Ah, how ferocious was he in his aspect!
    And how he seemed to me in action ruthless,
    With open wings and light upon his feet!

His shoulders, which sharp-pointed were and high,
    A sinner did encumber with both haunches,
    And he held clutched the sinews of the feet.

From off our bridge, he said: "O Malebranche,
    Behold one of the elders of Saint Zita;
    Plunge him beneath, for I return for others

Unto that town, which is well furnished with them.
    All there are barrators, except Bonturo;
    No into Yes for money there is changed."_


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## Knightfall

If you hadn't heard about it already or read it on Sep's rogue's gallery thread, I've created a yahoo group called: *Sepulchrave's Wyre Fan Appreciation Group*.

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Sepulchraves-Wyre/

A few of Sep's files have been complied there, as well as some of the great artwork inspired by the campaign.

Cheers!

Robert B., a.k.a. Knightfall1972
Wyre Fan Group Moderator


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## Sepulchrave II

Whilst I could spend time refuting the accusations of sepulchravian schizophrenia, I think that encouraging any mythology around me is far cooler   

Anyway, an update - at last. I'll just cut to the chase...



****


*The Parley - Part 2. And Afterwards. *



The jariliths prowled ceaselessly around them.

Nwm observed Soneillon with curiosity as she spoke. The demoness seemed utterly calm and imperturbable, as though she possessed every answer to every question that might cross a troubled mind. Somehow, in her own way, she seemed to have resolved all paradox. He understood Eadric’s fascination with her – if it was fascination – but simultaneously wondered whether it was a façade, and hoped that the _Ahma_ held the same doubts.

The Queen of Throile spoke at length about Graz’zt: his subtlety, guile and prescience; his dominion, and the worlds that it extended to; his insatiable ambition; his allies, great and small; and his personal power, which, if he were given the opportunity to augment through sorcery before any meeting with them, might prove beyond even their collective ability to counter.

Kostchtchie, his most formidable ally, was discussed: to what extent would he remain steadfast? Who amongst the Prince’s servants – demons, daemons, demodands, lamias and half-fiends of every hue – would be loyal in the event of a serious threat to his hegemony? How far was his control already compromised: three of his balors had been eliminated and two – including Rurunoth – were missing. Only Ainhorr remained.

"Ainhorr is now armoured," Nhura said, "and, according to Narab, wields a slaadi blade."

"The weapon is called…_Heedless_," Soneillon said, after searching briefly for an accurate translation of its name. "It is a ten-foot _vorpal_ sword. He won it from the death slaad champion Rshgu in the Vestibule of Lamentation: he was not idle after you broke his blade, Eadric, and sought eagerly for a replacement. _Heedless_ is, as its name suggests, a notoriously fickle weapon, even by slaadi standards.* It is immensely powerful, and may actually present more of a threat than the Balor himself. Ainhorr may or may not be capable of controlling it – it has only been in his ownership briefly. Graz’zt must have lent him aid in his efforts to secure it, prior to the assault upon Afqithan – Rshgu would have crushed him under normal circumstances."

"Charming," Ortwin smiled. Privately, his stomach turned over. Ainhorr remained something of a bugaboo for him. "You seem remarkably well-informed regarding these matters."

"Yes," Soneillon agreed.

"You are also less than altogether forthcoming," Mostin added, "but this is not entirely unexpected. Earlier, I posited a question regarding the Prince’s  sanctum. He is an arch-fiend, and much of his power stems from it – would it benefit you, if you were in possession of it? Could you actualize its potential?"

"I have no interest in replacing Graz’zt as the ruler of Azzagrat, if that is what you are asking – albeit obliquely. And no, it is _his_. Neither Ainhorr, nor even Kostchtchie could ascend and claim it. It would quickly wither upon his demise."

"And Azzagrat itself? Does his Will maintain the cohesion of the realm?"

"Azzagrat would eventually return to Void, from which it was carved. But only after a billion life-ages of the universe. In this regard it is no different from any other Abyssal domain."

"Your brand of nihilism is unique," Shomei said. "Perhaps you could expand further upon this theory?"

"Philosophy does not interest me," Soneillon replied dismissively.

"Adyell, Helitihai, Orychne and Chaya," Mostin pressed on. "These are your chief servants. Given your propensity for powerful spells, Soneillon, I assume that they are well-used to acting with you in magical concert? And by drawing energy from them into yourself, or diffusing it, you prevent them ever becoming a challenge to you."

[Soneillon]: _Your mind is exquisitely tortuous, Alienist. I would greatly enjoy penetrating its mysteries._ [Image] [Image]

Nwm coughed and Shomei raised an eyebrow as the _telepathic bond_ relayed the information to them. Eadric smiled sympathetically. Mostin seemed to be somewhat flushed and embarrassed.

"I am intrigued by where your questions are leading," Soneillon remarked, apparently nonplussed. 

[Shomei]: _!? Mostin, you cannot be serious…_

[Mostin]: _With you, and Nwm, and Mulissu, and Jetheeg, and Koilimilou, and the succubi it would be possible. I would need to fine tune the spell. We should not discount the possibility._

Mostin breathed deeply. "Heretofore, you may have considered two options: to negate the Prince’s spellcasting and to overcome him through force of arms, or to subject him to a titanic magical barrage in Afqithan and hope that his defenses can be overcome. Both involve considerable risk. There are two other choices, which you are not aware of: given a cabal of sufficient ability, it is within my means to conjure the Prince and contain him; or I can _gate_ a pseudonatural entity which I have come to know affectionately as _The Horror_ and attempt to deploy it against Graz’zt." The Alienist winced as he said the demon’s name.

Soneillon looked dubious. "I doubt your ability to devise such a spell."

"It is mine already. I inherited it from Fillein."

Nhura hissed. "_That_ spell? It would seem unreliable, at best."

"The dweomer is perfect," Mostin countered. "I believe that the Prince was intentionally released the last time he was bound."

"Then there is no need to leave this place until that is accomplished," Koilimilou said. "He can be bound here, and…"

"No," Nwm said.

"The Druid refers to the Injunction," Nhura explained. "Outside of the proscribed area, however…"

"No," Nwm said, "I do not. I will neither participate in nor condone the imprisonment of a Demon Prince within the Green. If you proceed regardless, I will release him."

Mostin sighed and nodded. They had already discussed this at length. "We would need to find another location."

"In this case I would _not_ recommend Afqithan," Nhura said coldly. "Not out of any concern that he would be bound in my vicinity, but because his release might be too easily accomplished by his own agents: there are many cultists loyal to him."

"I will seek for a suitable locale," Shomei grimaced. "An obscure demi-plane would be the best option. Alternatively, I could create one – although I currently lack the wherewithal to do so. And I suspect that the debt incurred in casting the binding spell would be large."

"Colossal," Mostin corrected her. "I also currently lack the means."

"Then why are we even having this discussion?" Jetheeg snarled. "You spend too much time in idle speculation. We should assault Ainhorr before his grip tightens – enough of the Loquai have escaped to Shadow or Faerie or obscure regions of the Abyss. They can be rallied and deployed _en masse_. If Rhyxali really purposes to lend aid, it will be easy enough to retake Afqithan. Graz’zt cannot denude his forces elsewhere to _that_ great an extent. And if this mortal here," Jetheeg waved curtly towards Eadric, "is really such a prize, and Graz’zt comes in person to add his weight to the fray, then all the better."

Eadric shook his head. "He must be lured, if we follow that route. If he comes expecting war – armed to the teeth, surrounded by bodyguards and warded by spells that we cannot hope to penetrate – then it will go badly for us." 

"Challenge him to single combat," Ortwin said drily. 

"I beg your pardon?"

"I’m not suggesting that you actually go through with it," Ortwin said, as if instructing a child. "But he probably _knows_ that you’d like to, and therefore it wouldn’t come as a total surprise to him if you did, in fact, issue the challenge. It is a plausible deception."

"It is absurd," Eadric replied.

"If he refuses, then brand him as craven before his peers. Kostchtchie, Pazuzu, Fraz Urb’Luu, Orcus, Rhyxali. The gentle Lady Soneillon." Ortwin gave a mock bow. "Issue multiple _sendings_ to a variety of Abyssal dignitaries declaring your intentions."

"You are insane."

"I will act as your herald to Graz’zt. I can make him believe it. Outside of the Infernal host, few liars approach me in guile or believability."

"That is quite a boast, Satyr," Jetheeg hissed. "And even if it were true, so what? Deceiving a mortal, or even a demon of low rank is one thing. But Graz’zt? I think not."

"I am capable," Ortwin replied nonchalantly. "Graz’zt is no different to any other demon, except that he is less gullible than most. In order to make him believe, one simply needs to be a better liar. If a _mind blank_ is not adequate to the task, then Nwm will devise a spell to make my lies undetectable by Graz’zt’s magic…"

"Will he?" The Druid raised an eyebrow.

"But not yet," Ortwin added quickly. "We need to rile him beyond all rational behaviour first. And I agree that it would be better if he were not accompanied by a dozen mariliths. His reaction needs to be so utterly violent and deranged that he immediately translates to Afqithan in order to kill Eadric. Overwhelming his forces there and eliminating Ainhorr might be a good start in our achieving this state of transcendental ire in the Prince – although I would recommend that we keep our identities hidden again for the meantime."

"He will obliterate you before you can even deliver the message," Nhura scoffed, "and if not, then certainly in response to such a challenge."

"Perhaps," Ortwin said, "in which case Nwm will _reincarnate_ me. Although I suspect that he will not assail me. I will, after all, be in disguise."

"And what would you be disguised as?" Nwm asked, sighing.

"Not _what_, but _who_. As Titivilus, dear Nwm. As Titivilus."

"You would dare impersonate an Infernal magnate?" Jetheeg asked, incredulous.

"Yes," Ortwin replied. "Diplomatic immunity would be useful in negotiating with Graz’zt."

"That is unwise," Shomei said quietly. "It would attract displeasure in unwanted quarters. And the Nuncio of Dis himself might be your least concern."

"I will weather it," Ortwin grinned. "The opportunity of executing one of the greatest counterfeits in history is difficult to resist. It will be my _magnum opus_."

Eadric exhaled sharply. "We have a variety of options, it would seem. Having multiple redundancies in our plans is no bad thing, however. Nhura – how long before you could assemble the remaining Loquai?"

"They are dispersed. Some weeks, in your time. Several days in mine."

"And the creature you have mentioned, Mostin. Is it _reliable_?"

"I don’t know," the Alienist replied. "If Shomei and Nwm were to help me, I believe I could coerce it. A fourth caster would guarantee success and a reasonable degree of safety." Mostin stared meaningfully at Koilimilou.

"Now just wait a minute…" Nwm began.

"It will involve an immense backlash," Mostin continued.

"Would you _gate_ it?" Koilimilou asked.

Mostin shook his head. "I think with four of us, I would use a _planar binding_. Holding it long enough to subject it to a compulsion would be no problem."

[Nwm]: _I am uneasy about involving this cambion in magical concert._

[Mostin]: _As am I. She has raw power, however, and is now our ally. Fillein/Jovol was right: cooperative casting is where we should focus ourselves, Nwm. The potential is immense._

"Nhura will translate to Faerie," Soneillon said, "and rally the Loquai. I will send word to those that have fled to Shadow, or to Rhyxali’s demesne. I will also speak again to Rhyxali herself, and contact Lehurze in Azzagrat." _Eadric, return with me to Throile. There is much that I would share with you._

Eadric swallowed. "We should meet again in three weeks. We have some breathing time, at least. Nhura, issue a _sending_ and we will translate to your location."

"We have yet to find a suitable staging ground," Nhura remarked. "Faerie and Shadow both entail certain risks."

"I will leave it to your discretion," Eadric replied.

"Is that _trust_ I hear, _Ahma_?"

"It is pragmatism."

[Soneillon]: _Come with me, Eadric…_

Eadric closed his eyes, and refocused. "I will go to Morne," he said.


Mostin nodded, but felt uncomfortable. The connection between Graz’zt and Rhyxali was the subject of scholarly debate amongst those with more than a passing interest in demonology. Was their resemblance to one another merely superficial, or were they cut from the same block? Did they share a common essence? Was she, somehow, his _anima_? 

His stomach knotted. He desperately needed to consult the _web of motes_.


**


The Triune met for the second time on the autumn equinox, at Mostin’s manse, in the woods southwest of Deorham. Orolde – somewhat awed by the presence of the three powerful mages – nonetheless ensured an agreeable environment in which they could discuss whatever weighty matters they needed to discuss. Unlike Mostin, the apprentice had made peaceable contact with the nearby sprites, and several pixies – whom Mostin eyed suspiciously – acted as temporary cooks and waiters.

After a sumptuous repast, the Infernalist, Elementalist and Alienist sat upon the porch in silent telepathic communion.

[Mulissu]: _Here is the spell_ [Formula] _I have avoided any unnecessary squandering of your valuable reservoir, Mostin._

[Mostin]: (Analyzes) _If Nwm can be co-opted, collectively we could do this:_ [New Formula]

[Mulissu]: (Eyes widen) _That is most impressive._ 

[Mostin]: (Smiles) _That is only the beginning. We could then do this _ [Formula] _and then this_ [Formula].

[Mulissu]: (Dumbstruck).

[Shomei]: (Wrily) _Effectively, the Green dissipates the backlash. Nwm has set certain conditions upon his involvement, however._

[Mulissu]: _Whatever they are, we should accept them. No-one has ever gone this far before. Whatever secrets Jovol could unlock from the_ web of motes_ will be trivial in comparison to the insights that we could gain. What does the Druid require?_

[Mostin]: _That, collectively, we petition the Claviger for an amendment to the Injunction. And assurances from each of us that while the augmented condition persists, we will only use its benefits for the purpose of divination._ 

[Mulissu]: (Ruefully) _The latter, I will happily guarantee. But I am not sure that the Claviger can be so easily persuaded. What is Nwm’s request?_

[Shomei]: _A tightening of the rules regarding summoning._

[Mulissu]: _In response to the actions of the Loquai?_

[Mostin]: _Partly. And Soneillon. And the devas at Kyrtill’s Burh, amongst others._

[Shomei]: _No extraplanar entity should be permitted to enter Wyre. Period. Or the Claviger will dispatch the Enforcer to eliminate them._

[Mulissu]: _I have no objection to approaching the Claviger on this point. I am dubious about its reaction, however._

[Shomei]: _Is a quorum more likely to gain a favourable response?_

[Mulissu]: _I would say no. The Claviger is the Claviger. It abides by its own rules. Its motives are unguessable, and its intelligence quite alien._

[Mostin]: _I believe that it would compromise the Claviger’s paradigm – which is geared towards the actions of Wizards. What if the _Sela_ were to _gate_ a solar to Morne? Would Gihaahia intercept it? It would be a conflict of interests, and would, in fact, throw the entire Injunction into question: its key tenet is still ‘no intervention in non-arcane politics.’ Moreover, an incident between the Enforcer and a cascade of celestials would be better avoided._

[Mulissu]: _You forget that Rintrah was complicit in the idea of a Second Injunction. Jovol’s relationship to the Celestial Host and Tramst was – or is, assuming that Jovol’s essence persists – ambiguous, to say the least._

[Mostin]: _It is beyond the Claviger’s purview. However sympathetic I am to Nwm’s position, I think he is on his own._

[Mulissu]: _I am surprised that Nwm doesn’t object to the presence of the Claviger itself._

[Mostin]: (Humourously) _He does. I think he regards it as the lesser of two evils, however. Untrammelled summoning is worse for him. It is amusing to speculate upon an organizing principle in this regard. Jovol, Rintrah, Nwm – all are working within the same framework, but to attain different ends._

[Shomei+Mulissu]: !

[Mostin]: _I said _amusing. _I am not suggesting some metacosmic conspiracy._

[Shomei]: _In any case, we should approach the Claviger. It can do no harm. And I am curious to experience it._

[Mostin]: _Agreed. Nwm himself also indicated that he would like to join us in the petition._

[Mulissu]: (Sardonically) _Then if the Enforcer is unleashed against us, we may, at least last a few seconds longer._

[Shomei]: _I doubt it. When I inspected the _web of motes_ it was quite apparent that the Claviger possessed significant deific powers. It would likely magnify** the Enforcer before any encounter with an entity that might otherwise prove a viable threat._

[Mostin]: _Are you then suggesting that the four of us acting in concert might present a ‘viable threat’ to the unaugmented Enforcer?_

[Shomei]: _Certainly. We are, after all, the most potent spellcasters in the world._

[Mostin]: _That is worrying. I had simply assumed Gihaahia to be unassailable. If a cabal of powerful mages were to attack her…I am thinking of posterity, here._

[Mulissu]: (Acidly) _The point is moot. The Claviger has great prescience, and is virtually omniscient with regard to all things magical. It knows we are having this conversation, and has already determined its course of action with regard to our petition. It may have reached its decision ten billion years ago. Things will unfold as they were meant to._

[Mostin]: _I expected better from you, Mulissu. I am tired of fatalistic musings – is it a philosophical fashion that somehow escaped me?_

[Mulissu]: _Realities are changing faster than I can apprehend them, Mostin. One must find some kind of calm center. Angst becomes tedious after a while. Should I contact Nwm now?_

[Mostin]: (Nods).


* 

Mulissu issued a _sending_ and, shortly thereafter, Nwm stepped from a nearby elm-tree.

"I assume that my proposal received a favourable response?" The Druid asked wrily.

"It is ingenious," Mulissu agreed. "I should caution you that, even collectively, we cannot assure a similar reaction from the Claviger. We cannot coerce it – only appeal to its guiding principles."

"If it agrees, how will its decision manifest?"

"I don’t know," the Elementalist replied.

"When can we make the petition?"

"There is no time like the present."

"Should we forewarn it of our impending visit?" Nwm asked.

Shomei smiled. "Don’t worry Nwm. It already knows."

Nwm raised an eyebrow. 


*

In a small, dry cave in the hills of Mord, a child – with shoulder-length blonde hair and possessed of an ambiguous gender – suddenly materialized before an upright marble slab nine feet tall.

The great tablet, engraved with a thousand or more paragraphs of detailed arcane legalese, seemed to hum inaudibly and pulse invisibly. It had _presence_ of an unusual kind, although the exact quality of its sentience was difficult to determine – its very inscrutability was the quality which marked it as far removed from the mundane.

The child watched patiently as, descending into the chamber down a narrow flight of rough-hewn steps, a trio of Wizards and a Uediian priest shuffled nervously. 

Upon seeing the child waiting, Mostin was seized by an almost uncontrollable bout of panic, and attempted to push past Mulissu, and back up the staircase.

The Druid scowled at him, blocked his egress, and gestured for him to continue on into the cave, to which he only reluctantly complied. As the four assembled before the diminutive figure, Nwm watched the Alienist carefully. The last thing he needed was for Mostin to suffer one of his ‘episodes.’

"I am…" Nwm began.

"…Nwm," the child finished for him.

"Are you…"

"…the Claviger, or the Enforcer?" The child completed his sentence again. "We are joined now. It makes little difference. I am the mostly benign part."

Mostin relaxed somewhat.

"You know why we are here," Nwm, Mostin, Mulissu, Shomei and the child said in perfect synchrony.

"Yes," the child said.

Mostin swallowed. "Is the…"

"…Injunction immutable, or is it subject to change? Both. You should have read it more closely. It contains a clause which ultimately gives the Claviger discretionary power in its interpretation. A law which is static and unyielding is of limited utility. The answer to your question, incidentally, is _no_. The Enforcer will not be deployed against ‘extraplanar’ targets – if you insist on using such naïve terminology – simply because they are present."

Mostin grinned smugly, his confidence returning. "I told you…"

"Your analysis is incomplete," the child interrupted. "Unfortunately, due to your meager perceptual faculty, you lack the ability to reach a comprehensive understanding." 

Mostin scowled. "Perhaps you could…"

"…enlighten you? It would be a futile exercise to even attempt it. Could you instruct a rodent meaningfully in the higher magical arts?"

"It could be…"

"…_awakened_, yes. In which case it would no longer be a rodent _per se_. The metaphor is apt – if the Claviger were to change your faculty to be capable of understanding, you would no longer be Mostin the Metagnostic. Dismiss the possibility from your mind – the Claviger has no intention of deifying you. You may now ask one question regarding the _web of motes_."

Mostin shook his head, and gestured vaguely in the air. Obviously, vocalizing his question was an entirely superfluous act.

"Yes," the child answered unequivocally, and vanished.

Mulissu gave a quizzical look. Her hair crackled in mild irritation.





*Slaadi blades are almost invariably sapient. 

** i.e. bestow one or more divine ranks.


----------



## Sepulchrave II

Hi all. Sorry for the delay. 

The good news is this: in three hours I buy a house (hurrah!).

The bad news is this: in three hours, I acquire more debt than I feel altogether comfortable with (boo!).

Unfortunately, the two are inextricably linked. I am soon to be a homeowner, and permanent slave to the evil corporate capitalist society in which we all live. To my fellow Marxists - I'm sorry, comrades. I sold out. Or grew up. Or something.


Anyhow, hopefully things will get back on track, and I can update a little more often.


**


*An Untitled Update*



Eadric stood next to Sercion upon the roof of the Temple in the warm autumn sun, and gazed out across Morne. Much of the damage caused to a thousand private residences in the wake of the _wave of hate_ had been repaired, although, in places, clusters of blackened buildings remained. Industrious craftsmen still busied themselves with numerous minor projects, and from sunrise until dusk the _tap-tapping_ of stone hammers, and the rasp of saws echoed across the city. The scaffolding which surrounded the Fane itself, however, was silent and abandoned – no mason or carpenter had worked there for two weeks. 

The Temple coffers were empty. Many of Wyre’s aristocrats – appalled at the fact that the new Primate had distributed huge quantities of gold to Uediian peasants – had ceased to pay the now-voluntary tax. Promissory notes issued some months before had been delayed by church bureaucrats to such an extent that most of the guilds in Morne now refused to deal with the Temple at all.

Eadric scowled. “What is the debt, Sercion?”

The Templar grimaced. “Around two hundred thousand crowns, _Ahma_. Or so I am told.”

“I will honour it,” Eadric sighed. 

“Good,” the _Sela_ said, ascending onto the roof behind them.

Eadric bowed.

“For long term sponsorship, we need to look to Sihu and Tagur to set the example,” Sercion said. “Unfortunately, they are still paying for the war. Wars are expensive.”

“There needs to be a coherent financial strategy,” the _Sela_ remarked wrily. “Alas, Oronthon chose one with no expertise in this area to be his representative – hence I depend upon a staff who are more competent in these matters than I.”

“The Temple estates are vast,” Eadric pointed out.

“But undergoing a sweeping monasticization,” Sercion added. “Negotiating their relationship with the secular order will be a huge challenge. Foide and Skilla are already grumbling about the tax differentials.”

“I confess that I am somewhat behind the times,” Eadric said. 

“How is your relationship with Skadding?” Sercion asked.

Eadric looked confused.

“Will you be attending the investiture, _Ahma_?” The Templar continued.

“He will be sworn in as Duke of Trempa in ten days,” the _Sela_ explained. He seemed rather amused.

Eadric sighed, and shrugged. This was news to him. The mundane affairs of Wyre – even those which concerned him directly – seemed a world away.

Tramst gestured for Eadric to follow him. “Come. We need to talk.”


*


The _Sela_ – whose demeanour that particular morning, Eadric noted, seemed more mortal than divine – opened a small cabinet, retrieved a bottle of amygdala, and gestured for Eadric to sit in a wooden chair with a worn leather cushion. The reception room – once sumptuously furnished during Cynric’s tenure as Archbishop – was now bright, airy and spartan. Eadric smiled. The _Sela_ had, after all, achieved his perfection in the company of Urgic Mystics in Ardan, renowned for their austerity and modesty.

“How is Titivilus?” The _Sela_ asked ironically, handing Eadric a carved wooden goblet filled with the almond liqueur.

“He is enigmatic and confusing,” Eadric replied. 

“And Soneillon?”

“Doubly so. I have yet to comprehend her place in the scheme of things.”

“It will doubtless become clear in due course,” Tramst said opaquely.

“I should like to voice my concerns, and ask some questions, if I might,” Eadric ventured.

“Try to avoid metaphysics,” the _Sela_ smiled.

“I will address them tangentially, if at all,” Eadric replied. “_Pharamne’s Urn_…” Eadric began.

The _Sela_ groaned.

“I am not about to ask questions regarding the ‘truth’ in what was previously considered heretical doctrine, nor am I about to inquire regarding the properties of this _thing_. But if such an object were to exist – is there any reason that I should not allow it to fall into the hands of the Demoness. Actually, I do not seek an answer to that question either, _Sela_, I merely wish to impress upon you that it is something which currently preoccupies me.”

“As it should,” Tramst agreed.

“There is also the question of those I number my allies: A demon queen – or possibly two, if I include Rhyxali – and a variety of umbral fiendish feys and their cohorts. Not to mention Mostin and Shomei, who have dubious connections, to say the least.”

“And Nwm?” The _Sela_ inquired.

Eadric laughed. “Once, I considered my friendship with Nwm to be scandalous. Others felt that it compromised my faith. These days, we argue little – our philosophical differences are relatively minor compared to the others with whom I deal.”

“What is your relationship to me, Eadric?” Tramst asked unexpectedly.

“I do not understand…”

“I mean, do you regard me as your confessor? As your teacher? The absolute spiritual authority whom you follow? Your Archbishop? Or do you regard yourself as my equal in some ways?”

Eadric looked horrified. “You are the _Sela_. You are…”

Tramst held up his hand. “Yes, yes. The Infinite Perception of God. No value judgement is implied in the question, _Ahma_. What is your function? What is the purpose of the _Ahma_?”

“To pave the way for you.”

“Well, now I am here. You remain the _Ahma_, however. What is your purpose now?”

“I think I am still defining it,” Eadric answered carefully.

“I once asked you if vengeance and retribution were within your purview. Have you come to a conclusion yet?”

“To define my rôle purely in those terms makes me somewhat uncomfortable.”

“I said nothing about vengeance and retribution being _exclusive_ qualities. They do not preclude mercy, for instance. But the question remains: is this now the primary purpose of the _Ahma_? Is this why he wages war on Graz’zt?”

Eadric shook his head. “I would bring aid to Nehael. None other will come.”

“For mercy or love then? Perhaps you resent the fact that Enitharmon has not ordered a host to descend into Azzagrat?”

“I do not resent it – who am I to dictate action to the Celestial Marshal?” Eadric sighed. “Although, sometimes, I regret it,” he added ruefully.

“But if Oronthon were to appoint a powerful representative in order to expedite Nehael’s release, and to bring justice to Graz’zt, you would deem it appropriate?”

“Yes, I would.”

“Despite the fact that she turned her back upon Rintrah when he extended Oronthon’s grace to her?”

“Perhaps because of it,” Eadric answered. “She seeks a higher perspective.”

“Maybe Rintrah was sent to tempt her,” the _Sela_ said, smiling. “To offer her an easy way out.”

“That is a peculiar inversion of conventional truth.”

“The fact that it can be inverted is the quality which defines it as conventional, Eadric. And perhaps Enitharmon _cannot_ act, because he relates to that aspect of Oronthon which is conventional, bounded and finite. It is not within his remit.”

“That is unfortunate for Nehael,” Eadric said grimly.

“I don’t see why. Oronthon has merely opted to use a more unconventional tool.”

Eadric looked confused.

The _Sela_ sighed. “You, _Ahma_, you. Whilst your humility is an endearing trait, sometimes it can be painfully difficult to make you understand your own importance. You are a liminal entity, Eadric. You relate to facets of reality which have no place within the beliefs of Orthodoxy, or the understanding of celestials. This is why the acceptance of  self-determination is most important to you –  perhaps Cynric himself foresaw this. After all, whatever you do, it is the Will of Oronthon.”

“But I can still Fall.”

“Oh yes,” Tramst nodded. “And harder, faster and with more brilliance than any have done for a long while. Do not make the mistake of thinking that you have transcended the paradox, or even that the paradox _can_ be transcended.”

“You give most conflicting lessons, _Sela_.”

“Thank-you,” Tramst said. 

“I have another question,” Eadric said, averting his eyes. “It is somewhat presumptuous. You may feel the need to chastise me for asking it.”

The _Sela_ smiled. “This should be interesting.”

“It regards your nature – both finite and unbounded. I recognize that this is a necessary dialectic for the transmission of _saizhan_: you cannot be purely Man or purely God.”

“I had not perceived it in those terms. It is an interesting speculation. You are also trespassing dangerously near the province of metaphysics, now.”

“Sometimes, you appear as more mortal than divine to me. At others, you are the Godhead manifest. Is this merely a reflection of my understanding, or does it have a basis outside of my own experience?”

“Is there a difference?” Tramst asked.

The _Ahma_ nodded. _Saizho. The capacity for the human mind to perceive is also something which I frequently meditate upon. I refer to Mostin’s plans…_

“You are concerned that his expanded awareness may be dangerous?”

“Yes,” Eadric replied. “Especially with regard to the _web of motes_. The idea that he can acquire as much prescience as that offers. And Shomei…”

“Do not concern yourself with Shomei. She has a healthier perspective than Mostin, although she will soon be confronted with an enormous burden.” _Do you wish to know what it is?_

_Will the knowledge benefit her, or anyone else?_

“It might,” the _Sela_ replied. A look of sympathy briefly crossed his face. “Shomei will soon die.”

Eadric’s jaw dropped. “But…”

“She will perceive her own demise when she inspects the _web of motes_, just as Jovol did.”

“It cannot be averted?”

“She can choose to make the manner of her passing meaningful.” Tramst explained.

“But Nwm can…”

“I have opened the door for her, Eadric. Death will be a less unpleasant experience for her, the second time around. She may be unwilling to give it up. Bliss is not easily surrendered.”

“Then she will have failed, according to her own philosophy,” Eadric sighed. “When the struggle ceases, what then for Shomei? It defines her being. It is the essence of _what she is_.” 

The _Sela_ smiled. “I think that, for Shomei, overcoming her desire to overcome may be the ultimate antinomian act.”

Eadric grimaced, and nodded.

“That is all, for the moment. Has this conversation helped you?”

“Oddly, yes,” Eadric replied.

“Good. And beware of Soneillon, Eadric.”

“Yes,” the _Ahma_ replied. 

He stood, bowed, and exited the reception room, and began to walk down the steps towards the cloister. But before he had descended even half-way, he was met by a familiar figure – hooded in purple, bearing an ornate rod, and about whom the faintest hint of cinnamon hung. He swallowed, and his mind span. For a fraction of a second, he wondered what she and Tramst would talk about. He wondered how often that – since their initial exchange – she had come here to see the _Sela_. It was hardly the kind of detail that she would be inclined to share.

“Hello, _Ahma_,” she said with a wry half-smile.

He nodded in acknowledgement, but did not meet her eyes. 

Passing out of the cloister, beneath the scaffolding and across the courtyard, Eadric made his way to the stable, where three score Temple steeds – many of celestial descent – were quartered. The place was strangely serene and, aside from the horses and two grooms, entirely empty. Contundor’s stall, like the others, was open and ungated. The destrier bore no harness, and stood waiting patiently.

“I will not ask you to come with me…” Eadric began.

_I will come._

“Thank-you,” he smiled.


**


Ortwin and Iua – together with the sidhe-cambion, Koilimilou – sped through the twilit skies of Afqithan. They were _mind blanked, invisible, polymorphed_ and buoyed by several other augmentations. Ortwin was, for once, serious in his attitude and demeanour. There were demons everywhere: they could afford to take no risks.

Koilimilou said nothing during their progress. Her face remained impassive. Ortwin found her presence and demeanour utterly disconcerting.

They were bound for Chaltipeluse, the castle of Ytryn, a Loquai noble who preferred the style of ‘duke’ rather than ‘king’ – although it reflected nothing on the actual power at his command. His fortress, carved by indentured dao from the rock of a mountain-peak long ages before, would – in a more conventional conflict – have been altogether unassailable. In Afqithan, it was no less vulnerable than an unwalled village upon an open plain. 

Ytryn was, as Irknaan had been, an aristocrat with two demonic sponsors – although Koilimilou didn’t doubt that he had been one of the first to support Ainhorr when the Balor had invaded the demiplane. _Loyalty_ to either Graz’zt or Rhyxali was not so much an issue as the _opportunity_ offered by service to one, or the other, or both. Ortwin, in order to demonstrate his glibness and power of persuasion, had volunteered to address Ytryn, and win him on board – or at least find a way to compromise him sufficiently to turn Ainhorr’s suspicious eye towards the Duke. If his position became untenable, he might be forced to rally to Nhura out of desperation.

It was a dirty plan, Ortwin thought, but then again they were hardly observing the niceties of Wyrish chivalry. _Not that anyone really observes them in Wyre, either_, the Satyr mused.

If all else failed, Koilimilou would – hopefully – ensorcel Ytryn with a _geas_*. They would likely also need to eliminate the Duke’s consort, a hag named Chavrille. And anyone else present when Ytryn was enchanted.

Ortwin felt his pouch nervously, to check that the two scrolls hastily scribed by Mostin and Shomei, a _plane shift_ and a _sending_ – to be used only in emergencies – were still there. It had been a long time since he had read a spell from a scroll. He hoped they wouldn’t backfire.

“Will there be demons there?” Ortwin asked. “Or has Ainhorr granted a modicum of autonomy to his new subjects?”

“There will be demons,” Koilimilou replied stonily.

“Is that speculation, or do you know for a fact?”

“The palace will be crawling with Ainhorr’s agents. Some will be disguised. Others will be openly present in the capacity of ‘advisors.’ There may or may not be a garrison – which may be of a temporary, permanent or indefinite nature.”

“Then how can we even gain a private audience with Ytryn?” Ortwin groaned. “I mislike the idea of attempting to coerce him in the presence of a marilith and half a dozen glabrezu…”

“You work it out,” Koilimilou snapped. “You are the one who claims to be able to talk his way out of anything. And to think you had the presumption to assert your ability to dupe Graz’zt himself.”

“Actually, I am more concerned that my innuendo will need to be so subtle, that Ytryn himself may not understand it.”

Koilimilou scowled. This satyr was a braggart.  

Iua sighed. “The real problem is, as Mostin continually points out, that any demon in Afqithan – and I include Ainhorr himself in that statement – is only two _teleports_ away. Ten seconds.”

“If we see any demons abruptly vanish, then so should we,” Ortwin replied.

“And if we don’t see them at all?”

“Then we’re screwed,” Ortwin admitted. He groaned. “How can we fight this war? I see only repeated guerilla raids of _teleporting_ demons, and umbral sidhe who vanish back to Shadow after brief forays. Is there _nothing_ which can be likened to a conventional force?” The Satyr considered Mostin – the Alienist had, amongst other duties, agreed to reflect upon possible strategies for combating large numbers of demons.

“That _is_ a conventional force,” Koilimilou said irritably. “At least by Loquai standards. They favour campaigns of bloody, tit-for-tat attrition. Graz’zt knows this, and has deployed leaping demons as his main troops – they are _teleporters_. Dretch would be of no use at all to him, even in vast numbers. Hence, also, the kelvezu, although no-one knows how many – their services are exceedingly expensive. There again, Graz’zt is unfathomably rich. Strike and retreat. Intimidate. But _every_ Loquai stronghold has areas which are _dimensionally locked_ to prevent precisely this kind of assault. And many sit on _gates_ to one plane or another. Some are known, some are jealously guarded secrets.”

“And Ytryn’s fortress?” Ortwin asked.

“Has a portal which leads to Faerie,” Koilimilou answered. “But I do not know its location, or its appearance.”

“But his inner chambers – wherever his Ducal seat is – will be in a place which is proof against extradimensional movement?”

“And _scrying_,” Koilimilou replied.

“And his sanctum – where he practices magic?”

“Pah,” the Cambion sneered. “Ytryn has no great ability. He is a warrior, nothing more. Chavrille is a necromancer of some skill, however.”

“And, aside from the Loquai and any demons, is there anything which we should expect?”

“Gargoyles and manticores. Displacer beasts.”

“Of the umbral fiendish variety, no doubt?”

“Naturally,” Koilimilou replied humourlessly.

“Does this…quality…which Afqithan possesses have a source?” Ortwin had been about to say _taint_, but decided that it might be undiplomatic. “A wellspring? A locus? Is there a place where the umbral bleed is strongest?”

“You adequately demonstrate your cosmogonic ignorance with regard to Afqithan,” Koilimilou sneered.

“Shomei speculated that it may be a splinter of Faerie which was shivered during the Fall…”

A look of contempt crossed Koilimilou’s face.

“Pray enlighten me,” Ortwin said drily.

“Afqithan is Afqithan, just as Azzagrat is Azzagrat. Speculate all you like. The umbral flux ebbs and flows. Sometimes, Shadow is closer, at others it is further away.”

“But the pure _malignancy_,” Ortwin asked, deciding that diplomacy was wasted on the Cambion. “That is not a trait native to Shadow.”

Koilimilou smiled darkly. “That is the touch of the Lady Rhyxali.”

“But…”

“She was venerated here long before the name of _Graz’zt_ was known. This place is sacred to her. And whatever temporary steward takes control, Afqithan is, and always has been, hers.”

“Ah,” Ortwin nodded dubiously, raising his eyebrows.


**


“There is too much to do,” Mostin grumbled. “And too little time.” Within the extradimensional space of his manse, his desk – normally immaculate in its organization – was strewn with books and papers. Several imps – temporarily compacted – acted as scribes: finding references, bringing books to Mostin, or taking notes as required. The Alienist’s mind held every title of each of the nine hundred volumes which Shomei had loaned him. He merely needed to decrypt them and scan them for relevant information – during the time that he wasn’t working on the second in the series of spells designed to interpret the _web of motes_. His head span.

Pharamne’s Urn. Carasch. The Horror. Rhyxali. Soneillon. Titivilus. Murmuur’s Tower. Graz’zt. The _Ahma_. Nehael. Throile. Afqithan. Azzagrat. Lehurze. Ainhorr. Nhura. 

“Perhaps you should retreat to a slower time-stream,” Orolde suggested unhelpfully, eyeing one of the devils suspiciously. It leered back at him. 

“Perhaps you could retrieve _Tersimion’s Last Diatribes against Arcanism_ and insert it into your fundament,” Mostin replied with uncharacteristic vulgarity. “It would be a fitting resting place for that tome, in any case.”

“I will make some tea,” the Nixie sniffed.

“That is an excellent idea,” Mostin nodded. “Orolde, in case my attention lapses, do _not_ allow any imps into the house proper. If I were censured for violating the Injunction at this time, it would be highly regrettable.”

Orolde nodded, and withdrew.


The Alienist issued a _sending_ to Ortwin:

_What progress? Ytryn ally? News of Titivilus? Soneillon? Do we have timeline? Need viable, secure base of operation._

_Patience. No contact made yet. Still considering options. _Dimensional Locks_ in Chaltipeluse may prove defensible._

Mostin sighed, and idly tapped upon the nigh-indestructible sphere of black crystal which sat in front of him.

Nufrut’s head appeared. She scowled.

“Your knowledge of strategy and tactics in the sphere of Abyssal warfare is immense,” Mostin said.

“Yes,” the Marilith sighed.

“And your knowledge of Afqithan itself, not inconsiderable.”

“That is correct. Get to the point, Mostin. You are being boring.”

“I would remind you that _you_ are the disembodied head, and I am the powerful wizard whose patience has recently been tried overmuch,” Mostin said drily.

“The point is well made,” Nufrut admitted.

“If you had eighteen thousand bar-lgura, a thousand or so chasme, several hundred nycadaemons, as many succubi and palrethees, a hundred goristros, and – how many kelvezu do you think Graz’zt has had the opportunity to enlist, by the way?”

“Now _that_ is an interesting question, isn’t it?” Nufrut smirked.

“In any case,” Mostin continued, “is there a classical model or scenario for annexing or invading a demiplane such as Afqithan?”

“I’m sure there are several hundred, at least,” Nufrut answered.

“But their organization – presuming they have any?”

“Do not make the error of assuming that because of their philosophical inclination towards freedom and satiation, that demons are an undisciplined rabble when gathered en masse,” Nufrut chided. “Who are the Generals? Captains?”

“Seven mariliths. And more recently arrived – according to Nhura – two dozen nalfeshnees and a hundred or so glabrezu.”

“_Seven_? Graz’zt is taking no chances, it would appear,” Nufrut’s condescending smile was beginning to irk Mostin. “You should give up now, Mostin. You have no hope at all.”

“Correct me if my analysis is wrong,” Mostin said, ignoring the Marilith’s  enjoinment to despair. “Goristros are, being largely immobile, confined to the capacity of point-defense and guarding important tactical positions; succubi and palrethees act as scouts, messengers and aerial light cavalry, so to speak…”

“That is correct,” Nufrut replied enthusiastically. “They are seldom deployed in units of more than six to twelve. Also, the capacity of some succubi to act as infiltrators should not be underestimated.”

“But the chasme are deployed in larger groups?”

“Squadrons of forty or fifty,” Nufrut replied. “They are extremely effective when massed. Their collective drone will be close to irresistible.”

Mostin’s stomach tightened. He hadn’t even begun to consider the implications of _that_. “And the heavy-hitters? The nycadaemon mercenaries?”

“Three or four companies are sufficient to use as shock troops,” Nufrut leered, “and expendable. But I wouldn’t anticipate a pitched battle, in any case.”

The Alienist’s mind was already developing a plan. And the more he thought about it, the more he liked it. He needed to address the root of the problem. “Let me pose another question, Nufrut: if I could _force_ a pitched confrontation. If the ability of these demons to _teleport_ was temporarily suspended…”

“That is pointless speculation,” the Marilith sneered.

Mostin ignored her. Formulae were flooding through his psyche. He picked up Nufrut’s sphere, and handed it to the imps.

“Take a five-minute break,” he said to his compacted scribes. “Do _not_ leave this extradimensional space.”


As the diminutive fiends gleefully tossed Nufrut’s head to one another, Mostin brushed all of his collected books and papers from his desk with a swift sweep of his arm. He retrieved a single, blank sheet of paper, and with a quill pen which made him feel particularly dangerous – boldly still bearing its feather – he wrote at the top:

_Mostin’s Grand Astral Flux Inhibitor_

He sighed, crossed it out, and pondered briefly, before writing:

_Mostin’s Quiescence of the Spheres_

Much better, he thought. Not that he really had time to begin this. But it couldn’t hurt to analyze a few formulae. Just to see if it was a plausible idea.  

Within five minutes, he had decided that it _was_ plausible, and all thoughts of _Pharamne’s Urn_ and _Carasch_ had left his mind. He now had seventeen days to develop _two_ transvalent spells.

Orolde returned shortly thereafter with a large pot of tea, which Mostin liberally fortified with a variety of alchemical stimulants.






*Koilimilou would use a _limited wish_ to achieve the desired effect. 1 action being better than 10 minutes.


----------



## Dancer

Has anyone thought of putting Sep's SH in a pdf format?  Be great to have it that way and be able to read it without logging on.

Just a thought


Dancer
Singer of Songs


----------



## Lela

Dancer said:
			
		

> Has anyone thought of putting Sep's SH in a pdf format?  Be great to have it that way and be able to read it without logging on.
> 
> Just a thought
> 
> 
> Dancer
> Singer of Songs



 It is in .doc format.  I think people are generally trying to be careful about what they do with Sep's story without his permission.  So far, Sep hasn't commented, which just isn't the same as a yes.  So we wait.

 Speaking of which: Update!


----------



## Sepulchrave II

This is not an update.


But I am moved, settled in, and - more importantly - hooked up to the net again. I also have a crazy schedule at work for the next ten days or so, so it'll be at least that long before I post. Just to let people know that I haven't forgotten. The management apologizes for any delays.


----------



## Lela

Cheiromancer said:
			
		

> A separate thread for discussions and comments might also be appropriate.



 There is the Yahoo Group for plain discussion, if you like that medium. As a side note, since you bring up extra threads, there's already one for those that want pure story. I assume whoever opened it (the name escapes me at the moment) posts there soon after Sep drops an update?

 In any case, that would be three active threads and a Yahoo group. Two message board threads would be for Story only, one just for comments, and the group for ongoing discussion for those astoundingly obsessed individuals. 
	

	
	
		
		

		
			







			
				The Axe said:
			
		

> Aw, no! We seem to read a lot of the same story hours (though I'm more a lurker) and I rather like your posts; don't let the fact that they're ephemeral in this thread hold you back---those of us that follow this thread (and others) but have little intelligent to say will miss your insight.
> 
> Seriously.



 Somehow I doubt a person who casually drops the word ephemeral doesn't have something intelligent to say. 
	

	
	
		
		

		
		
	


	




 Really, though, one of the lesser reasons I read Story Hours is due to their personalities. Old One and the sense of politics mixed wth the scent of death, Dr. Midnight and his players provide one of the most unique SH experiences I've ever had, and Gfunk/JollyDoc's adds a distinct flavor to the Dr. M model. Arwink with his Yips; Capellon and Morte along with Kull and Gnoric. Tons of others.

 There's more than just Story to these threads. If there wasn't, I wouldn't bother. I can get Story from a library and I don't have to fight for time online. It's that extra bit of character that draws me to Story Hours. And, I think, that character is lost when there's a major pruning.

    Horacio was right, the bumps really are part of a Story Hour.  I just think the actual comments are too.

 In the end, my desire to post is somewhat tempered by the fact that the author doesn't care enough to save the feedback for those first coming in and fellow readers who sometimes resent my even posting.

    I'll save my in depth comments for Story Hours where it's worth the time (c'mon Gfunk, _update!_).  And Axe, feel free to say something.  I'll garantee a meaningfull response. 
	

	
	
		
		

		
		
	


	





 [Edit/Meta] Those Image tags (


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## Cheiromancer

ForceUser said:
			
		

> There is a map of Wyre floating around here somewhere. I'm too lazy too look it up though.




I just happen to have it handy...

(actually, check the first post of the compiled story hour- link in my sig)


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## Jeph

Cool. What're those blackened areas?


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## Mytholder

Inland seas, I think. There's a river south of Morne which is the same colour.


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## Volaran

Mytholder said:
			
		

> Inland seas, I think. There's a river south of Morne which is the same colour.





Lakes, perhaps? Blue for salt water, and black for fresh water.


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## Lela

Nym=Shomei

 It's a perfect match, really.


----------



## Felix

Yeah, but it's kinda mean to set a dude up with a chick who's about to buy the farm, you know?


----------



## Lela

Gotta add a little trajedy to Nym.  Eadric can't always be alone.  Besides, it adds to the match.  Nym represents life and her death will be his counterpoint.


----------



## Felix

Touche, Madame.


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## Olive

just a little *bump*


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## gloomymarshes

Nah, you people got it all wrong! Shomei is meant to be with Mostin, I tell you! They were made for eachother; both mages, both insane, both consorting with daemons like they're little fluffy bunny rabbits... 

Nwm however... I bet he uses his animal empathy skill on a willing sheep when he's feeling lonely...


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## Rackhir

aurin777 said:
			
		

> Horacio bumped the first thread every day for months... where are those bumps now?
> 
> Bumps all around,
> ~~Brandon




Like many people my interest was grabbed by the original post and we bumped it a number of times over a period (not every day) while wondering what had happend. Eventually, what we had heard was that Seph had stopped posting because of a lack of interest in the original thread (in the General Board, not SH). So bumping it every day was at least in part a demonstration of DEVOUT interest. Partly it was a nearly vain desire to just simply find out what had happened, since the question posed was "Is Lady Despina's change of Heart Real?" and "Should Eadric spare her?". Even though it was just a "what should I do?" kind of post it did still have Seph's characteristic feel for conveying a situation. Personally, I've always been a sucker for a hopless romance and it just doesn't get much more hopless than a Paladin and a Succubus. So that was my motivation to participate. 

As a result of all the effort put into it for all those months, I always felt that the original thread with all the bumps should have been kept as a monument to the effort and faithfulness that it enshrined. Unfortunately between the several crashes, rebuilds and server transfers the original thread with the bumps was lost and only the "pruned" version survived. 

For reasons of readability the desire to prune the bumps is reasonable and necessary. I think the original thread was something like 1.5 pages of posts and something like 15 pages of bumps. 

However, it does rather dimminish the desire to bump it every day if you know they are simply going to be eliminated. Also we KNOW Seph will post again now, most people who follow story hours have read it and it is one of the most popular story hours. So the fate of the thread is in no peril, something that is not the case when you have not heard a peep from the author in 6+ months.

So for all those reasons it isn't bumped every day IMHO. 

BTW Horacio didn't actually bump it every day, only about 99%+ of the time. However he was the one who really got bumping it started. The rest of us helped fill in the days he didn't/couldn't do it and pumped up the view count by checking it every day in the nearly vain hope that Seph would have posted again or that one of the mods would at least fake a post and put us out of our misery.


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## janos

Hi. My names Janos and I'm a wyraholic.

I have no words for how great this storyhour is. The adventures of Eadric and co are as dear to me as any of my favourite books. I love that Sep started the thread in the first place. I love that it's still going. I want to add my own inadequate thanks for sharing this with us to the vast chorus that has gone before.  

Of course I had it easy. I only started reading once Sep was towards the end of the heretic thread, so I knew there was a future. 

I compile the storyhours t read offline and...yes I just checked...I have the original despina's virtue thread still pretty much intact, bumps and all (including Horatio's last triumphant bump to point people to the second thread). In word it was two pages of Sep's post, followed by fourty six (word) pages of bumps. On behalf of all of us who joined latter I raise a glass to the devoted few who kept the thread alive during those six months. If anyone ever sets up a shrine to this story hour perhaps the original thread could be included as a kind of tribute   

Thanks for listening.


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## Rackhir

Cool! I'd love to get a copy of the original thread with the bumps, if you could send me a copy? Here's my email backwards moc.atadmoixa@eseewedj.


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## grodog

janos---

Please send me a copy as well.  I've been archiving Sep's threads for ages, but I never kept the original.  Perhaps if Sep's SH is ever published, he'd want to include a list of the names of the bumpers somewhere---sort of like Playtester credits 

edit:  Oh yeah, I think I owe a few folks copies of the compiled SH in Word.  If you want a copy, post so that I can send them out in a batch later tonight.


----------



## aurin777

Hi James!

Yeah, it is true that I know the post *is* coming, but now it is a matter of *when* it will be here. I wants my precious....
~~Brandon


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## janos

Okay Grodog, Rackhir - I've mailed the compiled thread your way, let me know if it makes it okay (heh - should probably have picked a night the net wasn't awash with a new virus: if you haven't updated your anti-virus people do it now ).

Janos.


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## Anabstercorian

[chanting]Update, update, update...![/chanting]


----------



## Spatula

Rackhir said:
			
		

> However, it does rather dimminish the desire to bump it every day if you know they are simply going to be eliminated.



And here I thought the purpose of bumping a thread was to 'bump' it to the top of the forum so that others might notice it.  I didn't realize bumping was actually a play for forum immortality.


----------



## Felix

> I didn't realize bumping was actually a play for forum immortality.



Where have _you_ been???  Didn't get the memo, I guess...

IMMORTAL!


----------



## Spatula

I guess not.  

Oh yeah, and: BUMP!


----------



## Darklone

Forum immortality? Yeah sure. See, it worked for Horacio... and I got a little share as well.

I'm still not sure for myself whether I would have preferred a different ending for the paladin and the succubus... For my taste this part of the storyline was dropped a little bit too early.

But stories wouldn't be as nice as they are if I would know the end at the first few pages.


----------



## Cheiromancer

[rant mode on]
I think if people want to try to get forum immortality, they should start their own threads, not hitch-hike on others.  I enjoy the insights and commentaries of posters to a thread, but I think the value of such posts are transitory- after a few months, almost all of them should go.  A contribution or commentary by someone other than Sepulchrave would have to be pretty darn insightful and well-crafted to warrant being preserved indefinitely on what is, after all, *Sepulchrave's* Story Hour.      

And if that discourages people from bumping... good!  Elsewhere in these forums it is considered poor form to bump without adding content relevant to the thread.  And really, in a story hour the main relevant content is the author's updates, posts by players, and so on- any *bump* by a reader, no matter how witty, is borderline at best.

I am aware of the argument that bumping helps attract new readers.  I don't buy it: I think that new readers looking over the first few pages of the story hour forum will note the number of page views- they don't really need constant bumps to attract their attention.  What worries me more is that bumps, while (hopeuflly) flattering to an author, can also place demands on his time and energy in a way bordering on rudeness.

Needless to say, I expect *this* post to be deleted in due time.  
[rant mode off]

When last we checked on Mostin, he was researching a spell to prevent demons from teleporting all over the battlefield.  I found a neat spell at the netbookofplanes.org web-site which I would like to quote here.  To see the original, check out The Netbook of Planes (Spells: Seal Plane).

*Seal Plane*
Abjuration 
*Level:* Clr 9, Sor/Wiz 9 
*Components:* V, S 
*Casting Time:* 10 minutes 
*Range:* See text 
*Effect:* Whole plane 
*Duration:* 10 minutes/level 
*Saving Throw:* None 
*Spell Resistance:* No 

Casting _seal plane_ while on a plane prevents all dimensional travel both to and from the plane for the duration of the spell. You must be on the plane you are sealing for this spell to work. Forms of movement barred by _seal plane_ include _astral projection, blink, dimension door, ethereal jaunt, etherealness, gate, lesser gate, maze, minor plane shift, plane shift, shadow walk, teleport, teleportation circle_ and similar spell-like or psionic abilities. This spell also affects _portals_ and other magical items that permit planar travel. 

_Seal plane_ does not interfere with the movement of creatures already in ethereal or astral form when the spell is cast, nor does it block extradimensional perception or attack forms such as a basilisk's gaze. Also, it does not prevent summoned creatures from disappearing at the end of a summoning spell. 

*XP Cost:* 3,000 XP.


I have never heard of a spell (epic or otherwise) whose area of effect included an entire plane! That would be an area that a DM would probably modify- especially if he makes it higher level (epic) and reduces the casting time and xp costs.  Compare with _dimensional lock_.

And a *bump*


----------



## Spatula

Cheiromancer said:
			
		

> I am aware of the argument that bumping helps attract new readers.  I don't buy it: I think that new readers looking over the first few pages of the story hour forum will note the number of page views- they don't really need constant bumps to attract their attention.



Most people will probably never see the thread, though, unless it's on the first page of the forum.

I do agree with the rest of your rant.


----------



## Felix

I kinda thought the thread was like the office water cooler, where fans of the story could hang out, shoot the breeze, and talk about the story. And sure, now and again, you'll get the informationless bump, said in a clever way. Like this:

Pumb

Heh heh heh.


----------



## Lord_Fergus

Cheiromancer said:
			
		

> When last we checked on Mostin, he was researching a spell to prevent demons from teleporting all over the battlefield. I found a neat spell at the netbookofplanes.org web-site which I would like to quote here. To see the original, check out The Netbook of Planes (Spells: Seal Plane).
> 
> *Seal Plane*
> Abjuration
> *Level:* Clr 9, Sor/Wiz 9
> *Components:* V, S
> *Casting Time:* 10 minutes
> *Range:* See text
> *Effect:* Whole plane
> *Duration:* 10 minutes/level
> *Saving Throw:* None
> *Spell Resistance:* No
> 
> Casting _seal plane_ while on a plane prevents all dimensional travel both to and from the plane for the duration of the spell. You must be on the plane you are sealing for this spell to work. Forms of movement barred by _seal plane_ include _astral projection, blink, dimension door, ethereal jaunt, etherealness, gate, lesser gate, maze, minor plane shift, plane shift, shadow walk, teleport, teleportation circle_ and similar spell-like or psionic abilities. This spell also affects _portals_ and other magical items that permit planar travel.
> 
> _Seal plane_ does not interfere with the movement of creatures already in ethereal or astral form when the spell is cast, nor does it block extradimensional perception or attack forms such as a basilisk's gaze. Also, it does not prevent summoned creatures from disappearing at the end of a summoning spell.
> 
> *XP Cost:* 3,000 XP.
> 
> 
> I have never heard of a spell (epic or otherwise) whose area of effect included an entire plane! That would be an area that a DM would probably modify- especially if he makes it higher level (epic) and reduces the casting time and xp costs. Compare with _dimensional lock_.



Hi all, long-time reader first-time poster here .  I have to say that the spell as listed is horribly overpowered.  I could only imagine this spell as something usable by a deity with maybe the travel or magic portfolios.  It could possibly be an epic spell but the costs and difficulty would be staggering - far beyond what our favourite adventurers currently could accomplish. A _Widened Dimensional Lock_ would be an 11th level spell before any feats were used to lower the level of casting.  That would stop dimensional travel in a 40' radius for 1 day.  I would suggest modifying the spell as follows: Change the Effect to 1 mile/level of caster.  The duration would be 1 min/caster level.  A slight reduction in XP cost could be given but note that _Wish_ could not "by the letter of the spell" accomplish the goal of this spell and that has a 5000 XP cost.  I very much like Sepulchrave's usage of rituals involving multiple casters and this spell could certainly be an opportunity to further that end.  An interesting twist would be to make the spell a divine ritual spell and have either a group of druids or clerics of the church cast it.  

Sepulchrave, thank you so much for reopening my eyes and the eyes of my gaming group to the joys of a rich storyline in game.  Your story hour is much enjoyed and I even have my wife waiting eagerly for your next update and she gave up gaming long ago.

Cheiromancer, thank you for your hard work with the compilation and all the extras you do.  It is appreciated.

Lord Fergus


----------



## the Jester

Just stopping by to announce a Horacio sighting in the Hive!!

Expect him to stop by sometime soon, he's a SH addict!

  He's a great guy, I'm so glad he's back!!!


----------



## Lela

Yay!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


----------



## Horacio

Trying to read all the updates I've missed, I'll be back bumping soon


----------



## Rackhir

Cheiromancer said:
			
		

> [Rant On] [/Rant Off]




Pax, Pax please. I know you pruned the bumps on this thread and I wasn't complaining about that. I understand why killing the bumps is necessary and useful. I just tend towards the sentimental, which is why I tend to favor keeping bumps and the bumps for Lady Despina's meant something to me, if only for the time, effort and hope involved. Since they did help to bring us all the great tales Wyre we've all come to love.


----------



## Rackhir

Horacio said:
			
		

> Trying to read all the updates I've missed, I'll be back bumping soon




Huzzaaah!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Great to have you back! Without you we might never have gotten to read all this!


----------



## the Jester

Rackhir said:
			
		

> Great to have you back! Without you we might never have gotten to read all this!





Amen, brother.

I came late to Wyre, but when I got here I knew I'd found something special.  Finding the first thread- with all the bumps- and I knew that I had skipped over something very special way too many times to count.

Thankfully, this SH ain't going anywhere!


----------



## Mytholder

Welcome back Horacio! 

Bump.


----------



## The Forsaken One

Horay Horacio! 

Bump


----------



## Jackylhunter

I realize we're divided on whether or not we should bump...But the SH is so much easier to find if it's on the top page.   So sue me!   Bump =)


----------



## Felix

Sepulchrave's Harrowing Story:

"I was in my old house, cleaning out the back room that contained stacks of old newspapers. As I was organizing them for the new owners, the pile fell on me; I was trapped! I survived by eating my mother's delicious preserves and maintained my sanity my bouncing a basketball as many times as I could in an hour, and then tried to beat that record! 

"Once I realized that no help was coming, I remembered back to my days as a high school chemistry teacher. I fashioned a crude rocket out of cigar tubes, baking soda, and discarded lemon wedges. The rocket shot up in the air, taking the vaccum cleaner cord with it; I hugged the vaccum, pressed the cord retreval button, and won my way to freedom!

"That is my heroic story..."

And this is the part where Sep posts the update he had weeks of ball-bouncing to think about... right? 

Oh, and if you want to find Sep in the phone book, look under Armand Tanzarian.


----------



## Horacio

Oh people, do you think that if I start another "bump'a'day" campaign like some years ago Supulchrave will update?


----------



## Jackylhunter

Curses...Foiled again...


----------



## porthos

*New SH*

Apparently Sep has started a new Story Hour over here:

http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=42147

entitled "Divertimento". I do not believe it follows the adventures of our beloved, er, adventurers, but rather it is a bit of a, well, diversion.


----------



## Moleculo

if you look closer, you'll see the thread is over a year old, and just recently resurrected.


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

He only ever posted once to it, but it was a very good one post.


----------



## Talix

Yeah, it would be fun to have an update to either story.


----------



## Sepulchrave II

*Mmm. Yes.*

Er, don't mind me. I'll just...er...post a quiet update and slink off again.

Thanks for your patience, everyone. Things are pretty much back to normal with me now. Whatever 'normal' is.   

And, er, Eridanis, if you could do the gardening again, it'd be much appreciated.   


**


*Three Webs.*



Eadric rode alone from Morne to Trempa upon Contundor, passing by his own keep at Deorham without pause late in the afternoon of the second day of the journey.

His decision not to take Tatterbrand, who had been quietly at work within the Temple apiary, was based in large measure upon the knowledge that his squire – upon learning of the _Ahma_'s intentions – would have insisted upon accompanying his master to Afqithan. And Afqithan was a place beyond Tatterbrand's ability to comprehend and, likely, survive.

Mostin's message, _I can lock part of the demiplane. It will be possible for you to go as yourself, without duplicity, if you so desire,_ was a simultaneous cause of both relief and concern for him, and he considered the implications as he rode. 

Somewhat later, when Eadric made camp by the wayside, Mostin himself appeared and they discussed the likely unfolding of events. Soneillon was engaged in delicate negotiations with Rhyxali, and Ortwin made overtures to Duke Ytryn in Afqithan. They waited for Nhura to rally the remaining Loquai in Faerie and Shadow, and give the signal. Mostin seemed confident that the spell that he was devising and – with the aid of Nwm and Shomei – would invoke, was proof against even Graz'zt's attempts to dispel.

"Provided, of course, that he does not enlist a cabal of his own," Eadric said drily.

"Demons are not renowned for exhibiting a preference for cooperative magic," Mostin sniffed.

"Except Soneillon?" Eadric asked.

"She is unusual in that regard, but not unique," Mostin nodded. "You know her better than most. In your judgment, will she involve herself personally, or act through others?"

Eadric shrugged. "I've no idea. I'm surprised that you trust my ability to read her."

"I don't," Mostin agreed. "But I trust mine less in this regard. And I have not been to Throile. What did…"

"I'd really prefer not to talk about it, Mostin."

"Ahh," the Alienist nodded.

"And Throile itself is under renewed attack."

"Evidently, she keeps you well informed," Mostin raised an eyebrow. "When you were there, did she…"

"Mostin…" Eadric sighed.

"I'll not ask again. Apparently you feel a little reticent to speak of it."

"How perceptive of you, Mostin. And when will your spell be ready?"

"Soon enough," the Alienist answered. "I am somewhat pressed for time, however. And Shomei is nagging me to complete my part of the cycle which will allow us to interpret the _web of motes_. She is ready, and so is Nwm."

"Then don't let me keep you," Eadric said, arranging his blanket meaningfully.

"She is not idle, however," Mostin continued, ignoring the hint. "I believe she has approached several Infernal magnates regarding possible support in the Afqithan endeavour."

"On whose authority?" Eadric was aghast.

Mostin laughed. "I don't think that she requires any. Shomei is very well connected. And she is also making inquiries regarding the presence of Titivilus in the demiplane."

"This is becoming too complex." His mind boggled as he considered the connection between the _Sela_ and the Infernalist. A microcosm of the Irrenite perception of Oronthon and the Adversary? The Left Hand of the Numinous. _Do not start thinking that way. It leads to madness._

"What do you expect?" Mostin sighed. "The prize is enormous, after all."

"Afqithan? Hardly."

"Azzagrat is the prize, Eadric, with its untold wealth. And the fall of Graz'zt. Such events – or the promise of them – tend to attract attention. _Lots_ of attention."

"Mmm. Yes. I suppose they do."

"Are you actually beginning to grasp the full ramifications of this, Eadric?" Mostin asked sarcastically. "You realize that the spill-over will be immense, of course? It will be like dropping a boulder into a puddle."

"Azzagrat is a puddle?"

"Cosmically speaking, yes. And if we succeed, we create something that Abyssal nature abhors the most."

Eadric gave a quizzical look.

"A power vacuum," Mostin explained.


**


Had Rintrah been mortal, and subject to the vagaries of pride or honour, he might have rejoiced in the grace bestowed upon him, or experienced ecstasy at his newfound closeness with the Godhood. As it was, lacking in such faculties, or even a differentiated sense of self, the temporary Perfection of the celestial registered as nothing more than a recognition that he was a more efficient tool for carrying out his Shining Master's Will. His thoughts reached out to find an omnipresence which mystics might have regarded as comforting and all-embracing. Lacking an ego to begin with, the experience was less profound for the Messenger.

Wreathing himself in flame and darkness, Rintrah descended rapidly into the lowest pit of Hell. After a brief and unknowable exchange had occurred, the celestial struck out across the infinities which stretched toward the Abyss, perceived by his mind's eye as a spiral which led to Nothingness.

In Morne, the _Sela_ sat in a state of _saizhan_, the interaction of entities of tremendous power appearing merely as facets of the dialectic revealed to consciousness. Whether his mind reflected reality, or reality responded to his intention was unknown. Causality, synchronicity and coincidence: all were meaningless terms.

The Messenger reached an interface. A bubble of separation. Sealed, inviolable; the labour of centuries of sorcery. Even before he touched it, Rintrah knew that he could not penetrate it. 

Oronthon Magnified him. He passed effortlessly through. 

Pain waited beyond. It was as if all the agony in the cosmos had been distilled into this single space, mere yards across: a perfect sphere, the walls of which were graven with glyphs and runes of torment. Their power passed over the celestial, and around him, and through him, but caused less than the slightest discomfort. Rintrah's eyes, incandescent with potency now, glanced upwards to behold a semblance of a form: wracked, inchoate, stretched and twisted beyond recognition, its pattern diffuse at its margins. It seemed as if the slightest of breezes would cause it to evaporate. Its grasp on existence was tenuous.

Under the force of the Planetar's selfless Will, the quiddity of the sphere began to change, and reshaped itself according to his direction. Empty space assumed pleasing forms: a tree, a small pool with lilies, a tiny rock garden. The upper hemisphere gave off a soft, azure radiance, reminiscent of a cloudless day in late summer.

Rintrah rested briefly: the effort of creation was not insignificant. He glanced at the artificial sky, still etched with sigils of dreadful power which emanated madness and pain, before his wings lifted him gently aloft. As his hand trailed lightly over the runes, each one shattered, _disjoined_ into its separate components. They fell like a silver dust upon the rockery, or to float upon the surface of the pool.

The formless _thing_, still suspended in the centre of the sphere, quivered palpably and then relaxed. For an instant, Rintrah was concerned that the sudden removal of the tension that it had experienced might cause it to dissociate. He swiftly grasped the essence and held it in his hands. Cohesion and perception returned to it. Responsive to the celestial's ministrations, it corporeated rapidly. 

Rintrah laid her by the bole of the tree, _hallowed_ the sphere, and vanished. Nehael slept for the first time in her immeasurably long existence.


The _Sela_ shifted his position, and a single bead of sweat trickled from his temple. It had been a particularly difficult meditation.



**


Ortwin, Iua and Koilimilou waited in an antechamber of blacks and muted greys, the vague and insubstantial walls of which were carved with exquisite yet gruesome scenes. They depicted torture, mutilation, and an erotic exultation in pain and depravity which upset even the Satyr's normally liberal sensibilities.

_This may be the stupidest thing I have ever done_, he thought to himself. _Ainhorr must know of our presence by now_. Inwardly, he fretted desperately. His outward appearance was one of practiced, imperturbable nonchalance.

Ytryn, one of the most powerful of Loquai nobles, had kept the trio waiting for an hour. What counsel was he taking? Whose orders was he following? Dammit, why hasn't anything _happened_ yet?

The Cambion said nothing, her perfect face remained impassive, perhaps bearing the slightest hint of contempt.

_Gods, I hope her name still carries some weight in these parts,_ Ortwin regarded Koilimilou. _I hope they buy this_. And then, _He knows I am here. He must. He knows what I am, who I am. He knows that I was there when we hit Feezuu. He knows it was me – and Iua – at Khu. Why has he not acted? I should be dead by now, or at least undergoing painful dismemberment._

A pair of doors opened. Ortwin's stomach turned over, and bile rose in his throat. He smiled lazily.

"After you," he said easily to the Cambion.

_Polymorphed_ and _mind-blanked_, Ortwin and Iua followed Koilimilou into the great hall. The Satyr had assumed the shape of a sidhe again. Iua's form – a death slaad – was  designed to cause maximum confusion and concern amongst Ytryn's vassals and his demonic courtiers. Ortwin hoped that she could pull it off – Iua was a fine liar, but lacked his own finesse. 

Koilimilou bowed her head.

Ortwin strode forward, aware of the many gazes upon him, bowed with considerable flair before Ytryn's throne, and spoke in a calm, confident voice. His Sylvan was full of archaic inflexion, as befitted a representative of the oldest of fae lineages.

"Greetings, your Grace. My thanks for receiving this embassy, and the hospitality of your court. Queen Nhura sends her regards from her exile in Faerie, and trusts that you remember your old acquaintance."

As Ortwin's head rose, his eyes took on the full scene before him. Ytryn reclined upon a low seat. To his left, coiled and menacing, a marilith was poised like a viper. Two kelvezu flanked the Duke, and at least thirty Loquai knights stood about in silent vigil. Umbral quicklings darted around the periphery of his vision, and a palrethee hovered in the air nearby.

_Sh*t_, the Satyr thought.



**


Eadric's decision to attend the investiture of Skadding, Foide's' son, as Duke of Trempa, had been made quickly. Despite his ambivalence towards the House of Thahan, and his distrust of the Lord Chamberlain and his tedious plots, Eadric actually felt a measure of confidence in Skadding. The boy was naïve and overly trusting – qualities which, in many ways, the Earl of Deorham regarded as positive and which his father had, apparently, failed to divest him of.

Besides, one must fulfill one's feudal obligations, after all.

After a brief detour to visit the Abbey of Osfrith – where he instructed the nuns to arrange the transport of the insane Urqual to the Fane in Morne – Eadric rode through the open gates of the castle at Trempa on the evening before the ceremony. The outer courtyards were crammed with tents and pavillions. Knights, courtiers, maids and entertainers ate, drank and mingled in the dusk. Heads turned quickly to regard him, and from somewhere his own _ladon_ – his clarion call – rang out from a trumpet.

Passing swiftly beneath the Tower of Owls and into the inner bailey, his presence caused more chaos and hysteria than he was altogether comfortable with. Trempa's Oronthonians – the first to embrace the new order when it had swept across Wyre – prostrated themselves and hailed the _Ahma_, a virtual demigod. The Uediians – who comprised most of Trempa's northern aristocracy – regarded him as a saviour from Temple taxes and the indentureship of pagan farmers. In that regard, he had held true to his word. Caur of Har Kumil shouted and greeted him warmly.

Foide regarded Eadric suspiciously behind a veneer of politeness and civility. The satisfaction that he had enjoyed for the past month – at his family's possession of two of Wyre's great fiefs – now turned to sourness in his mouth. Foide was reminded of one simple fact: with the blessing of King Tiuhan or no, this ceremony could only pass with the support – whether open or implicit – of  Eadric of Deorham. He was above the law, whatever protestations he might make to the contrary. He was invulnerable: mortal weapons could not touch him, they said. Men would follow him happily to their death, assured of their place in paradise. And if he had wanted the duchy for himself, he could have taken it.

_And he rides into Trempa, travel-stained and without an entourage, like some errant or hedge-knight._

Eadric dismounted, and knelt before Skadding, his new liege-lord. Somewhat abashed, the Duke-to-be ushered him to his feet.

"My sword is yours," Eadric bowed. "And my counsel and guidance, should you ever require it." 

Foide of Lang Herath chewed his lip and brooded.


**

Mostin’s lidless green eyes were glazed and his body motionless, as he floated – transfixed – within an infinite sea of light. A hundred billion motes surrounded him.

His intellect, swollen by magic to titanic proportions, reflected briefly upon the series of spells which had brought him to this place. Potent dweomers, which only a handful of Wizards in Wyre’s long history would have been capable of mastering, seemed – from his new perspective – like paltry cantrips fit only for neophytes and dabblers.

Cradled in the palm of Mostin’s hand was Graz’zt’s mote: dark, erotic, brooding, and seething with potency. The Alienist inspected first one facet, and then another. The fact that he could not determine the location of Graz’zt – in spatiotemporal terms, at least – was indicative of the fact that the Prince was _mind blanked_. But it made no difference: there was another mote, anchored by a taught radicle, in close proximity. What one could not read directly, one could infer obliquely with little effort in an expanded state such as this: Lord Kostchtchie stood before Prince Graz’zt within the great hall of the Iron Palace in Zelatar.

Mostin scowled, and rapidly plotted the trajectories of several hundred possible futures, scanning each for resonances with Eadric, Nhura, Soneillon, Rhyxali, Ainhorr, Titivilus, Nehael and himself.

_Kostchtchie will move to support Ainhorr in Afqithan_, he thought. _Fiendish giants_, he mused, _and some are powerful sorcerers_. His eye caught a new thread of probability. _What is that?_

[Inspection. Analysis.] _Blightfire_, he groaned inwardly. The Lord of the Ice Wastes had potent allies of his own.

Mostin returned his attention to Graz’zt’s mote, and abstracted his perspective. He noted the tenuous rapport between himself and the Prince of Azzagrat – alluding to Graz’zt’s own prescience. 

_But I see both more clearly and more deeply than you_, he thought. _For the moment, at least. Your machinations are transparent to me._ Graz’zt could not grasp the entirety of the Afqithan nodality any more than Mostin could, but the fragments of which Mostin was aware – scattered and incoherent as they were – were more complete. He considered the immense _dimensional lock_ that he had developed, projected the catenary of the pseudonatural Horror onto the lattice of interconnected points, and then superimposed Shomei’s glooms on top of that. The nodality rapidly reorganized itself to show a number of different probable futures.

None showed Graz'zt in Afqithan.

_He is afraid_, Mostin knew. _And rightly so. He is not unassailable. He will not come._

Mostin cursed. One plan at least – to lure the Lord of Azzagrat to Afqithan with the promise of Eadric's head – could not be realized. Mostin did not underestimate Graz'zt's shrewdness or cunning, but had hoped that his temper would be sufficiently unstable to betray him.

The Alienist projected a scenario which involved the swift subdual of Afqithan, the removal of Ainhorr and Kostchtchie – and whatever wights the Ice Lord brought with him – and an immediate subsequent assault upon Azzagrat itself. It required Shomei to secure twelve legions of Bathym's barbed devils _and_ the commitment of Rhyxali's main force of babaus in addition to her shadow demons. But there would be no second _dimensional lock_ and no glooms – Shomei herself had vanished from the picture, slain by kelvezu before she could articulate her own power.

He examined a string of possible futures which involved the _binding_ of the Horror, and its travel through a _gate_ to Azzagrat in order to assassinate Graz'zt. Fourteen of the twenty-three outcomes resulted in Graz'zt escaping to his sanctum before the Horror could complete its mission. Five of the remaining futures involved the coercion of the Horror by Graz'zt and its subsequent redeployment against its summoner: _I'd better make sure it's adequately buffed, If we go that route_, Mostin thought. Two futures promised Graz'zt's demise, and two were ambiguous – depending on the reaction of the Arch-fiend's courtiers.

Mostin meditated upon the interaction between the motes of the Horror and Graz'zt, seeking tendrils of possibility to exploit. Graz'zt would need to be weakened – divested of a sizeable portion of his reservoir – before the Horror could be used efficiently. Of the hundreds of powerful spells within Graz'zt's repertoire, one – and the name _exquisite domination_ sprang unbidden to Mostin's mind – was sufficiently potent to threaten even the Horror's virtual immunity to magic.* If Graz'zt could shoot off two spells – a _superb dispelling_ variant followed by the compulsion – then the chances were good that the Prince could assert his will upon the pseudonatural. Graz'zt's reservoir was immense, and he could absorb an unholy amount of backlash before being troubled.

Mostin breathed deeply, and focused his mind. He remembered where he was – within the dome of Mulissu's mansion, floating within the _web of motes_. His thoughts reached out to the Infernalist.

[Mostin]: [Very complex semiotic pattern] (= _The Horror cannot accomplish an assassination in Azzagrat without prior softening of the target. And he can dispel your glooms effortlessly, and _still_ deal with the pseudonatural. And this assumes he is not even within his sanctum._) 

[Shomei]: [Complex semiotic pattern] (=_That is inconsequential. If he were, then he could prevent the _gate_ opening in any case. Come what may, I will send the glooms tomorrow._)

[Mostin]: !

[Shomei]: (Emphatically) [Semiotic pattern] (=_It is time that he realized he is vulnerable in a tangible way._)

[Mostin]: [Semiotic pattern] (=_He will quickly overcome them._)

[Shomei]: [Semiotic pattern] (=_He will bleed first. And they will cut deep._)

[Mostin]: [Semiotic pattern] (=_Have you seen something I have not? If so, please share it._)

[Shomei]: [Complex semiotic pattern] (=_I am walking a narrow line, Mostin. Every action I take from now onwards must be calculated for maximum effect._)

[Mostin]: [Complex semiotic pattern] (=_Please do not sink into a fugue, Shomei. I thought that you had finally made it through the nihilism._)

Shomei smiled, and shook her head.






*The prime benefit conferred by Mostin's insanely buffed Intelligence was the bonus granted to Knowledge (Arcana) checks. Whilst difficult to rationalize in terms that we might understand, the answers to questions such as "what spells does Graz'zt have in his repertoire which might affect this possible course of action " would spring into Mostin's mind at appropriate times. I had already optimized around twenty ELH spell variants for Graz'zt – i.e. increased the XP burn and pumped up the backlash to bring them within his ability. I assumed that he had several hundred more – after all, he is X billion years old, and it only seemed reasonable. It is unfortunate that it is impossible to play a character with an Int of 22, much less one with a (temporary) Intelligence of 150. What does it _mean_ to be that Intelligent? It is impossible to even begin to conceptualize how thought processes can work on that level. Thankfully, this has been the only time that such cosmic heights have been reached. It is simply too much of a headache to DM.


----------



## Piratecat

There we go.  Good new thread title.


----------



## gfunk

Damn.  PKitty beat me to it!

Thanks Sep, your is the standard by which all Story Hours are measured.


----------



## Piratecat

gfunk said:
			
		

> Damn.  PKitty beat me to it!




By 20 minutes.  Slacker.


----------



## Ridley's Cohort

> The prime benefit conferred by Mostin's insanely buffed Intelligence was the bonus granted to Knowledge (Arcana) checks. Whilst difficult to rationalize in terms that we might understand, the answers to questions such as "what spells does Graz'zt have in his repertoire which might affect this possible course of action " would spring into Mostin's mind at appropriate times. I had already optimized around twenty ELH spell variants for Graz'zt – i.e. increased the XP burn and pumped up the backlash to bring them within his ability. I assumed that he had several hundred more – after all, he is X billion years old, and it only seemed reasonable. It is unfortunate that it is impossible to play a character with an Int of 22, much less one with a (temporary) Intelligence of 150. What does it mean to be that Intelligent? It is impossible to even begin to conceptualize how thought processes can work on that level. Thankfully, this has been the only time that such cosmic heights have been reached. It is simply too much of a headache to DM.




It is not really necessary to give more than a muddy glimpse into what that kind of intelligence would be like.  Int 150 Mostin will have all kinds of insights that Int 22 Mostin would not understand as more than general probabilities of actions & results with random specifics thrown in.

Remember the Star Trek episode when Dr. McCoy was reinstalling Spock's brain?


----------



## Mortepierre

Remember folks that even though Sep's writing skills _are_ incredible, his story still depends on his players' actions (at least in part).

There is a huge difference between creating a novel on your own and telling the story of the adventures of a group of people. Not that I doubt Sep would be able to create his own novel without help but methink we have forgotten a bit his players in this.

So, on behalf of all the other Sep fans, thank you to the players for such high quality role-play. This story hour wouldn't be the same without it


----------



## Talix

Excellent update.    I am reminded again how much more of a story this story hour seems rather than just a campaign log.  For instance, many of the characters are doing separate things right now; if I were to translate this post to a gaming session, it would be a lot of individual action.  Now, the players may be cool/entertaining enough that that doesn't matter, but I suspect it's just the very successful editing Sep does to turn this into a riviting story.

Not to mention, the past post, while excellent and entertaining morsel to read, would probably have taken about 10 minutes in game time.  It's amazing how Sep has the patience to realize just how much enjoyment can be gotten out of that, and takes the time to make it so, rather than just trying to cover everything that happened in that session as a record in a vaguely story-like format (like I do with my character journals ).  

Thanks, Sep!


----------



## Eridanis

Sepulchrave II said:
			
		

> And, er, Eridanis, if you could do the gardening again, it'd be much appreciated.




I'll get out my trowel and rake within a day or two and have it all spiffy.


----------



## Sepulchrave II

> Quick question...how much editing to do you do on your SH entries




That depends. Usually, a fair bit. This last post was pretty much unedited though - when I reread it, there were a lot of things that I'd tweak.

Many thanks for your patience and continued support, eveyone. I know it was a long hiatus. I can't promise that it will never happen again, but - for a while at least - posts should be a bit more frequent.


----------



## Darklone

Hey, one update half a year is still better than your start, right Horacio ?


----------



## Sepulchrave II

*Untitled Update*





[Mostin]: _Thus_. (Conjure the Horror. _Lock_ area around Irknaan's palace – two mile radius. Simultaneous arrival of Rhyxali's force _here_. Highest probability of Kostchtchie's appearance _here_. Portals to Faerie _here_ and _here_ and _here_ will allow Nhura access to Afqithan, although I estimate thirty minutes before she can order her forces. Soneillon variable too complicated to calculate because of events in Throile [diagram].)

[Shomei]: _Perhaps this_. (Chaltipeluse secured as beach-head: already warded against _teleportation_. Ytryn ally/eliminated. Ortwin has a high chance of success in this endeavour.)

[Mostin]: _But_. (A Feint _here_ [Picture: the stronghold of Queen Menicau] will draw out Ainhorr's main force. Then possible to open _gates_, then _lock_ and assault Irknaan's palace directly.)

[Shomei]: _Unlikely_. (None will assume that role. Too dangerous. Unless you can persuade a group of demons to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. [Irony])

[Mostin]: _We two and Nwm - look._ (_Shapechange_ and multiple conjurations can achieve the same effect. If you and I each open two _gates_…)

[Shomei]: _My reservoir is close to empty, Mostin…_

[Mostin]: _Then this._ (We should take a short holiday – In fact, I would suggest Afqithan. Get used to your new form, feel the power course through you again, and wreak some random havoc. And take the airs, of course. Nwm will likely come along – he enjoys flying around and destroying things, however much he denies it. And if we cause enough of a ruckus on our first visit, it will cause an overreaction on the second one – which is precisely what we want. [Diagram])

[Shomei]: [Calculating probabilities]. _We must be something terrible, that will give Ainhorr pause for thought. Solars? Klurichirs?_

[Mostin]: _Hellfire Wyrms._ [Diagram]

[Shomei]: _Nice. Very nice, Mostin._

[Mostin]: _Why, thank-you._

[Shomei]: _But this._ (Multiple summonings with multiple empowerments and I can pull around twenty narzugons into the fray and still retain a high enough valence to contribute to the _quiescence of the spheres_).

[Mostin]: (Nods). _That might be preferable. I will _gate_ a couple of pit fiends in, just to be sure we're taken seriously._

[Shomei]: _Titivilus, Furcas and Murmuur will likely shoulder the blame._

[Mostin]: _Such is life. I believe the augmentation just ended, by the way. My cognitive faculties have resumed their normal ant-like status._

Shomei sighed, a look of profound relief crossing her face. "I'm weary, Mostin. It has been insightful, but I'm glad it's over: my ego was beginning to fray. We should translate in a couple of days. Flex our muscles with an attack on Samodoquol's fortress."

Mostin nodded. "There are three hundred chasme there, and around a dozen glabrezu enforcers as well as other demonic agents. They are commanded by the nalfeshnee Jamua – who is something of a heavy-hitter. Samodoquol is fractious, and Ainhorr needs to keep him in line. But I suggest that we strike some smaller strongholds first – minor Loquai nobility who have capitulated with the current regime. It will send the message that the Balor's grip is less than ironclad, and won't give as much of an opportunity for Ainhorr to react. And when Nhura finally arrives, it may be that she can expect some support."

"Nhura in the capacity of redeemer and liberator?" Shomei asked ironically. "Now _that_ is an amusing prospect."

"It's all relative," Mostin replied. "Still, attacking Samodoquol must be undertaken with the knowledge of the risk involved. Chasme are hardy."

Shomei shrugged. "Let the flies drone. We will burn them from the sky."

"Reinforcements will arrive within thirty seconds of our arrival."

"Then we will depart." Shomei said easily.

Mostin's eyes betrayed an excitement which made the Infernalist slightly nervous. "We could go tomorrow," he said.

"Two days, Mostin," she replied. "Tomorrow, I send the glooms to Azzagrat."


**


The anointment and investiture of Skadding as Duke of Trempa took place on a cold morning in late autumn on the Howe, a green hillock outside of the castle gates reserved for such grand occasions.

In the past, the Abbot of Trempa (or the Bishop of Thahan, had his other duties permitted it) would have performed the ceremony. As it was, the prior incumbents of each position had, in the wake of the _Sela_'s assumption of the Prelacy, opted for a monastic life: both had been conservative in their view, and the Bishop had been one of the _Ahma_'s foremost detractors. Neither position had been since filled, and Tramst was in no hurry to reestablish the episcopacy until the internal revision of the Temple had been completed. It had therefore been assumed that the ascension of Skadding to the Ducal seat would be a secular affair, and, given the disestablishment of the Temple and the general move away from Church infeudation, that seemed appropriate.

During the feast before the investiture, to Foide's horror and dismay, the thane Ekkert – after consuming large quantities of mead – had suggested that Eadric perform the ceremony. The idea had been greeted by rapturous applause by Trempa's assembled aristocracy, despite the fact that it was highly irregular for an Earl to anoint a Duke. Trempa's customs had always been eccentric, but such a notion verged on the insane.

Eadric had politely declined.

"You would be acting in a religious capacity," Ekkert had drawled. "I don't see what the problem is."

"I am not empowered to anoint Dukes," Eadric had said simply. "Besides, a third of Trempa's inhabitants are Uediian. I am not about to begin a new round of disenfranchisement."

"Then ask Nwm to participate," Caur had suggested cannily.

"Regrettably, his whereabouts are unknown to me," Eadric had replied uneasily. It was true – he had no notion of the Druid's location, and no means to contact him.

Foide, thinking that the _Ahma_ had closed the subject, had breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

Later that night, however, as Eadric had strolled in the gardens in an attempt to aid his digestion (he seldom ate rich food, and boar did not agree with him), the soil between two rose bushes had begun to warp and ripple. Nwm had appeared, rising from the ground in the shape of a pillar of earth which had rapidly assumed a more recognizable, human form.

The druid had shaken his head, and dirt had fallen out of his tangled hair. 

"I understand that I am to officiate at Skadding's investiture tomorrow," he had said in a matter-of-fact way.

"How did Caur contact you?" Eadric had asked, sighing.

"He didn't," Nwm had answered.

"Then how do you know?"

"At this present moment, I know pretty much everything," Nwm had replied. It was true – the Druid had been buoyed by the cycle of augmentations devised by Mostin, and in which he had taken part. "Although, actually, a wizard of our mutual acquaintance informed me of the probability that you would be asked to anoint the new Duke, and that you would refuse on the grounds that it would alienate the Uediian faction."

"I assume that the interpretation of the _web of motes_ is passing according to plan, then?"

Nwm had shrugged. "I'm leaving it to Mostin to work out."

"And what have you been doing?"

"Watching birds, mainly," Nwm had answered.

"And you have discovered…?"

"Nothing that I didn't already know," Nwm had admitted. "I'm telling you, Ed: omniscience isn't all it's cracked up to be."

Eadric guffawed.

"In any case, we'll both perform the ceremony tomorrow."

"I don't think so…" Eadric had begun.

"There is actually an eighty-eight percent chance that I will change your mind in that regard," Nwm had grinned, "so you may as well just throw in the towel now, and save yourself the argument."

Eadric had sighed. "Skadding will…"

"He'll agree too," Nwm had interrupted. 

"But Foide…"

"Will come around. What choice does he have, Eadric? _Vox populi_ and all that: he is nothing, if not politically astute. He won't want his son to begin his tenure in a climate of apathy and indifference. You'll be doing the boy a favour. Trust me, Ed. Press this point now, and save yourself some grief down the road. Now, I'm hungry. Is there any food left?"


So it was that Nwm the Preceptor placed the coronet – a twisted wreath of ivy, mistletoe and oak-leaves – upon the head of Skadding, and Eadric anointed him with holy water.

The company – over a hundred noble families – made a slow procession from the Howe to the Hall of the Seat, which had stood empty since Soraine's death at the hands of Rimilin five months before. Skadding assumed his place amidst much panoply, and began his large – and depressingly administrative – set of duties. He had a huge backlog to contend with. Aristocrats bickered about land ownership, hunting rights, debts, impending marriages and when the next tourney should be held. Commoners waited outside in droves to voice their complaints regarding the bread dole, the theft of pigs, taxes on beer, and the quantity of devalued coinage in circulation. Several sought recompense from soldiers for unwanted pregnancies in indiscreet daughters. Representatives from the Guild of Clockmakers preened themselves in anticipation of an audience. Entertainers seeking employment breathed fire, sang ditties or performed minor tricks of prestidigitation.

Eadric looked at Nwm. "And you wanted _me_ to do this job?" He said in a low voice.

"On reflection, I think maybe you were right."

As the _Ahma_ took his leave of the new Duke, he bowed, placed his hand upon the marble floor, incanted, and touched his eagle pendant in what most there assumed was a final blessing. A feeling of indescribable calm descended upon the Hall of the Seat. Nwm felt a frisson of power and suppressed a look of astonishment, and questioned Eadric as soon as they were outside again.

"Did you just do what I think you did?" The Druid asked.

"That is entirely possible," Eadric nodded.

"And since when could you just _do_ that?"

"I don't know," Eadric shrugged. "I've never really tried before."

Nwm nodded. "Good," he said. "This may save me considerable effort and labour in the future."


With a passing thought, Eadric had _hallowed_ the hall, and with his brief invocation had laid a _zone of truth_ upon the place. No fiend – openly or in possession of another – could enter there, and, for a year at least, no lie could be spoken there without considerable effort.

Skadding was young and inexperienced, and already had enough to contend with without falling prey to the scheming mendacity of vassals, peers, ambassadors, and family. Or demons, for that matter.


**


Ortwin sang. Purportedly, a composition in Ytryn's honour, commissioned by Nhura as a gift to the Duke.

_Whatever else he does_, Iua mused to herself as she listened, _lying aside, Ortwin does this best_. He was an arrogant, self-indulgent, narcissistic erotomaniac – to be sure – but he had an uncanny ability to tap into the aesthetic sensibilities of his audience. His song was dark, brooding, and melancholic. It conveyed a lust for blood, it exalted pain, and suggested the promise of a grim satiation which would be all-fulfilling but transient; and then the birth of the next desire, which would, in turn, be pursued to its empty and bitter conclusion. Ennui. Psychosis and apathy. The fleeting release from the curse of immortality.

Iua didn't even understand the words: Ortwin sang in an archaic dialect of Sylvan.

The duelist watched Koilimilou carefully, but if the cambion was moved by the Bard's performance, she displayed no outward sign of it. But neither Iua, nor Koilimilou, nor the marilith Sethee were alerted to Ortwin's true message – directed at Ytryn alone, and concealed within the song.

[Make no response to this communication – I suspect you lack the subtlety possessed by yonder demoness, and she would quickly realize your intention.

Graz'zt's hegemony here will shortly end. His enemies already mobilize themselves. Nhura is returning, and her allies will crush Ainhorr. Rhyxali – your other patroness – is poised to retake her rightful property. Soneillon craves vengeance, and her designs will soon bear fruit.

Where will your loyalties lie, Duke Ytryn? To whom will you pledge your treacherous sword? Listen well, and you will survive the orgy of death and prosper in the aftermath. When the gates to the other worlds open, and the demons at Chaltipeluse are recalled to the battle before the walls of Irknaan's palace, you will slay those that remain here. You will mobilize your army, and join Queen Nhura in the fray.

In payment, Nhura will grant you Someranth: Menicau will likely not survive the upcoming conflict and if, by some strange chance she does, she will not survive long _after_ it. If you fail, then Nhura's ire will turn towards you, and like those others who betray her, you will die painfully.

And Ytryn, in case you forget, I am an ambassador from Faerie and you will guarantee my safe passage and lend me such aid as custom dictates. Koilimilou and the slaad Qhrsjh are under my protection. Do not underestimate my influence or my reach. If I am assailed, then the Hunters will descend upon you, and drag you to a doom which even you cannot imagine.]

_…and of frost
and unrelenting pursuit
and jealous death._

Ortwin finished his song. His innuendo had conveyed information which was – to his knowledge – at least partially accurate. Admittedly, he might have been a little liberal with his interpretation of the facts, and his promises might not have been sanctioned by Nhura. No matter. He had no doubt that Ytryn believed him – it was merely a question of how the Duke would react to what he had heard.*


**


There had been two of them. They had been fast: faster than he was. Their motion was precise, calculated and deadly. He had been taking his pleasure when they struck.

His feeling had been one of outrage, coupled with incredulity. How had they reached him here? There were precious few areas in Zelatar where it was possible to _teleport_ or open a _gate_. Places which – by necessity – were not _dimensionally locked_, and he knew them all intimately. Most of them were known _only_ to him.

He had been alerted by a blur of shadowy motion, and a feeling of pain which ripped through his shoulder, piercing demonic flesh and sinew and spilling his ichor upon the floor of his own harem. He had been stabbed nine times more before he had reacted.**

Fearing for his very existence, Graz'zt had emanated a shroud of death and destruction which had instantly annihilated his assailants, together with three succubi and the marilith Chuschi – his current favorite.

The glooms had evaporated, returning to whatever shady realm they had issued from. They had been _summoned_ creatures, and possessed no final reality.

Immediately afterwards, Graz'zt had locked the whole of Zelatar, except for the _gate_ room – where the guard was quadrupled. Brutal interrogations of scores of demons – mainly nalfeshnees in possession of _cubic gates_ who presided over various conquered worlds – ensued. A wave of tortures, mutilations and assassinations flooded through the citadel and city as the Prince's paranoia asserted itself, and his demonic servitors found an opportunity to settle old scores.

Graz'zt retreated to his sanctum, rapidly healed his wounds, and gave thought to revenge. 






*Ortwin – benefitting from a multiply empowered _eagle's splendour_ comfortably made a DC 50 Bluff check – enough to 1) convey his innuendo successfully without alerting the others present; and 2) simultaneously lie sufficiently well to convince Ytryn that he was an important sidhe of powerful connections, and crossing him would result in the Duke's rapid demise. All was hidden within the context of a song which rivalled those composed by the most accomplished of faerie bards and minstrels.

**Graz'zt's DR – 20/Cold Iron and Epic and Good – actually saved his bacon. Still, the _+10 keen daggers_ used by the glooms filled him full of holes.


----------



## grodog

Niiiice work Sep!   

Interesting to see the Ahma sanctioning the use of assassination---at least through his approval of/association with Mostin and Shomei....

Just how many cubic gates does Graz'zt own, btw?  It sounds like thousands and thousands---which throws the old 2-3 Miscellaneous Magic Items per campaign world (from the 1e DMG) right out the window  

I'm surprised that Mostin, et al, haven't made use of fast-time planes in order to plot/plan their strategies and then assault Afqithan (and Graz'zt) after a relative-year-or-so of tactical- and magical planning conducted under the guidance of the Web of Motes.  I suppose they may be safer in Wyre, with the interdict, but I'm sure they could find some backwater in the multiverse where Graz'zt wouldn't be likely to find them.  

Speaking of the Web of Motes, Sep, how have the players worked through what they want the PCs to do while under its effects?


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## Mathew_Freeman

A _gloom_ is a CR25 monster from the Epic Level Handbook, that makes an more than excellent assasain. It has Hide +46, Move Silently +66 and does 13d6 sneak attack damage...no wonder Grazzt got injured!


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## Jackylhunter

Fantastic as always Sep.

Wonder if Eadric even knew about the assassination attempt, and I wonder what the Sela is planning to do with Nehael, now that he has rescued her.  Will Eadric still go through with the plot to kill graz'zt if he finds out she is free?

One final thought, with Mostins new epic INT augment spell, is he able to get more information from the Web of Motes than Jovol/Fillein was??

Thanks again Sep, and grats on the new home.


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## Salthorae

*Nehael's fate*

I don't think that she was "rescued" in the traditional sense of the word. I may have misread the post, but I thought that she was left in her prison, but that the nature of the prison had changed for the (much) better...but i could very well be wrong


----------



## Joshua Randall

> Rintrah laid her by the bole of the tree, _hallowed_ the sphere, and vanished. Nehael slept for the first time in her immeasurably long existence.



I take this to mean that Nehael is now mortal?



> The _Sela_ shifted his position, and a single bead of sweat trickled from his temple. It had been a particularly difficult meditation.



This is a great use of understatement. If something makes a god sweat -- !


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## dream66_

wolff96 said:
			
		

> And if you ever need any proof of how many people love your writing, Sep, then think about this: despite the (approximate) two-month posting haitus while you moved, so much interest was shown in this storyhour that it pretty much NEVER left the front page.




Actually, I think that was proven long ago when Sep posted just one  post of his story and thinking no one liked it he didn't come back again for 6 months, during this time it never left the front page!   Some of us checked for an update DAILY for 6 months after only one post.


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## Roman

dream66_ said:
			
		

> Actually, I think that was proven long ago when Sep posted just one  post of his story and thinking no one liked it he didn't come back again for 6 months, during this time it never left the front page!   Some of us checked for an update DAILY for 6 months after only one post.




I participated daily in this two month hiatus - I am sure I would have done so for 6 months had I known about this story hour at the time. This story hour is simply addictive! I hope Sep continues writing it for a long time to come.


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## Sepulchrave II

> Just how many cubic gates does Graz'zt own, btw?




Forty, or thereabouts. Of the five hundred or so worlds which Graz'zt has an investment in, activities within the most intractable, lucrative or politically sensitive are overseen by nalfeshnees with _cubic gates_. Bear in mind that each _cubic gate_ can be keyed to five planes other than Azzagrat. This requires a little mutitasking from the nalfeshnees, who each may have several worlds to administer.



> Speaking of the Web of Motes, Sep, how have the players worked through what they want the PCs to do while under its effects?




We actually ran several 'what if' scenarios - e.g. putting Eadric up against Graz'zt and then Ainhorr in combat in order for the players to determine the likely course of events should it happen for real, and where possible lines of attack might lie. The most useful thing, however, was _information_.

Shomei 'knew' the areas of Zelatar which were accessible, and where Graz'zt would be at a certain time. Mostin determined the involvement of Kostchtchie and his allies, and the point of their arrival. The reactions by individuals (Menicau, Graz'zt, Samodoquol etc.) to certain events - if they occurred - were also revealed. This meant me keeping a big list of 'what ifs' and sticking to the outcomes as closely as possible. 

Any kind of prescience in a game is difficult to run - this goes for _augury_ and _divination_ as much as for interpreting the _web of motes_. I was flexible after the augmentation had ended as well - there would have been information garnered during the divination which the characters would have known without the players necessarily having directly asked the questions - they spent time analyzing many aspects of Afqithan's politics. So a conversation might later go:

Dan (Mostin's player): "How many knights does Shondipere have?"

DM: "Nine."

Dan: "Are any areas of his fortress _dimensionally locked_"

DM: "No."

Dan: "Can he be _scried_?"

DM: "Yes."

etc. The amount of information that I would divulge would decrease over time, until a point arrived whereby 'normality' would return to the game wrt the players' knowledge. But the aftermath of the _web of motes_ was actually harder to judge than the experience itself. 



> Just thought of something. How is Shomei conjuring and commanding Glooms?




Epic spell, cast twice.



> For that matter, how can Mostin become a Hellfire Wyrm? Aren't they like 25 HD?




_Shapechange 3.5_.




> I would like to ask whether the campaign still continues today,




Yes, if sporadically at present.



> how many sessions behind the campaign is the story now




Too many to count. This last one was from October.



> and how whether one update equals approximately one session?




No, even though I've glossed over or omitted a lot of stuff to try and speed things through.

Thanks for your continued interest, all.


----------



## Roman

Sepulchrave II said:
			
		

> We actually ran several 'what if' scenarios - e.g. putting Eadric up against Graz'zt and then Ainhorr in combat in order for the players to determine the likely course of events should it happen for real, and where possible lines of attack might lie. The most useful thing, however, was _information_.




This is a very innovative way to handle prescience. I like it a lot!


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## Talix

Huh - if it's that "easy", I'm surprised that the heroes aren't focusing on getting a few epic, good, cold-iron weapons, and summoning a few more glooms, and letting them take Grazzt out.


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## Roman

Sepulchrave II said:
			
		

> etc. The amount of information that I would divulge would decrease over time, until a point arrived whereby 'normality' would return to the game wrt the players' knowledge. But the aftermath of the _web of motes_ was actually harder to judge than the experience itself.




Hmm, this is highly interesting. How long, approximately, after prescience or divination do you keep on divulging some information to the players?


----------



## Roman

Hmm, I am wondering what is with Neahel now. She has been released from her suffering, but had already experienced indescribable pain beforehand. I wonder how she will be changed by the experience. Will she fall again, or perhaps be fully redeemed? It may even be that the suffering she had to endure was necessary to complete her repentance. Opinions?


----------



## the Jester

Say, I don't suppose Mostin would be interested in (and allowed to) trading spells with _my_ epic-level alienist?  Perhaps telepathically over the Far Realms at some point or something...

she actually already knows one of his spells from the boards here (the _metagnostic inquiry,_ though as a 9th-level spell), but it would be fun to be able to say I traded spells with him!

As a lil enticement...

YOLANDA’S GRUESOME GLOBULES
Transmutation
Level: Sor/wiz 7
Components: V, S
Casting Time: 1 standard action
Range: Medium (100’+10’/level)
Effect: One globule/five levels
Duration: 1 round/level
Saving Throw: Fort negates
Spell Resistance: Yes

You create moist pulsating globules that fly at creatures that you indicate.  Each creature that fails a save is affected as the globule melds with its flesh (or whatever it’s made of), causing its form to destabilize.  Their limbs turn stringy and runny and they become entangled in their own bodies.  Entangled creatures cannot effectively free themselves or take any actions requiring physical movement, including attacks, moving, casting a spell with a somatic component, etc.  The victims can still speak or take purely mental actions.  A stoneskin, polymorph, dispel chaos or break enchantment spell cast on a victim has a 50% chance of stabilizing its form and restoring it to its normal shape (spells cast to counteract the globules have no other effects).

Oozes and creatures with the amorphous special quality are immune to Yolanda’s gruesome globules.


----------



## Olive

Roman said:
			
		

> Hmm, I am wondering what is with Neahel now. She has been released from her suffering, but had already experienced indescribable pain beforehand. I wonder how she will be changed by the experience. Will she fall again, or perhaps be fully redeemed? It may even be that the suffering she had to endure was necessary to complete her repentance. Opinions?




I think she's dead. That was how I read the being released...


----------



## Roman

Olive said:
			
		

> I think she's dead. That was how I read the being released...




Hmm, that explanation had not occured to me, but it is certainly plausible.


----------



## Sepulchrave II

> YOLANDA’S GRUESOME GLOBULES...




You have a truly warped imagination. I like it.

A wee update, I think...



****



*Dragonplay* 


The tower was a slender, delicate structure, rising some thirty fathoms from a low hillock and twisting deliciously before reaching its crest. It was carved in intricate relief and inlayed with precious metals which seemed to capture and then amplify the perpetual twilight, and stars glistened softly at its apex. Around it, arranged in elegant symmetry, five more towers – the hues of which were subtly different – rose in close proximity to half the height of the central spire, their shoulders attached by narrow buttresses of both aesthetic and functional design. 

It was the home of Shondipere, a Loquai aristocrat and vassal of Queen Menicau. Shondipere was a noble of middling means, who nonetheless boasted an excellent pedigree. His title – if translated from the Sylvan – might have been 'baron' or 'thane': in fact, the Loquai admitted to greater variation within their order of precedence than most human cultures.

Only fifteen Loquai dwelt with Shondipere, and all were related. The remainder of his household consisted of a handful of umbral quicklings who acted as messengers and spies, two _charmed_ fiendish trolls who served as door-wards, a dozen slow-witted gnome slaves, and the noble's pet monster – an abyssal basilisk named Turchin. Shondipere kept a stable of twenty griffons, although he seldom ventured beyond the confines of his castle, content to busy himself composing morbid verse, or indulging his dark and violent fantasies. 

Shondipere had spent the last several hours – or was it days? he paid little heed to the passage of time – closeted alone in an airy rotunda pondering upon various aspects of the nature of pain. His reverie had been interrupted when two palrethees and a small troop of bar-lgura – agents of the balor Ainhorr – had arrived and required that he surrender his daughter as hostage, together with a large portion of his portable wealth. Shondipere had remained impassive, and conceded to their demands – he felt no particular attachment to his offspring, and was anxious to return to his contemplation. His primary concern regarding his daughter was that, were she to die, he would be without an heir – precipitating a need to find another mate and to sire further progeny.

Shondipere was therefore vexed when the quickling Khimpa darted into the rotunda and bowed her tiny head to the glass floor at his feet. Shondipere gestured irritably, a sign that the sprite should speak.

"Two devils require an audience, Lord," Khimpa squeaked rapidly, her malevolent face betraying a certain wicked glee at the discomfort that she knew the news would cause her master.

Shondipere observed the quickling's features, and made a mental note to have her punished for insubordination later. A brief spell with the trolls might encourage her to act with more civility, or at least hide her emotions better.

"What is their order?" Shondipere inquired coldly.

"A horned devil and an erinyes, Lord," Khimpa replied.

Shondipere scowled. What was a cornugon doing _here_? He had been informed of the presence of the three dukes in Afqithan, of course, but whatever their purpose was, it didn't concern him. It seemed likely the arrival of two devils at his own gates was connected – unless it was a ruse devised by Menicau, or maybe Ainhorr himself: to test Shondipere's loyalty, or perhaps out of sheer perversity. 

"Order the household to assemble," he sighed. "I will receive them in the heptagon in ten minutes."

As they approached, Shondipere – cautious of being drawn into some diabolic intrigue which he had no desire to enmesh himself in – studied the devils carefully.

_Something isn't right_, was his last thought.


**


Eadric and Nwm – together with Contundor, Sem and Gheim – _wind walked_ to Deorham. The Druid intended to dispose of the blackthorn tree which occupied the courtyard of Kyrtill's Burh, together with its grizzly fruit – the carcasses of the demons who had assailed the keep. More than a fortnight had passed since the attack, but Eadric's servants had been disinclined to deal with the spectacle, concerned that some taint might infect them, and generally shunning the northern and western parts of the bailey. And the _Ahma_ was anxious for things to return to normal – for their usual brief while, at least.

In the event, Eadric changed his mind. The remains of the demons should probably go, he suggested wrily, but the tree itself could stay. It would act as a reminder to himself – and any potential threats to him – that he was not without allies, albeit strange ones which he often failed to understand. 

In a businesslike manner, Nwm used his magic to clean up the mess he had made, removing the flags which had shattered upon the sudden growth of the tree, and replacing them with a small garden around the blackthorn's bole. Concerned that the tree might still appear rather dark and gloomy, he caused it to flower, and tiny clusters of white and pale yellow appeared on its spiky twigs. It was out of season, but a justifiable tinkering, given the circumstances. The spell which Nwm invoked to achieve the effect was, however, of less than pinpoint accuracy, and the ivy which clung to the Steeple and the keep burgeoned into a thick cover. Eadric sighed and entered the chapel.

Of the quartet of celestials called by Tahl, the single remaining deva, Saphrez, was deputed by Eadric to guard the sanctum. The celestial remained near the altar, _invisible_, and was enjoined to bestow whatever blessings it might upon those who came to pray there. The decision was both timely and unfortunate – it transpired that a group of pilgrims from Ialde were already boarded at _The Twelve Elms_, the only inn in the village of Deorham, some two miles distant. When Eadric – reluctant that his home become a shrine – conveyed his concerns to Nwm, he received an unsympathetic response. 

"I'm surprised it took this long, actually," the Druid said laconically. "If it troubles you that much, just ask Mostin to move in. I'm sure he would discourage any pietists from undertaking the journey here." 

Eadric grumbled. It occurred to him that his intent – to have the deva act as a support for his staff, and a source of healing for those locals who required it – would  rapidly foster a situation which attracted zealots and fundamentalists. But he could hardly _deny_ succour to those who came to Kyrtill's Burh seeking it.

"Keep the gates open," he wearily instructed his servants, "but allow visitors access to the well and the chapel only, and encourage them not to linger too long."

Later that day, after Nwm had retired to his glade, Eadric watched from a window within the Steeple as a party of twenty pilgrims with travel-stained clothes made a slow procession up the knoll, across the bridge, through the courtyard and into the chapel. Hopefully, he mused wrily, none of them were _cursed_, diseased or injured, Saphrez could remain inactive, and news of miraculous goings-on at Kyrtill's Burh would be delayed for a little while. But it was only a matter of time. And if any petitioned him directly for spiritual aid, he was duty-bound to provide it. Whilst he did not resent it, he could feel no upwelling of generosity or compassion while he still had so much more to do: first and foremost, he remained a soldier.

As the _Ahma_ leaned upon the sill, gazed down from the tower, and ruminated on his various responsibilities, a sudden breeze caused his hackles to rise and the faint scent of death and lotus reached his nostrils. A pair of slender arms encircled his waist, and a soft face pressed against his back. Wings began to fold around him, beckoning him inwards. He swallowed, and pulled himself away.

The void-that-was-a-demon-who-was-a-girl had returned, apparently seeking reassurance.


**


Mostin rapidly changed his form, shedding his diabolic body and assuming the shape of a dragon fifty feet long which barely fit into the lofty reception chamber. His scales kindled to a searing flame, and he breathed a gout of infernal fire over Shondipere, the four knights who flanked him, and a pair of unlucky quicklings who happened to be hovering in the wrong place. All were instantly immolated.

Chaos erupted all around. Gnome slaves and sprites fled for cover, and several of the remaining Loquai immediately _plane shifted_ to Shadow. Others shakily targeted Mostin with spells or arrows, none of which affected him. He leapt upwards, smashing his head through the delicate glass dome, shattering the plinths either side of it, and took to the sky briefly before settling upon a slender buttress, which began to crack under his weight. Mostin flapped his wings inexpertly to compensate. 

Inside of the heptagon, Shomei had taken the form of another wyrm. Hellfire erupted again briefly, before she joined Mostin above the castle, perching upon the topmost spire.

"We should give the gnomes a few minutes to escape, and then just flatten the place," she called down.

Mostin nodded enthusiastically. _Shapechange_ was rapidly becoming his new favourite spell. 


**


"Are they yours?" Titivilus asked Furcus, smiling.

"No indeed," Furcas replied, stroking his beard.

Titivilus sighed inwardly. It was a pointless question – the Count of Rhetoric was almost as good a liar as himself.

"Apparently, they are very large ones." Titivilus said. "And they have levelled four strongholds already. I cannot _scry_ them – they are warded. I am returning to Dis. Duke Allocer should know."

"Is that wise?" Furcas asked. "They might be his."

"They may also be rogue," Titivilus countered, wondering whether Furcas dissembled and, if so, what his motive was.

"One, perhaps; but two? Unlikely. Murmuur would…"

"I think it best that we do not inform Murmuur," Titivilus interrupted. "If they are his, it is better that he doesn't know that we know."

"Murmuur's knights are mandated to intervene in affairs if necessary," Furcas scowled. "And he is here. Are you suggesting that we withhold information from our commander? That is a bold course to take."

"Not at all," Titivilus replied, careful to avoid any possible accusations of insubordination. "I'm merely saying that, if they _are_ his, then it may be that we are not meant to know. I would regret upsetting any wider plan because of our over-diligence in information gathering." 

"It may be related to your former protégée's petition."

"Perhaps," Titivilus nodded, not knowing what it was that Furcas referred to, but unwilling to make that fact known, "but _which_ petition? Now that another has been made, it merely complicates things further." He _had_ to return to the Iron City, to find out what was going on. He discreetly studied the face of Furcas for a response, but the Count evinced none.

"And she may have made several others, news of which has not yet reached us," Furcas pointed out, curious as to whether Titivilus lied about the second petition and, if not, to whom it might have been addressed. "On reflection, perhaps you _should_ return to Dis. I will guard our interests here in the meanwhile."

The mind of Titivilus twisted, wondering whether that had been Furcas's intent from the outset. The Confuser decided to play along with it. "It might be prudent to mobilize some of your troops," he suggested, "in the event that an unknown rival Duke is involved. I could bring a communiqué to Sobel* to that effect, if you so wish."

"I would prefer to relay such a message myself, should the need arise," Furcas said drily. "I would be embarrassed if the information was somehow misapprehended."

"That is understandable," Titivilus agreed. "Perhaps you should appoint an aide whose mental faculties are more sharply honed."

 Furcas smiled thinly.

"Do you then have _no_ requests?"

"That depends. Are you planning to visit Malbolge as well?" Furcas inquired.

"Only if our Dread Master demands it," Titivilus replied, the merest hint of sarcasm in his voice. Malbolge was a tedious, brutal environment, which lacked any sophistication: a far cry from the subtleties and intrigues of Dis.

"It might be prudent to ensure that Murmuur's troops are adequately prepared.**"

"That is a wise precaution," Titivilus concurred.

"And give my respects to our Lord, should you see him," Furcas smiled.

"Naturally," Titivilus lied. 


**


Soneillon appeared in her natural form. She seemed utterly drained, although, at first, Eadric was nonetheless cautious that it might be a ruse. It was as though, somehow, the Void had diminished in stature. _Ens_ had polluted her, diluting her with matter and energy. It had the effect of making her seem more tangible and real than normal. 

A faint tracery of scars – wounds which she had recently received, and the vestiges of which had not yet entirely vanished – covered her arms, neck, wings and torso. Blackness stained the skin beneath her ears and nostrils, where enormous backlash energies had caused her demonic body to rupture. Her hands and fingernails were caked with dried ichor: when she had spent her last spell, Eadric knew, and they had grappled her within the unlight which surrounded her, she had torn at them in a frenzy with her claws.

"The Paling*** has been breached," she smiled wrily. "Adyell _disjoined_ a section of it before she defected. Janiq's bar-lgura are pouring through. I am asking for your help."

_Oronthon_, he swore silently. _She really is vulnerable._ He sighed. "Very well. How long do we have?"

"Helitihai and Chaya patched the defenses with multiple _walls of force_, but they were being systematically _disintegrated_ by daemon mercenaries as I left. It is impossible to say. Throile must not fall, Eadric."

He nodded. "We need Mostin. Can you issue a _sending_?"

"I am spent!" Soneillon snapped. "I have magic enough to return us to Throile, that is all."

"Or to issue a _sending_?"

The message sped to Afqithan:

_The _Ahma_ commands that you attend him in his stronghold. Events are spiralling out of control in Throile. Your assistance is required._

Mostin raised a draconic eyebrow. He turned to Shomei. "I have just received a _sending_ from Soneillon – she is labouring under the impression that I am somehow Eadric's servant. No matter. It seems as though the second Throile thread is crystallizing."

Shomei groaned. "That's the one with the ultrodaemons."

"Unfortunately, yes."


*


The pious were gathered in the courtyard, speaking amongst themselves in hushed voices, when one of them noticed the _Ahma_ walking towards them from the base of the Steeple. Excitedly, he pointed out Eadric to his companions.

Their sense of religious awe was replaced by a feeling of confusion as, beneath the blackthorn, Soneillon manifested. There was talk of a demoness associated with the _Ahma_, of course, but rumour spoke of her being _genteel_ in appearance. This creature was wild, naked, bloodstained.

Effortlessly reading their thoughts, Soneillon smiled. Despite all that had transpired, the temptation to _charm_ these hapless mortals was still almost too much to resist. Eadric stared stonily at her.

Above them, the sky darkened momentarily and a fissure in space ripped open. As two enormous wyrms, wreathed in infernal fire thundered through a _gate_, beyond them a scene from a dream – or nightmare – was briefly revealed: a twilit sky, streaked with deep indigo, saffron and vermillion. 

The pilgrims fled from Kyrtill's Burh, adequately instructed, Eadric considered, in the application of the dialectic. 








*Sobel – the lieutenant appointed to Furcas by Dispater – is an advanced erinyes with considerable tactical savvy. Although Furcas holds wide estates and can muster 29 legions of devils (primarily barbazu), he takes little pleasure in martial pursuits. Sobel watches the Duke of Rhetoric and communicates his activities to Dis, but Furcas still values her advice and military expertise.

** i.e. find out exactly who, and what, and how many, and whether any hellfire wyrms had been deployed.

*** The enormous magical outer defense which surrounds Soneillon's citadel in Throile. It is impenetrable to normal physical movement, and inside it _teleportation_ is severely restricted, although _gates_ may open within its confines. Access to the citadel is controlled through three portals which open or close according to Soneillon's will.


----------



## Olive

Sepulchrave II said:
			
		

> The pilgrims fled from Kyrtill's Burh, adequately instructed, Eadric considered, in the application of the dialectic.




Ohhh, I like that!



			
				Sepulchrave II said:
			
		

> "It may be related to your former protégée's petition."
> 
> "Perhaps," Titivilus nodded, not knowing what it was that Furcas referred to,




I must admit, I share the same confusion as Titivilus. Which protégée? Ederic?


----------



## Gez

Eadric would be a _protégé_.

We're talking about a _protégée_ here. I guess Shomei. The "former" part support this guesssing.


----------



## humble minion

Titivilus and Furcas make my head hurt.  And this is a good thing.  

As an aside - Olive is another Melbournite!  Never noticed that before...


----------



## shilsen

Sepulchrave II said:
			
		

> The void-that-was-a-demon-who-was-a-girl had returned, apparently seeking reassurance.




Awwwww


----------



## Seule

I assumed that Nehael was the protégée.  I could easily be wrong though.

  --Seule


----------



## Salthorae

I'm pretty sure Gez has the right of it, Shomei being the protegee that is 

Oh and Humble Minion...i've been to Melbourne, does that count for anything?


----------



## Sepulchrave II

> I guess Shomei. The "former" part support this guesssing.




Yep. Shomei approached at least one member of Belial's court (Duke Bathym) for military assistance - news that had reached Furcas, but not Titivilus. I was going to include a footnote, but thought 'what the hell.'



> _The void-that-was-a-demon-who-was-a-girl had returned, apparently seeking reassurance._
> 
> Awwwww.




Sucker!!!!


----------



## humble minion

gloomymarshes said:
			
		

> What did I miss?! Since when is Throile under attack? And by who?




As far as I remember, Soneillon is an old consort, now rival, of Graz'zt, and it is his and Kositsche's (spelling?) forces that are attacking her now.  Eadric et al are playing 'enemy of my enemy is my friend'.  Unfortunately, this cuts both ways, and they now have to blip off to the Abyss to help defend the demense of a demon lord...

Salthorae - while you do get points for visiting Melbourne, I'm afraid I'll have to mark you down for leaving...


----------



## humble minion

Olive said:
			
		

> Well, NZer in Melbourne.




Well, you know us Aussies - if you're an NZer living in Australia for any length of time and do any good, we'll claim you like a shot...  (Russell Crowe, Shihad, Crowded House...)


----------



## the Jester

Sepulchrave II said:
			
		

> You have a truly warped imagination. I like it.




Sep said _I_ have a warped imagination!    

Anyone else see a certain irony here...?


----------



## Urbanmech

> Mostin nodded enthusiastically. Shapechange was rapidly becoming his new favourite spell.




I must say that I agree with Mostin on that one.  Shapechange is one of the most fun spells out there.

Even the short updates to this Story Hour are amazing.  Plus the DMing tips for handling divinations and really, really high intelligence are excellent.  

Has your group made the switch over to 3.5e or are you just taking bits and pieces?  3.5e ramps up the power of Shapechange but really puts a crimp in all the Gating going on with the experience cost.  Just wondering how the changes have effected your game.


----------



## Despaxas

Woohooo, finally made it through all of the threads. I'm stunned at the complexity of it all and saddened that my own DM isn't weaving such fantastic tales of deceit, trickery and heroeism. Yet at the same time my spirit is uplifted with visions of grandeur that my humble self may be able to bring to my own game; insights and wonders, inspired as I am by this epic tale. 

Humbly I thank you Sepulchrave ...

Just thought of a saddening reality: I must now, along with all you other poor slobs out there wait for the next update (which I hope will be soon forthcoming).

And now, running out of big words and melodrama, I will part and sit idly by waiting ... ever waiting.


----------



## John Q. Mayhem

Awesome update. I've been reading this SH for a while, can't remember if I've ever posted, but I LOVE your stuff, Sep. Great job, you deserve to be published.


----------



## Jackylhunter

I can't remember who suggested it, but I think Sep should find out if he can publish his works into a campaign setting.  I think he's done a TON of work fleshing out the world of Wyre.  I think it would make a great addition to any gamers library...


----------



## sithramir

I am just awe struck as usual. Sep you make me wish I could join in your games some time. Amazing stuff for sure!


----------



## Suldulin

Jackylhunter said:
			
		

> I can't remember who suggested it, but I think Sep should find out if he can publish his works into a campaign setting.  I think he's done a TON of work fleshing out the world of Wyre.  I think it would make a great addition to any gamers library...




aye, that and/or a novel. . . either or both would be good 

hrm, wonder if a donation or something of the sort could be set up, kinda like some webcomics


----------



## Jackylhunter

I'm sure Sep wouldn't mind a monthly donation drive...


----------



## Sejs

> BTW: Is the tree somehow tainted?



  I can't really see how it would be, seeing as how Nwm made it.  

It would look rather nasty and wicked to your average joe farmer though, what with all the spikes and gore and whatnot.  Would be easy for the uninformed layperson to draw the wrong conclusions that way. *nod*


----------



## grodog

New Sep posts in the Rogue's Gallery thread, in case folks haven't been over there in awhile:

http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=5652


----------



## Sepulchrave II

For the record, I use the terms _yugoloth_ and _daemon_ interchangeably, depending on my whim.



****



*More Than You Can Chew: Part 1*


"I think that _three_ of these wyrms might arouse a little too much suspicion," Nwm groaned, looking up into Mostin's enormous, sunken, draconic eyes. "It might also cause an unpleasant escalation – has it occurred to you that the Devils currently in Afqithan will probably be blamed?"

"Well of course it has," Mostin sighed. Flames cascaded over his crest irritably. "If you'd spent your time productively, studying the _web of motes_…"

"It is a non-issue," Shomei said to Nwm. "It will cause confusion, certainly, but events are hardly likely to 'escalate' any more than they have already: how can they? Besides, even if news reaches Graz'zt, what can he do?"

"He will not come himself?" Eadric asked.

"No future that I have observed involves Graz'zt leaving Azzagrat," Mostin said.

Eadric clenched his jaw. "But the plan…"

"The plan to lure him forth is unworkable," Mostin hissed. "My apologies – that was more condescending than I intended. These vocal cords are not equipped for comments that don't sound sarcastic. Graz'zt will remain closeted in Zelatar, irrespective of our actions. We shouldn't be surprised: if his venturing forth entailed even a one in ten thousand chance of his demise, then he would not do it. It would be foolhardy, from his perspective. He has not retained an aeons-long regime by acting precipitously."

Eadric scowled, and his eyes bored into Soneillon. "You knew this."

"I would have guessed it," she smiled.

"But you allowed us to entertain the possibility, nonetheless?"

"You are the _Ahma_," she said simply. "It is reasonable to assume that you possess a degree of insight that I do not. Our perspectives are complimentary, Eadric, not antagonistic."

"Then…"

"I have acted already," Shomei sighed. "Mostin and I deemed it appropriate to increase his paranoia. I sent two glooms to assassinate him yesterday."

Eadric gaped. He didn't know what a gloom as, but they sounded impressive.

"They were unsuccessful," Shomei added quickly. "But he has _locked_ Zelatar in reaction. He is currently busying himself with purges."

Soneillon looked bored, and yawned.

Mostin nodded. "I get the hint. One moment please." He turned to the Druid. "Nwm, if the hellfire wyrm is an unappealing form, you might want to try _this_.*" 

The Alienist rapidly shifted into a monstrous, winged, four-armed brute of truly terrifying aspect. Its hyena-like head was surrounded by a mane of spikes which dripped venom, but its most unsettling feature was its torso. In place of a chest and abdomen there gaped a vast, toothed maw and pincers which twitched rhythmically.

"What would I do?" Nwm asked.

Mostin wiggled his pincers. "You cut their heads off."

"That doesn't seem terribly efficient," Nwm said drily. "Let's just go with the dragon."


*


Nothing could have prepared Nwm for the mind-shaking insanity which was Throile at war. As the rift between the worlds closed behind them, the full spectacle impacted on his consciousness like a tidal wave. This was likely as far as he would ever be from Wyre: by Mostin's reckoning, three hundred realities – most of them filled with demons – lay between him and the Green.

The sky was a purplish haze – at least, purple was the colour which it most closely approximated to his draconic eyes. The citadel of Soneillon below him was a colossal structure, built like a five-sided ziggurat but boasting a thousand towers which sprang from vast piers of black stone in concentric rings around its circumference. Its topmost pinnacle soared a mile above the treetops of a plush, verdant jungle which stretched as far as his eye could see. 

_The forest stretches to infinity,_ he thought. _In all directions._ It was a meaningless observation. His mind could not grasp the magnitude of it. An infinite jungle. It breathed malice and death. 

Beyond the citadel, encircling it to a distance of a league – until the trees marched upon it – was a swathe of bedrock, filled with immense shafts from which fear and an agony of violence erupted like gruesome and intangible tephra. Perhaps the pits were filled with the damned – undergoing whatever punishment they had condemned themselves to – or maybe it was some phenomenon peculiar to Throile, where a cursed earth spewed its evil into the tainted airs, in a supernatural cycle where evil itself was propagated, and diffused, and finally reabsorbed. For four fifths of its area, the blasted rock beyond the walls of the fortress was utterly devoid of motion: neither demon nor monster walked there. But in one area alone, in a sight that made the Druid's heart pound in his scale-armoured chest, the ground and skies seethed with chaos.

Drawn up like two enormous wedges, the apices of which barely touched each other, the Abyssal armies of Soneillon and Graz'zt – the latter under the command of the marilith Janiq – faced each other in an orgy of pain, destruction and death. At their interface – the connecting point between the two spearheads – was the gap within the Paling which the succubus Adyell had _disjoined_. The aperture was only eighty feet wide, and demons seethed through from outside of the invisible magical wall. Sporadically, blossoming rapidly inside of the barrier, cadres of bar-lgura manifested as first one, and then hundreds, found purchase within the warded interior where they could _teleport_ with impunity. Groups of succubi and palrethees descended upon them, or flew to intercept the units of yugoloth mercenaries who had overwhelmed the initial defense of the opening in the perimeter. Nycadaemons and yagnodaemons pushed through relentlessly, despite the frenzied resistance offered by packs of jariliths and goristros. 

The mental static was terrific: thousands of demons screaming telepathic commands, which spilled over into Nwm's thoughts as unconscious urges to commit cruelty and violence. He gaped as demons _summoned_ more demons, fell prey to compulsions and switched sides, invoked patches of _darkness_, or dispelled them. 

Further outside of the Paling, clamouring for the opportunity to press forwards, countless dretch and hordes of rutterkins, uridezu rat-demons, and  jovocs surged in restless waves. Under the supervision of hezrous, they crawled and clambered over each other, eager to claw, and bite, and rend. Quasits flitted in black swarms above them.

Emptying her bracelet of power, Shomei had rendered herself, Mostin and Nwm _invisible_ and had _mind blanked_ the Druid and the _Ahma_. All had been _hasted_. None of the spellcasters, however, were fully prepared to engage in an offensive, and the Infernalist inwardly lamented the fact that their wards might be woefully inadequate.

In the airs next to them, Soneillon relaxed into the form in which they had first encountered her in Afqithan – a shape of unbeing, around which an aura of annihilation began to glower menacingly. She folded her wings – now appearing as gaps in the fabric of reality – about herself, before invoking the nullity which was her essential nature and which had, for a brief time, been suppressed. Utter blackness encased her.

_Soneillon,_ Eadric spoke into her mind.

Her thoughts regarded him ironically.

_You need to instruct your troops not to assail me._

_Naturally, Eadric._ The Void vanished, only to reappear an instant later, a thousand feet below them, and in the thick of the press.



"A _prismatic wall_ would do the trick," Mostin sighed. "Unfortunately…"

"Nor I," Shomei nodded.

"Before we can plug the hole we need…" Mostin began.

"To take out the ultroloths," Shomei finished. "I know, I know. We need to find them first."

"How many are there?" Eadric asked, sighing.

"Five," Mostin replied. "And two arcanadaemons."

Eadric closed his eyes briefly and concentrated. A _holy aura_ kindled around himself and his unlikely companions – three hellfire wyrms. _Daylight_ suffused him.

Shomei raised an eyebrow. "That's a useful trick."

"Mostin, can you _teleport_ me to a position just inside of the opening?"

The Alienist was about to say something else, but thought better of it and clamped his jaws shut. He watched as a hundred bar-lgura began manifesting below them. "Yes," he replied.

"Good," Eadric said, drawing Lukarn. 

"Hmm," Mostin replied.

"And Mostin. Nwm."

"Mmm?" They answered in unison.

"Don't take too long in getting there. I have a feeling that I may be unduly targeted."

"You think?" Nwm replied drily.

"And Shomei."

She looked at him.

"Choose your time wisely. This may not be it."

She swallowed. _He knows. The bastard knows._

Mostin cocked his head.


**

For a brief period of time – which seemed like an altogether unpleasant eternity – the _Ahma_ was alone. His appearance on the battlefield was a surreal event, which had even demons – who routinely dealt with the bizarre and the insane – baffled. The cursed ground at his feet smoked in revulsion at his presence as he manifested within a knot of bar-lgura. They reacted rapidly and pounced on him. Eadric's shield and armour turned their buffets, and the demons which struck him recoiled, blinded by celestial light. He swung Lukarn in a great arc, slaying all of those within his arm's reach. _Scorching rays_ struck him but fizzled impotently, and he shrugged off a _dispel magic_ which targeted him. _Darkness_ would not adhere to him. 

A shadow covered him, and a flurry of claws and blows hammered down on him from above as a nycaloth lashed at him viciously, but the _holy aura_ flashed brilliantly, blinding the daemon. Two others – the source of the magic which had struck him – descended rapidly towards him.

_This isn't so bad,_ he thought to himself. But now the leaping demons around him seethed forwards again, clutching at him with powerful hands and attempting to bear him to the ground. He hewed at them, felling three of them, and thrusting one away, blinded. Others pummelled him, and he swung again, cutting a swathe through them about himself. In his mind, Lukarn sang, exulting in its potency. Almost as an afterthought, Eadric slashed upwards, striking the nycadaemon above him three times. He sidestepped as it crashed to the ground, thrashed its huge wings briefly, and expired. Another slammed into him, almost bowling him over, and thrusting him backwards five paces into the waiting clutches of the third: Eadric felt venom-tipped claws finding gaps in his armour, puncturing flesh and pinning him. Eight enormous, muscle-bound arms were groping at him in an attempt to overpower him. From his left, a _disintegrate_ struck him but failed to overcome his protections.

Above, Mostin grunted to Shomei. _There's one._ 

Deftly – and impossibly – Eadric twisted Lukarn in his wrist and began to slice at the creatures restraining him.** With four, powerful strikes, he slew one of them. The remaining daemon clung on desperately, screaming telepathically for assistance. Two of its enormous hands pinned Eadric's arm while two more pried his weapon from his grip.

The nycadaemon, unaccustomed to bearing a sword of Lukarn's power and temperament, gave a look of astonishment as it began to hack at itself with the captured weapon.

Before the next onslaught could reach him, Eadric spoke a single, quiet, _holy word._ The Abyssal rock beneath him shuddered in agony, and around sixty bar-lgura within a broad circle about him burned away into vapour. The nycadaemon – and three others who had come to its call – were stricken instantly.

Eadric stepped forwards, and retrieved Lukarn from the paralyzed monster's grasp.

_Great Goddess_, Nwm thought as he plummeted towards the battlefield. _He is made for this. This is his purpose. He is like a machine._ He finally understood just how much Soneillon needed the _Ahma_. 

The Druid discharged a cone of Infernal fire over the demons below him, simultaneously becoming visible. Behind him, Mostin and Shomei thundered over the field, burning bar-lgura footsoldiers with gouts of fire in the vicinity of where one of the ultroloths was suspected to be.

Below them, the hordes quaked.

The situation was uncannily familiar to Mostin, and he experienced a profound _déjà vu_ as he winged away. His eyes widened, as the vision of a future half-remembered flashed across his mind.

_Ainhorr_, he thought to Shomei. _Ainhorr will come._

She groaned. _Are you sure?_

_Yes. No. Yes. I'm sure._

She swallowed. The _vorpal_ sword was a vague recollection of death for her. But only one of several.

*

A succubus – a scout named Semhel who exercised no great power and held no particular responsibilities – appeared before Janiq. The marilith remained in the rearguard of her force, flanked by glabrezu bodyguards.

Semhel prostrated herself. "There is a mortal here – or a celestial. I cannot tell which."

Janiq, of quick mind, and wise to at least some of the many schemes in which her dark master was embroiled, narrowed her eyes and hissed. Adyell had confirmed that the _Ahma_ had visited Throile on at least two occasions – in fact, the doubts held by the succubus regarding Soneillon's actions had, in large part, been responsible for her defection. She barked an order at her aide – the arcanaloth Xehez.

"Issue a _sending_ immediately to Azzagrat. Eadric of Deorham is here."

Knowing that when Janiq said 'immediately,' she meant _immediately_, Xehez used a _limited wish_ to expedite the message.

In his sanctum, three words resonated in Graz'zt's mind:

_Deorham in Throile._

The Prince's reply was equally succinct:

_Detain him. I will send aid._

Janiq – along with her retinue – _teleported_ to a position which offered a better vantage of the battle, and watched, incredulous, as three hellfire wyrms – emanating _holy auras_ – appeared above the vanguard of her army.

She screamed telepathic orders to her aerial heavy cavalry – the nycadaemon mercenaries – immediately instructing the entire force to withdraw from the goristros and to intercept the dragons.

Her orders to the ultroloths – whose loyalty she still doubted – were couched in the promise of reward. _Capture the mortal, and Graz'zt will lavish gifts upon all of us. Bring the wyrms down._

She dispatched Semhel with instructions to her reserve force of bar-lgura – who waited several thousand miles away – to join the fray, and smiled. Drawing six _unholy_ swords from scabbards across her body, the Marilith prepared for battle. 

*

Mostin gyred in the sky, his aura blinding the succubi around him. In his belly, he felt the fire rising again as dozens of nycadaemons began to take off, or to manifest in the air around him.

At that point, he was struck by two simultaneous targeted _greater dispel magics_, and two quickened _unholy blights_.

_Oops_, he thought as his most of his wards vanished and he was forced back into his natural state. He vomited but retained his composure, cast a quickened _dimension door_ and appeared among a screeching mob of bar-lgura, sixty feet ahead of Eadric, _in the aperture in the Paling_.

Shomei screeched. _Are you insane?_ She herself was struck by a _greater dispelling_ but, to her relief, retained her draconic shape. A _horrid wilting_ failed to affect her. But her _mind blank_ was gone, and to the demons and daemons present who possessed _true seeing_, her real form became apparent.

_Mortal!_ The voice of an Ultroloth echoed in the minds of the lesser daemons.

Gleefully, eight Nycadaemons tore into her. Many more flapped nearby, eager for the chance to engage an obstacle which now seemed as though it could be overcome. Still, they could barely penetrate her armour.

Shomei _shapechanged_. Her scales thickened and brightened, swiftly acquiring a flawless, mirror-like sheen. Her size doubled to titanic proportions. As her wings powered her backwards in the air, and daemons lashed at her, she breathed upon those in front of her head. 

Fourteen paralyzed nycaloths dropped like stones to the ground, flattening dozens of bar-lgura below them.

*

A wave of malice washed over Eadric, attempting to _dominate_ him, and his head turned to face the source of the compulsion.

It was a faceless creature, whose empty visage swam with tiny pin-points of light, and whose dark cloak seemed to blow with unnatural slowness in the gale issuing from above. It stood seventy feet away, flanked by nycaloths and behind a great, armour-clad yagnodaemon which bore a huge sword. 

He began to run towards it, over the ashes of the bar-lgura and past the stupefied forms of nycadaemons. Power coursed through him as he invoked as much strength as he could muster. _Hasted_ time simultaneously slowed to a crawl, and sped to a blur. Nycadaemons clutched at him as he moved, and the yagnoloth interposed itself fully between Eadric and his quarry. The armoured fiend's sword bit deep into him, but he forced his way forwards, his shield slamming into the bodyguard's legs and bowling it over. He _smote_ the ultrodaemon, and blackness poured from it. It emitted a thin, high-pitched scream.***

As the yagnoloth clambered to its feet, the _Ahma_ turned and _smote_ it. It struck Eadric again, with enormous force, blinding itself in the backlash from the _holy aura_. Two nycaloths moved in, and ripped at him in a frenzy, drawing blood with envenomed claws.

Gambling, the ultroloth spoke a _power word_. The capture of the _Ahma_ was a prize for which much should be risked. Eadric's celestial defense failed, and for a fraction of a second the daemon exulted. But still Eadric did not succumb. He struck, and the daemon perished. He stepped sideways, and the sightless yagnoloth lashed out again, smashing through his armour. Eadric _smote_ it again. And again. Eadric struck again, but wearily, and as it crumpled next to him, he knew that his strength was waning swiftly.

A huge claw snatched him from the battlefield, and carried him aloft.

"Thank-you," he said to Nwm.

"Hmm," the Druid replied.

But, struck by a _dispelling_, the _shapechange_ on Nwm fizzled and vanished, and both he and Eadric plummeted back to the ground.

















 *I have retained _shapechange_ on the Druid spell-list.

** This was a potentially dangerous situation – one of the nycadaemons Bull Rushed Eadric and the other began a grapple as an AoO – Eadric had already used his AoO for the round when countering the bar-lgura's attempted grapple (and Cleaving from it. Sigh.) Lukarn, however is a sunblade – i.e. it's treated as a light weapon, and could therefore be used in a grapple. 

I use Pants's 'loths, btw. Nice work, Pants.


***This incident is worthy of note. Eadric's player – Marc – has this annoying habit of pulling off stunts like this. One would think that sticking a yagnoloth (a 10th level _Fighter_ yagnoloth, to boot) directly in the path of a size M creature would ensure the ultroloth some space to either use a few more spell-likes, or to _teleport_ away if things got sticky for it.

But, no. Eadric invoked the Strength domain and Righteous Might, charged, overran the yagnoloth, Power Attacked at +20, _smote_ the ultroloth and scored a critical hit, reducing the daemon to around 30 hp.


----------



## Thomas Hobbes

Kickin' update.

Woo.  My mind reels at the thought of a full-on abyssal war.

Oh, and you've gained further praise from me for using the word "gyre."


----------



## Moleculo

I am beginning to think that Sepulchrave is one of my evil professors; every time I have a test, he posts a new story hour! What in the hail!  Guess he's trying to break the curve.


----------



## Spatula

Holy  .  Now THAT's epic.


----------



## Elemental

What did Shomei _shapechange_ into from Hellfire Wyrm form? I'm guessing either a force dragon or gem dragon.


----------



## robberbaron

Wow!

Want to say more but words fail me.


----------



## Gez

Wow.


----------



## Kestrel

Although its not hell, this update reminds me of the picture in the 1ed PHB, Paladin in Hell.

Usually its been the casters (Mostin and Nwm) that have wowed me in this story, but this time, the day definitely goes to Eadric.  

Wow.


----------



## Pyske

I've greatly enjoyed the screen time both Eadric and Ortin have gotten in the last couple updates.  It's good to see the non-spell casters continue to have a significant role in epic play (and gives me ideas for how to keep things interesting in future campaigns of my own).  Keep up the great storytelling, Sep.

 . . . . . . . -- Eric


----------



## Broccli_Head

Sepulchrave II said:
			
		

> ***This incident is worthy of note. Eadric's player – Marc – has this annoying habit of pulling off stunts like this. One would think that sticking a yagnoloth (a 10th level _Fighter_ yagnoloth, to boot) directly in the path of a size M creature would ensure the ultroloth some space to either use a few more spell-likes, or to _teleport_ away if things got sticky for it.
> 
> But, no. Eadric invoked the Strength domain and Righteous Might, charged, overran the yagnoloth, Power Attacked at +20, _smote_ the ultroloth and scored a critical hit, reducing the daemon to around 30 hp.





That's awesome! 

I love the way that Eadric cleared a space with _holy word_, and Nwm's subsequent comments.


----------



## Greybar

Wow.


> Eadric struck again, but wearily, and as it crumpled next to him, he knew that his strength was waning swiftly.



Is a bad combo against:


> _Ainhorr_, he thought to Shomei. _Ainhorr will come._




And what happened with Mostin putting himself in the aperture of the Paling?

gaaaaaaaaa

p.s. Dare we ask where to find Pants' 'loths?  Time to hit the Rogue's Gallery...


----------



## Jackylhunter

Truely epic!  But I have a feeling that Eadric is just getting warmed up.  Especially when Ainhorr shows up.  Now THAT will be an epic battle. I hope the gang is prepaired...


----------



## gfunk

I would like to compliment your awesome Story Hour once again Sep, but I just can't find the words.  So, instead, let me blatantly plagarize from one of my favorite websites:




> Sep's Story Hour is sooooooooooo sweet that I want to crap my pants.  I can't believe it sometimes, but I feel it inside my heart.  This guy is totally awesome and that's a fact.  This story hour is fast, smooth, cool, strong, powerful, and sweet.  I can't wait to read the next update.  I love this story hour with all of my body (including my pee pee).


----------



## Spatula

Elemental said:
			
		

> What did Shomei _shapechange_ into from Hellfire Wyrm form? I'm guessing either a force dragon or gem dragon.



None of the gem dragons or epic dragons have a paralyzing breath weapon (or a mirror-like appearance).  I don't know what it was.


----------



## Wrahn

Elemental said:
			
		

> What did Shomei _shapechange_ into from Hellfire Wyrm form? I'm guessing either a force dragon or gem dragon.




She turned into a silver dragon and used their "other" breath weapon.

Love the story Sep, keep up the good work.


----------



## wolff96

Wow. 

Righteous wrath, millions of demons going every which way, Hellfire Wyrms circling the skies...  THIS is what epic play is all about. 

Way to go, Sepulchrave, way to go.


----------



## aros

*shapechange*

what rules do people use for shapechange?  my dm has ruled a hd cap = to the user's hd.  does anyone else use that rule?  to me it seems as if that rule sorta shafts the power of a 9th level spell.  btw we are playing in 3.5


----------



## Zaruthustran

Sepulchrave II said:
			
		

> Gambling, the ultroloth spoke a _power word_. The capture of the _Ahma_ was a prize for which much should be risked. Eadric's celestial defense failed, and for a fraction of a second the daemon exulted. But still Eadric did not succumb. He struck, and the daemon perished.




So all these dead demons really dead? Or are they just banished back to the Abyss?




> But, struck by a _dispelling_, the _shapechange_ on Nwm fizzled and vanished, and both he and Eadric plummeted back to the ground.




Wow! Good thing Nwm can wildshape.

-z


----------



## Spatula

Wrahn said:
			
		

> She turned into a silver dragon and used their "other" breath weapon.



Doh!  So obvious I missed it.

To make up for my absent mindedness, here's the link to Pant's yugoloths, for anyone who is interested:
http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=61536


----------



## Knightfall

Holy smokes! What an update! 0_0

Very  

This has got to be my favorite part...



> _This isn't so bad_, he thought to himself.


----------



## Alejandro

gfunk, I laughed so hard my wife looked at me funny. Which website did you plagiarize from?

Sep, awesome post as always. Though I only post when you start a new thread, I am ever lurking, ever hopeful to catch a glimpse of your writing.


----------



## gfunk

Alejandro said:
			
		

> gfunk, I laughed so hard my wife looked at me funny. Which website did you plagiarize from?



www.realultimatepower.net

As funny as Sep's Story Hour is good!


----------



## sithramir

Sep, you amaze me everytime. Write a book or something so I can buy it.

Sithramir


----------



## Arken

Unexpressable superlative praise as always. Brilliant sep .


----------



## Old Gumphrey

**



> what rules do people use for shapechange? my dm has ruled a hd cap = to the user's hd. does anyone else use that rule? to me it seems as if that rule sorta shafts the power of a 9th level spell. btw we are playing in 3.5




The 3.5 shapechange was given errata to the tune of 1 HD / caster level (max 25 HD). Polymorphing once per round at will for 170+ minutes is hardly a shaft. Your DM is doing it right.


----------



## Sepulchrave II

> The 3.5 shapechange was given errata to the tune of 1 HD / caster level (max 25 HD). Polymorphing once per round at will for 170+ minutes is hardly a shaft. Your DM is doing it right.




Yep. 3.5.1 _shapechange_ is actually much more reasonable, - I'm pretty slack on integrating errata, and I was still digesting the 3.5 rules. 

You can still get some pretty funky results, though. A 25th level caster could technically _shapechange_ into a gloom, solar, hellfire wyrm or whatever. Note that the balor's sword is also (Su) - arguably it should be allowed as well (not that I would). This fact did _not_ escape Mostin's player, as you can probably imagine.


----------



## Celtavian

*re*

I think is the coolest battle scene you've written to date Sep. Great job. An epic abyssal war between demons. What the hell has Eadric gotten himself into? *shakes head*


----------



## aros

Sepulchrave II said:
			
		

> Yep. 3.5.1 _shapechange_ is actually much more reasonable, - I'm pretty slack on integrating errata, and I was still digesting the 3.5 rules.
> 
> You can still get some pretty funky results, though. A 25th level caster could technically _shapechange_ into a gloom, solar, hellfire wyrm or whatever. Note that the balor's sword is also (Su) - arguably it should be allowed as well (not that I would). This fact did _not_ escape Mostin's player, as you can probably imagine.




I thought a hellfire wyrm had more HD than 25...oh well.  sorry for hijacking the thread but i figured id get some quick opinions...thanks


----------



## Jeremy

I love/hate the 3.5 holy word/word of chaos spells.  With things like Ankhs of Ascension, Orange Ioun Stones, Evil/Good domains, and/or that wonderful/blasted bead of karma...  They are the tactical nuke spells of 3.5 D&D.

I'm sorry, would everyone in the immediate area with 25 HD or less please die without save?  Anyone from 25-35 feel free to just be paralyzed for a few minutes.  No, I'm sorry.  Saves will will not be allowed today.

 /


----------



## Gez

The only thing that really bugs me with Holy Word is that it kills neutrals also.


----------



## grodog

gfunk said:
			
		

> I would like to compliment your awesome Story Hour once again Sep, but I just can't find the words.  So, instead, let me blatantly plagarize from one of my favorite websites:




gfunk, where's that quotation from?

edit:  noted.  Thanks!


----------



## Lazybones

Great stuff, as always.  This story remains, in my mind, the superlative example of what epic play should be.


----------



## Sepulchrave II

*More Than You Can Chew - Part 2*




The bar-lgura pounced on him and attacked. 

Mostin considered his options. Quickly. Although his very nature – infused with the essence of transcendental insanity – rendered him a degree of protection from their teeth and claws, he knew that they would still swiftly overpower him.* He cowered, avoiding their blows as best he could, mumbled, and gestured.

The battle froze around him, as he invoked a _time stop_. He muttered a brief incantation, and flew upwards amid the eerie silence, glancing around. Some distance away, the Void which was Soneillon was the focus of hundreds of demons, poised eagerly to join the mob which was already around her. Near her, the withered husks of those who had basked too long in her aura of nullity lay strewn around in heaps. In the airs above her, two succubi floated. From one, a streak of powerful negative energy issued, captured at the moment of discharge. The second was in the process of evoking a spell – although it was impossible to tell which one. Two of her three remaining loyal handmaids, no doubt. Mostin wondered where the third was.

Closer, Nwm and Eadric were captured in a dynamic pose – the Druid, in draconic form, had snatched Eadric from next to the steaming remains of one of the ultroloths. Nycadaemons were attempting to claw the hellfire wyrm. In the sky above him, Shomei – now transformed into a gigantic silver wyrm – hung motionless in the air, with daemons all about her.

Mostin sighed, and took rapid mental note of the positions of various entities within eyesight. In the stillness, he located two more ultroloths – one inside of the Paling and one beyond it – and, eighty yards outside of the aperture, an exceedingly vicious looking marilith surrounded by twenty hulking glabrezu. She was flanked by attendants – including an arcanaloth and a grossly obese shator.

Knowing that his reservoir was low, the Alienist grunted. He had little time to act, yet he _must_ act. _Because Ainhorr is coming_, he reminded himself.

He swallowed, vacillated for a fraction of a second, emptied himself, and opened a _gate_ – his last – next to the marilith Janiq, speaking a terrible name in syllables which caused his mouth to twist and his stomach to heave.

Tendrils of something, issuing from somewhere – and some when – crept through the dimensional interface to _Uzzhin_, to _outside_.

_It_ had Vhorzhe's face – and many others besides. Malice seeped from it like a cloying fog. It smiled sweetly at him. Mostin screamed, and giggled hysterically.

[Symbol] = _Payment_

Mostin panicked. How would he bargain with it? What did it want? What currency did it recognize? No time to answer these questions. No time.

"Mirror," Mostin said, instantly regretting it.

[Symbol] = _More._

Gods, it's greedy. That's the most valuable thing I have. 

[Symbol] = _Faces._

Mostin cackled. "What kind of faces?"

[Symbol] = _Faces like you._

Mostin was beginning to hyperventilate. What did it mean? How would he provide it with faces? Would he have to bring a line of people for it to devour, so it could assume their likeness? Did it mean something else? No time. No time. Sh*t.

"Mirror," Mostin said again. "No faces."

It communicated nothing more. The Horror slid back silently through the _gate_ to the Far Realm.

_Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. What a waste._ A string of expletives and profanities left Mostin's lips. Still, he had to do something. Anything.

He flew upwards and quickly invoked a _prismatic sphere_. Hovering outside of it, he readied another spell. Time resumed its normal flow. 

Mostin pulled a ring from his finger, and blew gently through it.

*

Shomei was beginning to regret her decision to _shapechange_ into the form of a silver wyrm.

She simply presented _too much body_ for the nycadaemons to attack. There were at least twenty of them in the air about her now: raking, slashing, finding gaps in her foot-thick armour. Many were blinded, but they pressed on regardless. Bright blood was dripping from her scales. Poison was creeping through her veins.

She _shapechanged_ again, this time into a pit fiend – offering a smaller target to her attackers, whilst preventing the venom from taking hold. Diabolic protections would render her virtual immunity to their claws. And her taloned hand now bore her rod. 

As she flew towards the ground through a gauntlet of daemonic attacks, the Infernalist scanned the aperture and tried to locate Mostin, but he had vanished from his previous location. She spied an ultroloth – the one who had struck her with a potent _dispelling_ – and brought her will, focussed and augmented through her rod, to bear upon it.

*I AM SHOMEI. YOU ARE MY SERVANT. SLAY THE SERVANTS OF GRAZ'ZT: HE IS YOUR ENEMY.*

She smashed into its mind with her own, and the yugoloth's immense, ancient ego crumpled under the force of her compulsion.

*

Eadric and Nwm tumbled sixty feet, headlong into a snarling pack of leaping demons. They immediately pounced upon the duo who, shaken by the fall, could do nothing but ward off their attacks and clumsily stagger to their feet. _Holy auras_ flashed again, but the assault was determined. Nwm – unarmoured, unarmed and less skilled in combat – was quickly rent and bruised.

Fearing for the Druid's life, Eadric stayed his attack and clutched Nwm's shoulder. Light and heat poured into him, revitalizing him. 

Nwm swore. He needed breathing space. In a circle around them, bar-lgura flew skywards as he _reversed gravity_. 

"Watch my back," he snapped at Eadric. "And heal yourself. You're going to need it. And _don't move_ unless you want to fall upwards."

But even as he spoke, behind them a powerful wind had started to blow, sucking demons from the aperture in the Paling. Outside, a great rift – over two hundred feet wide – had opened in space, generating a cyclone around it. 

Mostin – now retreated into his _prismatic sphere_ – had invoked a _reality maelstrom_. Hundreds of bar-lgura and were being pulled through it, screaming, to be deposited in another dimension – although, which one, even Mostin didn't know. The Alienist – hidden within a scintillating globe of power – was not witness to the spectacle, but he would have been deeply satisfied to know that one of the ultrodaemons had also been dragged away.

The tempest was centered on Janiq, but the marilith weathered the spell and, together with three glabrezu, _teleported_ to a position fifty feet from Eadric. Her succubi attendants, the shator, seventeen glabrezu and the arcanadaemon Xehez had all been drawn into the maelstrom.**

Janiq was livid. Most of her bodyguard had vanished. Demons were bobbing in the air nearby, _teleporting_ to the ground, and falling upwards again. Those that attempted to pounce upon the two mortals were likewise rocketing skywards. 

Two of the ultroloths – now close by – were targeting Nwm and Eadric with powerful spells. The Druid barely survived an invoked _destruction_. Demons all around him tumbled to the ground as the _reverse gravity_ – together with his _mind blank_ and Eadric's _holy aura_ fell to a _greater dispel magic_. He cursed, knowing that time was running out.***

Glancing at Eadric, Nwm held his _orb of storms_ in his hand.

"This is going to hurt," he said to himself.

In an instant, the orb shattered, fuelling a spell. His consciousness reached out to the Green, three hundred worlds away, and seemed to draw on every storm that had ever echoed within her confines. Nwm's voice began as a low roar, which rapidly crescendoed into an ultasonic scream. His skull shook and his mind twisted as he sought to thrust the energy away from Eadric and himself, and direct it towards his enemies. The Druid's body reeled under the backlash. His skin, lacerated by channeling the power, peeled away in strips.

As Nwm turned his head, they seemed to burn away in front of him and around him, the sonic reducing them to atoms. Janiq, the glabrezu, the daemons and dozens of bar-lgura were vaporized under the force of the sound. The ground shook, and the Paling oscillated along its twenty-mile circumference in sympathetic vibration. For a millisecond, it was as though the entire battle had ceased.

The Druid barely retained lucidity, and he grinned inanely. He wondered where Mostin was, hoping that the Alienist had witnessed it.

But none of it mattered. The _reality maelstrom_ quickly dissipated, eliminated by more abjurations. Thousands more demons – the reserve force called by Janiq – were beginning to manifest. Inside of the aperture, the vast, armoured form of Ainhorr – flanked by a dozen enormous nalfeshnees – had arrived through a _gate._

Shomei, still in the form of a pit fiend and harangued by nycadaemons, flew towards Eadric and Nwm and threw the remaining _dominated_ ultroloth desperately at Ainhorr. Outside of the magical barrier, she spied the _prismatic sphere_, and hoped that it was Mostin, and that he was sufficiently protected. She opened a _gate_ next to the Druid and the _Ahma_.

"Flee," she yelled at Eadric. "We cannot win this. This battle is lost." 

_Soneillon,_ he thought. And then, _Mostin_. 

As Nwm pulled him through the portal, Eadric turned his head back, gazing across the demon-infested wasteland. Time seemed to freeze. His eyes did not rest on Ainhorr, but looked past the Balor, and through the other _gate_, to what stood beyond.

Graz'zt.


**


Shomei resumed her normal form in the courtyard at Kyrtill's Burh. The late evening sun was pale, and little warmth remained in the day. 

Nwm and Eadric, exhausted, looked at her.

"Mostin…" Eadric began. 

"If he has his wits about him, he will have opened a _gate_ or _plane shifted_. If he doesn't arrive here soon, we should assume the latter. I will attempt to _scry_ him presently. He had invoked a _prismatic sphere_."

Nwm relaxed.

"Do not be complacent," Shomei snapped. "If Adyell could _disjoin_ a section of the Paling, then she could do the same to Mostin's defense."

"She wasn't present at the battle?"

"I didn't see her," the Infernalist sighed. "Perhaps she was avoiding Soneillon," she added wrily.

Eadric groaned. "How is it that, after millennia of stalemate between Graz'zt and Soneillon, as soon as I become involved, a decisive victory is scored? By the wrong side."

Shomei laughed. "Do you think that this is the first time that her citadel has fallen in that war?"

"I don't know."

"No. Nor do I. But holding any kind of Abyssal real estate is tricky, to say the least. Soneillon will retreat, if she has any sense at all – and I suspect that she does. Graz'zt will need to garrison Throile. Ainhorr will be faced with the decision of appointing a deputy – he, himself must return to Afqithan. The loss of Janiq will be a grievous blow, in any case."

"There are other mariliths."

"True – but there was only one Janiq," Shomei smiled. "She knew Throile and its subtleties better than any other of Graz'zt's generals. And when the Eye of Cheshne reaches its nadir at Khu – less than two hours away – Soneillon will wax to her full power again.**** She is a demon queen, Eadric. Never forget it."

_Unlikely_, he thought. He exhaled slowly. "I saw him, you know. Through the other _gate_."

Shomei nodded.

*

Two minutes later, Nwm noticed a sensor in the air nearby. Mostin's head appeared, seeming to float six feet above the ground in a disconcerting manner.

"Where are you?" The Druid asked.

"I don't know, but it's damn cold here," the Alienist replied.

Mostin had, in fact, _plane shifted_. And appeared upon the side of an unnamed mountain, overlooking the plateau of Tun Hartha, at an elevation of twelve thousand feet.


**


"You called the pseudonatural?" Shomei was agog. "Where was it? Why didn't I see it?"

"I was _time stopped_," Mostin replied. "And it declined my offer."

"Which was?"

"The Looking-glass of Urm-Nahat. Although, in retrospect, I should have offered it something else."

"Did it understand what the Mirror was?" Shomei asked.

"I don't know. I think so. But it wanted _faces_. I don't know what it meant. When I've rested, I will go to Uzzhin…"

"Mostin," Shomei groaned. "That will be the third time. Don't you think that's tempting fate just a little?"

"I don't subscribe to the theory of Fate," Mostin said drily. "Any more than you do." The jibe was precise and calculated. Mostin didn't know what the exchange between the Infernalist and the _Ahma_ – before they had commenced battle – had signified, but he guessed that they shared some kind of prescience.

"Did the _web of motes_ reveal nothing regarding this?" Nwm asked.

"Not to my recollection," Mostin answered. 

"And what will happen now, in Throile?"

"I do not know," Mostin said irritably. "Events in Throile were not first on my list of priorities when I examined the nodality. Ainhorr will return to Afqithan, certainly. And Kostchtchie will move to aid him when Nhura returns and Rhyxali unleashes her legions. Other future memories will doubtless reveal themselves to me at apposite moments. _Nothing is certain_ – it remains only a matrix of possibilities."

Shomei remained conspicuously silent.

"You and I need to talk," Mostin said.

"There is nothing else to say," she replied. She was weary.

"Humour me," Mostin said acidly. 









*I have ruled that the transcended Alienist (like the Monk) has DR 10/magic, and that bar-lgura have DR 5/good (with chaotic-aligned and evil-aligned natural attacks). This was good for Mostin. It seemed reasonable to me that their initial attack would be to deliver lethal damage – demons like rending stuff, after all – but upon realizing the inefficacy of this tact, they would switch to grappling. And if they grappled him, he had _no_ chance. Dan realized this too.

**Man, this spell is broken.

***Being a kind-hearted DM (ahem), I left the room and had a beer at this juncture. This gave Dave (Nwm's player) and Dan (Mostin's player) time to thrash out an epic spell quickly. Dan's fingerprints are all over it because a) it's a sonic and; b) Dave isn't as good at squeezing the epic system for all it's worth. I don't mind, though – it's reasonable to assume that Nwm _is_ good at squeezing the system. Dan was still pissed at me about the Horror, despite the fact that he knew they didn't follow the normal 'rules' for _gated_ entities – we were playing 3.5 _gate_ by now, and it was 1000xp that Mostin would never see again.

****This cryptic reference is, in fact, correct. Soneillon's power is not strictly dependent upon any astronomical cycle or any geographical area but, like any other spellcaster, she may only cast a certain number of spells per day. Soneillon's 'day' is reckoned by demonologists to begin with the anticulmination of the star which we would call _Antares_ or _Cor Scorpionis_ at Khu. In Shûth, this star is linked with the Goddess Cheshne and the process of annihilation. Other demons and devils (and celestials) have cycles for which the rising, culmination, setting or anticulmination of various astronomical bodies can be used as indicators.


----------



## grodog

Sepulchrave II said:
			
		

> *More Than You Can Chew - Part 2*




New update!  Woohoo!


----------



## aurin777

Wonderful update as always, Sep! Wonderful!
~~Brandon


----------



## Felix

I am so happy I checked this forum one last time before I went to bed.
So happy.
Hee.



			
				Sepulchrave II said:
			
		

> His eyes did not rest on Ainhorr, but looked past the Balor, and through the other gate, to what stood beyond.
> 
> Graz'zt.




This would be their first meeting, yes? Very cool. I can just see Graz'zt and Eadric regarding each other for the first time with their eyes. Great stuff.


----------



## dream66_

Um,   Wow...    The time stop, the gate, the mirror offer.     A direct physical path between Eadric and Grazzt.   WOW!


----------



## Jeph

hey Sep,

I love your interpretation of "spells per day" for fiends. Too cool. 

--Jeff


----------



## shilsen

dream66_ said:
			
		

> Um,   Wow...    The time stop, the gate, the mirror offer.     A direct physical path between Eadric and Grazzt.   WOW!




I'll see your two "Wow"s and raise you a "Hot Damn!"


----------



## Jackylhunter

Wonderful stuff as usual! and you are evil!  After Dan worried and the rest of the group feared, the one time Mostin tried to bring in the Horror, you wouldn't let it come out to play...

Again, what a great story hour.  cheers!


----------



## Creeperman

Sepulchrave II said:
			
		

> ***Being a kind-hearted DM (ahem), I left the room and had a beer at this juncture. This gave Dave (Nwm's player) and Dan (Mostin's player) time to thrash out an epic spell quickly. Dan's fingerprints are all over it because a) it's a sonic and; b) Dave isn't as good at squeezing the epic system for all it's worth. I don't mind, though – it's reasonable to assume that Nwm _is_ good at squeezing the system.



Oh, come on, you can't leave us hanging like that!  You've got to post that spell!

Also, on a related note, I thought Nwm had become an ascetic?  How did he still have that _Orb of Storms?_  And wasn't it destroyed anyway when he cast his first Epic spell, or did he just sacrifice the _Staff of the Woodlands,_ and not the _Orb?_


----------



## Sepulchrave II

*Dark Sound*

*Spellcraft DC:* 0
*Components:* V, S, XP
*Casting Time:* 1 action
*Range:* 300 ft.
*Area:* Twenty 10-ft. cubes
*Duration:* Instantaneous
*Saving Throw:* Reflex half
*Spell Resistance:* Yes
*To Develop:* 0 gp; 0 days; 0 XP. Seed: _energy_ (DC 19),  Factors: change area to four 10-ft cubes (+2 DC), increase area by 400% to twenty 10-ft cubes (+16 DC), 1-action casting time (+20 DC), +15 dice of damage (+30 DC), +7 on caster level to overcome SR (+14 DC), increase spell's save DC by +10 (+20 DC), increase damage die to d20 (+40 DC). Mitigating factors: burn 10,000 XP (-100 DC), 42d6 Backlash (-42 DC),  _orb of storms_ material component (ad hoc –19 DC).

The terrific wave of sonic energy which issues from you deals 25d20 points of sonic damage to all creatures within the affected area:  they may make a reflex saving throw (DC 30+ relevant modifier) for half damage. You enjoy a +7 bonus on your check to overcome the spell resistance of those in the area of the spell, if applicable.



*

I actually intended to add this to the above post, but forgot. 

Nwm's decision to become an ascetic came after the events here - partly in response to the fact that he'd blown up two magic items casting spells (he really has no respect for them at all). The story hour hasn't caught up with the rogue's gallery thread at this point.

And only the _staff_ was destroyed when he cast _She is tired of your interference_.

This was a massive burn in XP, though - Nwm was eligible for 22nd level, and this dragged him _way_ back down. It was an impressive exercise, but kind of futile - they retreated one round later.


----------



## Broccli_Head

So did the ultraloth that Shomei _dominated_ do anything?

Amazing post, BTW! I love how you described the _time stop_. Definitley gives inspiration to my FR campaign. We're not there yet, but the battle on one of the infernal planes...it's sure to come. We're still like fighting battles on Toril....Oh well


----------



## Creeperman

You know, it occurs to me (and maybe to your players, too) that these massive Epic evocations and conjurations kind of fall flat. For all the resources you burn (backlash, XP, and items), the results are insignificant.  Primarily I find this a flaw in the Epic spell system, which highly discourages direct-damage spells while promoting certain transmutations and abjurations.  

Still, I'm surprised they haven't caught on and taken Improved Spellcasting and Improved Metamagic instead.  Much more efficient.


----------



## Spatula

Keep in mind that the above spell has a Spellcraft DC 0 - hardly typical of an Epic spell.  Then again, it dealt 42d6 backlash (!!! can Nwm really survive that???), burned 10k XP, and cost a major magic item.  Still, 25d20 sonic damage over 8 million cubic feet (with a DC of 30+stat and +7 to spell penetration) is nothing to sneeze at - there's nothing on the druid list (or the wizard list, for that matter) that could come close to that, no matter how many metamagics you apply.  You'd need 11 Improved Spell Capacity feats (and Heighten Spell) just in order to achieve that save DC.

A shame it was all in vain.  Even if Grazzt had not shown up, or the reinforcements, it doesn't seem like the group was in any state to handle Ainhorr.

I just realized that Mostin doesn't prepare very well for these slugfests - several times he has been tapped out during these sorts of encounters, but he never seems to have any scrolls handy in case of an emergency.


----------



## The Lone Badger

Creeperman said:
			
		

> You know, it occurs to me (and maybe to your players, too) that these massive Epic evocations and conjurations kind of fall flat. For all the resources you burn (backlash, XP, and items), the results are insignificant.  Primarily I find this a flaw in the Epic spell system, which highly discourages direct-damage spells while promoting certain transmutations and abjurations.
> 
> Still, I'm surprised they haven't caught on and taken Improved Spellcasting and Improved Metamagic instead.  Much more efficient.




The spell wasn't so much ineffective as poorly tactically deployed. _She Is Tired of Your Interference_ saved the party when they otherwise would probably have died, facing way too many fiends when out of spells. And those Glooms caused severe pain to Grazz't, they would almost certainly have killed anything else.


----------



## carpedavid

While this storyhour always paints wonderfully vivid images directly onto my brain, the latest installment seemed particularly potent. I blame having Dead Can Dance on in the background - it's not battle music, but it invokes a mystical, cinematic mood that made my imagination go all FX-y.

Oh, and Nwm's spontaneous epic spells continue to be astounting. I giggled like a schoolgirl _yet once again_.


----------



## Alejandro

Sep wrote:







> Nwm's decision to become an ascetic came after the events here - partly in response to the fact that he'd blown up two magic items casting spells (he really has no respect for them at all).



This makes a ton of sense. Nwm is too cool. Thanks Sep!


----------



## Len

I _love_ how your rule for spontaneous epic spells has played out. It's not something the players can do every day, but on those rare occasions it seems like it's a whole lot of fun to come up with the spell, and your descriptions of the effects are suitably amazing.


----------



## ledded

Just got caught up on this Story Hour.

Wow.  Great stuff man.

I love the larger-than-life vivid descriptive prose you wield.  Very good stuff.


----------



## wolff96

And once again, Nwm continues to show himself as the coolest of them all. Eadric massacres demons, Mostin and Shomei toss around massive amounts of magic... and Nwm gives up a major magical item to power a brand-new epic spell that (if I read correctly) eliminated FAR more demons than any other action in this fight.

I love this story hour. And I'm a Nwm Fanboy. Can you tell?


----------



## Pants

Sepulchrave II said:
			
		

> I use Pants's 'loths, btw. Nice work, Pants.



Whoo.   
That makes me feel special.  I'm glad you like them Sep!

I'm really digging the new updates and I absolutely love the idea of spontaneous Epic spells.  Nwm is so awesome.


----------



## ThoughtBubble

First, allow me to say wow. Extremely amasing.

Now, I had one quick question, how's Ortwin's player doing through all this? I'm curious, because Ortwin seems to have a minor role lately.

Oh, and WOW!


----------



## tleilaxu

ortwin is in deep cover manipulating events on afthiqan while the rest of the party runs this diversion. i'm sure we'll see the fruits of this soon enough.

bard it up!


----------



## Cheiromancer

I think Nwm should have tried to cast a spontaneous version of the Pale, and thereby seal the breach.

I don't know what the DC is for the Pale, but even if (before mitigating factors) it was a hefty DC 400 or so to establish a single section, the DC before the x5 modifier for permanency would be only 80. Backlash reduces this by 42, and 3800 XP brings it to zero.  If a suitable symbolic magic item were available (Daern's Instant Fortress?  A magic shield?), he might not have had to spend any XP.  A 20 hour respite in the siege would have been very significant.

Alternatively, an epic version of _Reality Maelstrom_ could have cleared the battle field, and kept it clear.  The Orb of Storms would be an appropriate component for such a spell.

Also, I think that Mostin should have asked the Horror more questions about payment.  How are the faces to be transferred?  Do they have to be from living people?  Etc.  It is too bad he never thought about the question of payment when he was super intelligent, and had access to the Web of Motes.  He might have determined that (due to their skewed values) a stale prune danish would have been satisfactory payment.  I think it can be assumed that multiple human sacrifices (or the personal sacrifice of Mostin himself) is not be the price, as possible futures involving the Horror would have included the life threads of the sacrificed ending in the Horror.

And Mostin definitely should write more scrolls.


----------



## Greybar

> ortwin is in deep cover manipulating events on afthiqan while the rest of the party runs this diversion. i'm sure we'll see the fruits of this soon enough.




Or we'll see his head on a demonic pike.

You know, one or the other.  

john


----------



## Vargo

Greybar said:
			
		

> Or we'll see his head on a demonic pike.
> 
> You know, one or the other.
> 
> john




Or both.


----------



## Eridanis

Trimmed a litle less than a page of posts. I'll do more this coming week...


----------



## grodog

Hmmm, it's been a week:  is it too soon to ask for another update Sep?


----------



## Joshua Randall

Spatula said:
			
		

> I just realized that Mostin doesn't prepare very well for these slugfests - several times he has been tapped out during these sorts of encounters, but he never seems to have any scrolls handy in case of an emergency.



Amen, brother. *Every* adventuring wizard should have a cache of scrolls to get him out of trouble. At low level that could be _expeditious retreat_ or _invisbility_; at higher levels it could be _teleport_ or _plane shift_.

Reading a scroll is a standard action that provokes AOOs - the same as casting a spell. Unfortunately, retrieving a stored item (such as a scroll) is a move action that also provokes an AOO. Provoking multiple AOOs in one round is bad... but then again, how many demons have Combat Reflexes?

= = =

On another note, it could be that Soneillon asked for Eadric et al.'s aid precisely in order to deplete their resources. I still don't trust her.


----------



## Olive

Joshua Randall said:
			
		

> Reading a scroll is a standard action that provokes AOOs - the same as casting a spell. Unfortunately, retrieving a stored item (such as a scroll) is a move action that also provokes an AOO. Provoking multiple AOOs in one round is bad... but then again, how many demons have Combat Reflexes?




Heward's Handy Haversack doesn't provoke AoOs... 



> On another note, it could be that Soneillon asked for Eadric et al.'s aid precisely in order to deplete their resources. I still don't trust her.




Wouldn't the web of motes mean that mostin would have figured that out?


----------



## shilsen

grodog said:
			
		

> Hmmm, it's been a week:  is it too soon to ask for another update Sep?



 Heh! Are you forgetting the good old days, when we measured the seasons by Sep's posts and the days by the tap-tap-tap of Horatio's?


----------



## Darklone

Bump. Sorry, was a reflex.


----------



## Rackhir

Wulf has started a thread on actually printing and selling some of the more popular story hours as Print on Demand Books. So here's a link to the thread, since it is something that many people have brought up. 

http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=80218

I don't know if Sepulchrave II is aware of the thread, but since his is one of the story hours most likely to have demand to get printed (I believe), it wouldn't hurt if you posted your thoughts on the subjects or at least contacted Wulf about it.


----------



## grodog

shilsen said:
			
		

> Heh! Are you forgetting the good old days, when we measured the seasons by Sep's posts and the days by the tap-tap-tap of Horatio's?




Ha!  I know those parched days of yore well.  That doesn't meant that I can't guzzle at the tap of plenty in the present, though


----------



## ForceUser

Nwm is definitely my favorite character. He is inspiring; both of my own characters have a little Nwm in them (I play a druid and a monk). I have researched the Tao Te Ching, the Koran, and Buddhist philosophy to better flesh out my monk's beliefs. I doubt I'd have put so much effort into it if Nwm's and Eadric's players hadn't raised the bar so high.


----------



## Jackylhunter

I agree, I'm on my second Druid Character (campaign change) and I still go back over Nwm's Character sheet from http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=5652&page=1   I know I'll never be as great as Dave (Nwm's player), But I have asperations... 

Now, I really have to agree with folks here, Mostin should have made a few scrolls, or at least bought some.  BTW, wonder what Orolde is up too.  Has he made it to 1st level yet???


----------



## Roman

My favourite character is actually Mostin scrolls or not.


----------



## Fimmtiu

A quibbling question about a minor theological contradiction:

Lombard (Eadric's player) on the Church of Oronthon: "The domains of Good, Healing, Law, Protection, Retribution, Sun, Strength, Creation, Exorcism, Glory, Inquisition and Mysticism can all be related to Oronthon."

Titivilus on Tramst: "For those who cannot grasp the fundamentals of the practice, they may approach the Godhood directly, embodied in Tramst. By speaking with him, they effectively speak with Oronthon himself."

Tramst on Eadric's plan to assail Graz'zt: "If you ask for my blessing, I cannot give it: vengeance and retribution are not within my purview."

So, uhh... is he a retributive deity or isn't he?


----------



## Olive

Fimmtiu said:
			
		

> So, uhh... is he a retributive deity or isn't he?




Yes, he isn't. Or no, he is. 

Basically, he's both.


----------



## Mytholder

I'm guessing Tramst only embodies the "Good" side of Orothon. 

Further, I'd assume that Retribution and Law are actually in the purview of the Sela - Eadric.


----------



## The Forsaken One

> Further, I'd assume that Retribution and Law are actually in the purview of the Sela - Eadric.




Ahma


----------



## Sepulchrave II

> I'm guessing Tramst only embodies the "Good" side of Orothon.




Although benign, he's more about prompting insight than anything else. Sometimes he uses unconventional tools to achieve this.

The next update will be a while off, btw - I'm organizing my notes on Graz'zt and Azzagrat at present, and its consuming a lot of time. I'll post them when they're collated, though.


----------



## aros

noooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!! cant wait much longer.  need update


----------



## Jackylhunter

Thanks Sep, I'll have to find a way to stay sane, but that is my problem...


----------



## Mytholder

The Forsaken One said:
			
		

> Ahma




Gesundhite.

(Yeah. oops )


----------



## grodog

Sepulchrave II said:
			
		

> Although benign, he's more about prompting insight than anything else. Sometimes he uses unconventional tools to achieve this.




Can't disagree with *that*! 



> The next update will be a while off, btw - I'm organizing my notes on Graz'zt and Azzagrat at present, and its consuming a lot of time. I'll post them when they're collated, though.




Now that sounds like an update well-worth waiting for!  Thanks for the teaser Sep


----------



## aurin777

How Sep teases us so... I am looking forward to seeing what exactly he is tweaking with Graz'zt though...
~~Brandon


----------



## Gez

Mytholder said:
			
		

> Gesundhite.




Gesundheit.


----------



## BiggusGeekus

aurin777 said:
			
		

> How Sep teases us so... I am looking forward to seeing what exactly he is tweaking with Graz'zt though...




Doubtless, it will be thoughtful, powerful, and weirder than we anticiapted.


----------



## BiggusGeekus

*Mount Everest!*







... now THAT'S a bump!


----------



## Olive

BiggusGeekus said:
			
		

> Doubtless, it will be thoughtful, powerful, and weirder than we anticiapted.




Just in case some newer readers don't know about the Rogue's Gallery thread, so check it out. New Graz'zt stats, notes on Graz'zt's court and allies and a pile of Graz'zt's epic spells. It of course may contain spoilers for what will come soon in the SH, but that didn't stop me!


----------



## grodog

Olive said:
			
		

> Just in case some newer readers don't know about the Rogue's Gallery thread, so check it out. New Graz'zt stats, notes on Graz'zt's court and allies and a pile of Graz'zt's epic spells. It of course may contain spoilers for what will come soon in the SH, but that didn't stop me!




...and in case anyone doesn't have the link handy, Sep's RG is at http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=5652


----------



## xabth

Hi all, I have a question for you. I hope that this is an appropriate place to post this; I certainly don't want to hijack this post, but here goes anyway.

   Sep talks quite a bit about Mostin's permenant Mord's Mansion, and I'm wondering if he's ever actually mapped out the formula and cost that they used to determine how Mostin made it. My own wizard is almost to a point that he could do the same thing, and it sounds like the perfect idea. But I have no idea what it would run.


----------



## Felix

Ah yes, another call for Dan's spells... it seems like not so long ago I read my first "Sep, would you mind posting Dan's spells" post, and yet every time I hear those words nostalgia washes over me.

Heh heh.

xabth, I think Sep has put a few of Mostin's spells in the Rogue's Gallery, but I couldn't tell you which page they're on. Then again, the whole thread is worth mining for mechanical bits. Follow grodog's link in the post above yours to go there.


----------



## Jackylhunter

I second the call for Mostins spells.  BTW, Sep, do any of your players read ENworld, besides Eadric?


----------



## Moleculo

I feel an update coming soon. I base this on the fact that I have a lot of school work coming up, and sep always posts when i have the maximum lot of work to chomp through (i read anyways  )


----------



## Joshua Randall

*Custom Spells*

Many of Dan's (Mostin's) spells have already been posted by Sepulchrave in various parts of the story. I've compiled some of the custom spells into the attached document.


----------



## Jackylhunter

Thanks for the Spell Compilation...Now I have something to tide me over til the next update.

=)


----------



## aros

i wish i had something productive to add but no im not that talented.  instead.  *bump*  hopefully if this thread stays near the top of the first page it will serve as encouragment to sep to bring out another update.


----------



## Sepulchrave II

So. Mmm. Yes. Kind of a big update.

**



*Dream and Demon - Part 1* 


It had been determined that Rhul – ever a patron of messengers and travellers – would undertake the journey. He was hardy, quick-witted, and wise in the ways of many worlds. The decision to send him had been unanimous.

His people were the Nireem, and, besides Rhul, only three of their chiefs remained: Lai, the goddess of magic; Ninit, who watched over horses; and a god of the forge called Jaliere. A tribal pantheon, they were aided by ancestral spirits and nature genii tied to significant locations. Predictably, the goddess of death, Saes, had aligned herself with Graz'zt: in a world in which the apocalypse had already come and gone, her power alone was waxing. The Nireem no longer counted her amongst their number.

Their people and worshippers – a clan known as the Werud, who had been finally eliminated by Graz'zt's armies some decades before – were the last tribe to walk upon the doomed earth. Once the inheritors of a proud legacy, they had been condemned at the end to cower in holes as the creatures – black-skinned monsters with great hooks upon their skulls – had sought them out and butchered them. 

Ninit had ridden out and hunted down their enemies, and the hooves of her horse – the stallion called Drût – had kindled the grasslands to fire as she passed over them. She was an ancient goddess, who had joined the others a thousand years before: assimilated by the Werud from a conquered culture whose name Ninit no longer cared to remember. She was fickle and untamed – an atavism who bowed to neither law nor code. Before the world had turned dark, she had caused others amongst the Nireem great consternation by her actions. But now, since the death of Hodh, she was their greatest champion. And unlike the other godlings who gathered within their stone hall deep within the mountain called _Mulhuk_, Graz'zt feared her. 

Lai the Implacable had foreseen the demise of her brother, and many others who had perished beneath the relentless press of demons. The end was upon them, and there seemed to be no escaping it. So Lai had dreamed a dream, and passing by roads which only she could take, she had made her way through a region of great turbulence, until she had found herself beside a still pool surrounded by many birch trees. A spirit of unfamiliar type had been waiting for her.

"Have you come to pronounce a final doom?" Lai had asked wrily.

The spirit had smiled easily. "You are not without allies."

"And are you one of them?"

"There are other worlds, Lai. Sisperi is one small corner in an infinity of infinities."

"That may be so," Lai had said through narrowed eyes. "But it is _my_ corner."

"May I show you something?"

"That, I suspect, is why I am here," Lai had replied laconically.

The Spirit had gestured briefly, and a vision had appeared before the Goddess. A thick forest of strange trees which bore poisoned fruit, around which vines and creepers wrapped themselves, and through which creatures of evil demeanour stalked and slew, reveling in pain and death. A terrible haze of heat lay over the place.

"Is this a prophecy?" Lai had asked uneasily. "If so, I think I would prefer to remain ignorant of the future."

"It is the abode of one of your allies," the Spirit said mysteriously.

"I choose my friends carefully," the Goddess had smiled. "Who would live in such a place?"

"A demoness," the Spirit had replied. "But an enemy of the one who currently assails you."

"Can she be trusted?" Lai had asked.

"No," the Spirit had admitted.

"I draw little comfort from the possibility of such an alliance."

"If you wish to survive long enough to see your world free again," the Spirit had said stonily, "then you must look beyond what is comfortable and familiar. The place that you are looking at is called _Throile_. It is a battleground, and one of several keys to defeating your enemy. Do you wish to see more?"

"I concede that I am intrigued."

Another scene had appeared before Lai – again, a forest. It was an eerie place, full of deep shadows. A ruddy gloam hung over it.

"This is _Afqithan_," the Spirit had said, in answer to her unvoiced question. "It has become a fulcrum around which many interests turn."

"It is scarcely less depressing than the last vista which you showed me."

"Nonetheless, it is pivotal. Its natives are a race of evil spirits over whom Graz'zt exercises control. He has powerful vassals here. Would you like to see another?"

Lai had laughed. "No doubt it, too, is a dismal realm filled with haunted trees."

The Spirit had smiled and nodded. Another forest _had_ appeared – darker and yet more sinister than those previously seen.

The Goddess had sighed. "I spoke in jest."

"This place has no name," the Spirit had said darkly. "Whatever moves there does so in silence, and in secret. Those who enter it seldom return unmarred. When its mistress acts, she does so with deadly precision and ruthless conviction. She is preparing to act now – against Graz'zt."

"And what intelligence dwells here? A demoness, or an evil shade?"

"A demoness, Lai. A very powerful demoness – a peer of the one who caused the death of your people. She is now beginning to exert her Will."

"You disturb me, Spirit. What can we do in the face of monsters such as these?"

"Let me show you one more," the Spirit had suggested.

"Your revelations are disturbing. But I suppose one cannot hide one's head in the sand." 

"No, indeed," the Spirit had grinned. He gestured again, and another vision manifested: a fortress of stone with a tall tower, perched upon a sheer-sided outcrop of rock. Lai had never seen anything like it before. Atop the tower, a blue-and-silver pennant fluttered in the wind.

"Another ally?"

The Spirit had nodded.

"It looks less foreboding than the previous. Does a god dwell here, or a demon?"

"Neither," the Spirit had answered. "A mortal. Of sorts. His name is Eadric."

"And he wars with Graz'zt also?"

"Oh, yes. His obsession is rather single-minded."

"And his world is threatened?" Lai had asked.

"His world has been stolen from him."

"It seems peaceful enough," Lai had observed.

"It is a long story," the Spirit had replied. "He is embroiled in the politics of the previous realms that I have shown you. The details are complicated."

"And he can be trusted?"

"Yes."

"Then – assuming I can trust _you_ – I suppose we should begin there. Rhul might undertake the journey – although his absence will weaken us considerably. He will convince…"

"Do not make the mistake of assuming that this mortal can be either coerced or persuaded against his better judgment," the Spirit had warned. "He should be treated as an equal – even your brother would have been hard pressed to match him in battle."

Lai had raised an eyebrow. "A mortal?"

"Sisperi is small, Lai."

A look of anguish had crossed her face. "Even if we prevail – what hope is there for the Nireem? Our people are dead. We are diminished. We will fade, and disappear."

"Perhaps," the Spirit had nodded. "But if you survive, then look to another mortal: not Eadric, but one of his allies. His name is Nwm. Remember it."

_Nwm_, Lai had thought.


**


"I seem to recall your cautioning me against entering these woods," Mostin said to Shomei. The two Wizards walked among the looming, twisted trees on Shomei's thousand-acre estate outside of Morne. "Have you dismissed the spirits that dwell in them?"

"Certainly not," the Infernalist replied. "As far as I know, the Second Injunction is not retroactive. I still maintain a staff of spined devils as well."

"How old are you, Shomei?" Mostin asked.

"That is an odd question. Does it matter?"

"I am merely curious," Mostin replied. "Are you older than me?"

"No," Shomei answered.

"Are we of a comparable age?"

"I am twenty-five, Mostin," she sighed. "Are you about to dispense some paternal advice?"

The Alienist gaped. "_Twenty-five?_ I knew that you were a prodigy, but…Amon…"

"I was eleven."

"Titivilus?"

"Fifteen. I compacted him when I was seventeen. I have three children, all cambions – none were sired by Titivilus, incidentally. Devils are notoriously fertile, so I count myself fortunate in that regard. I left the bastards outside of the Abbey just south of here, before you ask. I have no idea what happened to them subsequently."

"I am forty-two," Mostin groaned.

"I know. Evidently you have only sixty percent of my talent," Shomei said drily.

"Why do you think that you are going to die, Shomei?"

She smiled thinly. It hadn't taken him long to figure it out. "I _know_ that I am going to die, Mostin. That doesn't concern me. It is the fact that, apparently, I will show no desire to return when Nwm attempts to _reincarnate_ me that has me worried."

"That is paradoxical," Mostin scratched his head. "Given the fact that – presently, at least – you do not seem particularly enthused by the prospect of remaining dead."

"Tramst…" She began.

"Pah!" Mostin interjected. "He is merely a demigod, Shomei."

"He is also an intrinsic part of my paradigm, Mostin – I would prefer not to embarrass you in a philosophical debate on this point."

The Alienist was about to offer a retort, but thought better of it, and closed his mouth.

"I assume that the exact moment of your death is not known to you?" He asked instead.

"That is correct," Shomei nodded. "The _web of motes_ was suitably vague as to the details."

"At least Nwm is safe," Mostin pointed out. "Or he would not be able to attempt to _reincarnate_ you."

"That is some small comfort," she nodded. "I am rather fond of Nwm. The revelation has not been conducive to my good humour, however – as you can probably appreciate. Given the fact that I am inclined towards depression and nihilism in any case, news of my impending, final death has been rather a strain on my psyche."

Mostin didn't know what to say. Every argument – _defy fate, Shomei_ or _assert your Will, choose to remain_ or _do not let this become a self-fulfilling prophecy_ or even _change your paradigm, Shomei_ seemed trite and contrived. She was his intellectual peer – and a superior rhetorician. She would strike down any case that he could make in seconds.

"Ngaahh!" He threw up his hands in frustration at the logical impasse in his mind. "Listen to me, Shomei: you do not exist in a vacuum. Frankly, I don't give a f*ck whether you give into this or not. _I_ will not. My ego is more important than anything else, and _I_ will not let this happen. It is not _my_ paradigm."

"Thus we come to the Dialectic," Shomei said wrily.

"F*ck the Dialectic," Mostin said. "_Saizhan_ is a viewpoint, like any other."

She sighed.

"And f*ck Tramst and his mystical posturing. I'm tempted to blast him for his interference."

"I think the Claviger might have something to say about that."

"Mmm. Good point." Mostin suddenly grinned and his eyes bulged. He knew he was right. "Anyway. It doesn't matter. My infinity is bigger than yours." 

She shook her head in amazement at his words. And wondered whether he _was_ right.


**


Ortwin reclined into a leather chair within the study of Mostin's _comfortable retreat_, and swigged upon a decanter of expensive firewine, eliciting a look of mild distaste from the Alienist. Orolde, as always, doted on the Satyr.

"Well?" Eadric asked. "Are you going to share your findings, or just get drunk?"

"I had planned to do both – although the latter concerns me more at present. Has Nhura contacted you yet?"

Eadric shook his head.

"Ytryn is on board – at least as far as I can determine. Am I right, Koi?"

Koilimilou maintained her demeanour of serene malice, and gave no intimation that every time Ortwin used the diminutive, it was stored within her memory as a shallow cut she would inflict upon the Satyr when the opportunity arose.

"I think that Koilimilou would prefer if you used her full name," Eadric said wrily. "Perhaps she dislikes your over familiarity?"

Ortwin shrugged. "There are two kelvezu within Ytryn's court – their names were never revealed to me. But there is also a marilith – Sethee. She pulls the strings."

"The name is unfamiliar," Mostin grunted. "She may have been recently co-opted by Graz'zt. And the hag?"

"Chavrille is dead," Koilimilou said calmly. "She was assassinated shortly after Ainhorr annexed Afqithan. Her absence caused me no lament."

"Naturally, Sethee was intrigued by me," Ortwin said glibly, "despite her attempts to appear unmoved. It is also telling that she ceded to Ytryn's decision that the protocol of parley be enforced – the Loquai are very traditional when it comes to observing diplomatic niceties."

"With the sidhe, at least," Koilimilou said bitterly, glaring at Mostin. She would never forget that the Alienist had violated a similar truce and slain Shupthul and a dozen knights, humiliating her in the process.

"In any case," Ortwin continued quickly, "I promised to Ytryn – in front of the demons – that I would relay my satisfaction to Nhura, whom I described as 'anxious to return to Afqithan, and make amends for any past indiscretions.'"

"You _what_?" Eadric asked incredulously. "Nhura is currently less than popular, to say the least."

"We needed to get out of there, Ed. And the only way of convincing Sethee to let us go was to promise that a bigger fish was within reach if she did so. Appealing to Sethee's own ambition was the obvious course – Nhura has a high price on her head."

"That is reasonable," Mostin nodded, "although I don't doubt that if Graz'zt turned his mind to it, then he could liquidate Nhura even on Faerie."

Koilimilou sneered. "He wouldn't dare send demons there in numbers. There are far older and far more potent creatures than sidhe who would not tolerate such an intrusion. He would be squashed like a fly for his presumption!"

The Cambion's sudden passion made Ortwin smile inwardly. He had become accustomed to her moods – the way that her languor would abruptly change into aggression, or her impassive gaze could fill with venom or desire in an instant. The fusion of fey and demon made for a heady wine…

"Where is Iua, Ortwin?" Eadric interrupted his reverie.

"She has returned to Fumaril for a while," Ortwin replied. "Which is fine. She was getting boring, in any case."

Eadric raised an eyebrow, but let it pass. "We can talk about this tomorrow. I am in no mood to deal with you when you're drunk. I'm going back to the Burh."


----------



## Sepulchrave II

**

*Dream and Demon - Part 2*



The _Ahma_ dreamed.

A peculiar lucidity informed him that it was a significant dream. One to which attention should be shown. Either an insight of some kind was about to be revealed, or Soneillon was manipulating his unconscious.

In his dreamscape, Eadric sat upon a rock and smiled wrily, wondering which it was.

He watched as a slender fey – a sprite perhaps four feet tall, and approximately male – approached and sat on a similar rock which had appeared nearby. Eadric spoke first.

"If I asked you who you were, you would, no doubt, give me an oblique paradox in return. Have I met you before?"

"Not precisely, no," the Sprite answered opaquely. 

"Do you serve Oronthon?" Eadric asked.

"I serve the Dialectic," the Sprite replied.

"Is there a difference?"

"In my mind, yes," the Sprite answered, "although perhaps not in yours."

"I do not trust you."

"That may be wise," the Sprite nodded. "But you once dreamed of who I was. You trusted him."

"You were Jovol, before…" Eadric realized in a flash.

"You are correct. I have, however, adopted the form of a fey for my current manifestation: the significance of this may be revealed in due course. But you should not confuse Jovol's character with my own – our perceptions are quite different."

"And the Claviger?"

"That particular strand of doubt is now resolved. It no longer interests me."

"It reassures me that you are still active…" Eadric began.

"It shouldn't. I serve the Dialectic, not Oronthon."

"Why are you speaking to me now?" Eadric asked.

"Because complexity must increase," the Sprite answered.

"Suddenly, I mislike your agenda," Eadric scowled.

"That is because you cannot hope to comprehend it."

"Are you benign?" The question was incisive in its naïveté.

"Presently, yes. But I am a fey, and you will find your ethical standards somewhat inadequate to the task of describing me."

"What is your name?" Eadric asked.

"I haven't decided yet."

Eadric woke up and groaned. 

After he had brooded for an hour, Eadric returned to sleep. He dreamed again.


*

He sat upon a lichen-covered stone bench within a shady arbour. A flower garden lay before him, and the blooming rhododendrons within it alerted Eadric to the fact that it was late spring, or early summer. Somewhere in the distance – although from which direction he could not tell – cheers and laughter could be heard: swords struck shields, and hooves galloped to and fro. A tourney, or a joust, most likely. The sound of a lyre drifted over the other noises: the tune was unknown, and, although played in a major key, bore a subtle melancholic undertone.

Eadric watched as a girl in a white dress approached, turned, and sat next to him. Her presence was comforting. Her smell, familiar and intoxicating. She smiled.

"I was unsure of what your reaction would be," Eadric said, "after we fled from Throile."

"Guilt and regret are futile emotions," Soneillon said easily. "Assuming you feel either in any measure. Do you, Eadric?"

Eadric sighed. "You utterly confound me," he said. 

"How did the prospect of my demise make you feel?" She asked. "You must have considered the possibility."

He groaned. "Why do you ask such questions? And why did you evoke this particular scenario? I suppose it is somehow for my benefit – I doubt that such gardens grow in the Abyss, or that tournaments are routinely held there."

"There are an immeasurable number of delights for those who know where to look," Soneillon replied. "Can you say with certainty that nothing like this could be found there?"

"For a brief while in some place, maybe. Before entropy caused another random scene to appear, and then it too was swallowed by baseness and depravity."

"You cling to transience in the hope that it will be eternal," she shrugged. "I admit to the inevitability of change, and embrace it. Which of us is more authentic?"

He shook his head. "Your rhetoric does not move me." 

"That is because you are secure in the knowledge that _you are right_, irrespective of any ideas offered to the contrary. If you were truly interested in _results_, rather than abstract ethical concerns, then you would embrace me and what I have to offer you. I could show you the secret path, Eadric. I believe you have integrity enough to withstand the void. To overcome unbeing..."

A look of horror crossed his face as the magnitude of what she was suggesting sank into his consciousness. "I am sure that if I were to fall in the process of defeating Graz'zt, then few things would make you happier."

"Unlike Titivilus, I have no desire to see you fall, Eadric," Soneillon replied with surprising earnestness. "Nor would I push you. But if you were to seize your potential with both hands – if you were to _jump_ – then I would say that you had done the right thing."

"No doubt you would find me more tractable in such circumstances."

"Far less so, in fact. You have no concept of the power and dominion that you could wield."

"Power holds no attraction for me."

"That is because you have never truly exercised it," Soneillon whispered.

"If it came at the price of eternal madness and self-loathing, then I think that I would do better without it."

Soneillon reached out to touch his face, and he recoiled. She sighed. "If I evinced these qualities, then I would admit that your argument is valid. The offer remains open, Eadric, if at any stage you should change your mind – not that I expect you to."

"You are very, very dangerous."

"You are afraid."

"Of an eternity shackled to you in a pit of despair?" Eadric laughed. "I think that is a reasonable fear."

"There are no shackles. I offer only self-determination, and an end to anguish."

"No doubt," he said wrily, "you think that I would come willingly to you after this 'liberation.'"

"I think you would," Soneillon half-smiled. "And I know nothing of 'eternity' – which is your construction, not mine. A millennium, maybe. Or an epoch. Or an aeon."

"Put the possibility from your mind, Soneillon."

"As you wish, _Ahma_." The religious epithet was not lost on Eadric, although he was unsure of why she chose to use it now. _But it would be a good aeon._

He smiled and shook his head. She just couldn't resist.

Soneillon stretched, and her manner became more practical. "Shall we stroll? The sun is warm, and we can watch the joust while we iron out the details of how to proceed. We have much to discuss."

He nodded. "At least I can tolerate this scene – you could have chosen a far darker one."

"This is your dreamscape, Eadric, not mine. I am an interloper – although I think perhaps I should maintain this dream's cohesion, to appease your misplaced sense of continuity."

*

They sat in a small booth. Eadric winced as he watched a knight fall to the ground, expertly unhorsed by a cavalier who wore armour enamelled with intricate motifs in gold and green. Every detail was so precise that it was impossible to label the experience as anything other than completely real.

A pixie appeared and poured him a large glass of iced tea. Eadric raised an eyebrow.

"Forgive the inconsistency," Soneillon apologized. "I stole the fey from Ortwin's dream. He won't miss it."

Eadric said nothing of the sprite who had visited him previously.

"Abyssal politics are complex, Eadric," the Demoness sighed. "And the more power one possesses, the more complex they become – with a few notable exceptions, such as _Carasch_, of whom I believe Nufrut already informed you."

As the knight in gold and green trotted in a slow circuit, Soneillon languidly raised a silk scarf.

"Graz'zt," she continued, "being very powerful, is enmeshed in a web of interlocking interests of enormous subtlety. In order to hold Throile, he needs to divert resources from other areas – such as his war with Orcus – or risk losing it back to me in short order."

The knight rode up and lowered his lance, and Soneillon pinned the scarf to it. She tossed a garland of black lotuses towards him.

"Thus, conquering Throile is one thing, but holding it is entirely another. There is no defense that he can erect which I cannot overcome – unless he comes there personally. Even then, given sufficient time and preparation, I can probably circumvent it. Moreover, the Paling is my construction: it responds to my commands – not his. And there are interconnected wrinkles within the fabric of the plane which his servants cannot penetrate."

"Wrinkles?" Eadric asked.

"Nondimensional spaces. Demiplanes. Pockets of time and space which abut Throile itself."

"And Adyell? How close was she in your confidence? How many of your secrets does she know?"

"Less than she would like to think. Nonetheless, I have underestimated her ability. The _disjunctions_ that she used to bring down the defense were something of a surprise – I thought I had siphoned her power more effectively.* She must have hidden a little from me."

"Where is she now?"

"In Azzagrat," the Demoness replied. "No doubt she is petitioning Graz'zt for suzerainty of Throile, and using every wile within her means to persuade him."

Soneillon clapped politely as her chosen knight unhorsed another rival.

"Your forces have been overwhelmed, Soneillon. I wonder if you are really this unperturbed, or whether this demonstration of calm indifference is for my benefit?"

"Scattered is not overwhelmed," she replied smoothly, "although it's true that my goristroi and my jariliths have been all but eliminated, and that is a sore loss. Or maybe not: I am no longer fighting a defensive action."

"Mostin had hoped that you would deploy them in Afqithan – if he carries off his _dimensional lock_, then they would have proven useful. He fears Kostchtchie's giants."

"Mostin exhibits an unusual degree of prescience," Soneillon smiled, turning to Eadric. "It is enough to cause me to wonder where he gets his information. I have myself only recently heard news that Kostchtchie is mobilizing for certain."

"Mostin is..."

"You are a terrible liar, Eadric, so I will not press the point: I suspect that it would make you uncomfortable. As to Afqithan, I will still commit what I can when Nhura has gathered her rabble together. I feel somewhat responsible – after all, it was I who made her queen in the first place."

Eadric refocused. The Demoness's manner was so natural, so effortless, that it was easy to forget who she was. _Responsible? Hardly_, he thought. "And Throile?"

"Throile can wait," she answered. "It will be there when the current crisis has passed. And Graz'zt expects some kind of counter-offensive there. Helitihai will lead a group of insurgents – which should occupy whoever Graz'zt or Ainhorr appoints as despot. But I will reserve a sizable force for Afqithan."

Eadric sighed. "What of Rhyxali, Soneillon? She remains only a name to me."

Soneillon laughed. "I think that is the way that she prefers it. She is very furtive."

"I still don't understand what her interest in this is."

"Nor am I entirely sure," Soneillon admitted. "I suspect that it goes beyond reclaiming Afqithan – maybe even beyond taking Azzagrat for herself. I am not privy to her wider schemes."

"Is her manner as disarming as yours?"

"I'm sure it could be, if she so chose."

He groaned. "Fiends are so indirect. I often feel that it would be better if I could simply deal with them _as they are_. You spoke of authenticity before – but I have yet to see you display that quality. You play games, and hide behind masques and personae in order to achieve your ends."

"I _am_ authentic in that regard – that is my nature. And although I understand your grievance, you need to comprehend that, even amongst the Fallen, I am a rarity. I have tasted oblivion Eadric, and it is sweet."

"Still you dissemble." 

Her wings unfurled. Suddenly, the malignity in Soneillon seemed palpable. It was so profound that Eadric shook. His head span. Even in Throile, she had never evinced it to him, hiding it behind a veneer of lightness and courtesy. Here was an abomination, with a billion lifetimes of wickedness and hatred to its name. 

"Is this what you want?" She asked. 

The dreamscape around them melted into a scene of agony and madness. His limbs atrophied, and his mind screamed as her claws sank into him, sapping his strength. She straddled him, and consumed him.

Reeling, Eadric strove to regain consciousness, and a hundred false awakenings dragged him yet further into a mire of despair. Her release was so sudden – and so violent – that he feared he would be annihilated. Her Will – which seemed irresistible – drew him with her.

Like one who has dived too far, he gasped as he broke the surface of the nightmare, only to find himself within the booth again, watching the tourney. Soneillon sat next to him. She seemed unfazed, and poured another glass of iced tea.

"Dreams within dreams," she smiled. "Shall I show you more?" 

He turned his face away from her.

She vanished and reappeared in an instant, kneeling on his left side with her face inches from his. Her eyes bored into him. 

"It is merely another facet, Eadric. A persona. It is part of me, but I am more complex than that. _Nothing becomes_ – you know this. Jump, Eadric. I will catch you."


**


The raven watched as the heavy torc dropped from its talons and turned three times in the air, before landing in the still water below with a _plop_.

Gone. The torc was gone. A feeling of liberation mixed with sadness and loss washed over the bird. In order to do what he had to do, the raven needed to sever his connection with the thing he wanted to be closest to. The irony was not lost on him. Centuries before, worshippers in the nascent cult of Uedii had tossed gold into lakes in supplication, or to appease the dangerous moods of their Goddess. The raven wondered whether they had felt the same wrench that he did now. But if the sacrifice did not diminish the devotee, then how could it be genuine?

In due course, perhaps the nereid who dwelt in the lake would find the torc. Nwm hoped that, if so, she would put its magic to good use.

_A spell_, he thought to himself. _I must make a spell, to reestablish the connection. Some day._

As he winged away northwards, towards the mountains and the encroaching winter snow, Nwm exulted in the feeling of wind on his wings. Perhaps he would stay as a bird for a week or two. The perspective might be good for him.

Over Iald – not too far from Hullu's former abode – he spotted a group of crows and ravens circling above the treetops.

_A wolf kill_, he knew.

Nwm descended to feed.  

*

"He's just _gone_?" Eadric groaned. "Why didn't he speak to me about it?"

"Probably because he thought you would talk him out of it," Ortwin said. He handed a letter to the _Ahma_. Eadric grunted, and read it:


_I'm going on retreat for three months or so. Don't disturb me, please. I'll see you when the thaw begins.

Nwm._


"This is inconvenient," Eadric remarked.

"It’s a damned pain in the arse, that's what it is," Mostin grumbled bitterly. "I need Nwm for the _quiescence of the spheres_. Now I'll need to tweak it, and Koilimilou will have to participate. We've just lost a third of our firepower."


But as he sat later in reflection, Eadric felt numb and listless. His dreams – if they could be called dreams – of the previous night lay heavily upon him. He had spoken to no-one of them. The only person whose perspective he really valued had decided to disappear for a season. And Iua had gone – was she coming back? What was Ortwin _doing_? Attempting to seduce Koilimilou?

His stomach turned. A pall of corruption seemed to be settling over them – not entirely unexpected, given their allies, but no less unwelcome. He wondered if Nwm was getting out for precisely that reason. 


**


Mulissu exited the extradimensional space – a variation of Mostin's permanent _magnificent mansion_ where she spent much time – and stepped into the courtyard of the small palace in her pocket demiplane.

She was expecting a visit from a djinn called Rauot, a messenger from Magathei who brought Mulissu a stipend every six months: her fifty-pound alimony of gold from the estranged Ulao. Typically – and ironically – Mulissu would fritter the money when she made her occasional secret visits to the marketplaces of Magathei itself.

She flew past screens and archways into a comfortable reception chamber – an open and well-lit conservatory. A variety of exotic foliage bloomed in clay tubs and crept up  slender pillars which supported the enamelled ceiling. As she floated – absorbed in aery thought – she became alerted to another presence in the chamber. Suddenly, the world felt dead.

She froze.

"Please sit," a voice said from behind her. 

Without word or gesture, in a moment's thought, Mulissu exited the time stream. The Elementalist, although no coward, was no fool either. And more time was always better than less.

She turned to observe a demon sitting comfortably in one of her large wicker chairs. _Beautiful_ was a woefully inadequate description of him: his skin was a deep, bluish-black; his musculature, perfect. He possessed features which were somehow both bestial and refined, as though infinite barbarity and utter sophistication had been distilled into a single face. The force of his presence was staggering, and even within the stasis of the spell, his stillness seemed impossible or unreal: here was an entity of utter dynamism. Mulissu – no expert in demonology – was immediately aware of his identity. The fact that Graz'zt had made no effort to disguise himself was also significant, although Mulissu wrily observed that there were any number of possible reasons for his apparent lack of subterfuge.

Mulissu attempted to make a _passage of lightning_**: her destination was Morne in Wyre. The translation failed, and she realized that Graz'zt had already placed some kind of ward which prevented the use of the spell. And, no doubt, _teleport, gate_ and any number of other transportation spells.

She could not flee, nor could she realistically assault her uninvited guest. She stood small chance of penetrating his defenses with anything other than an electrical evocation – which might tickle him at best.

She invoked a _limited wish_ in order to issue a _sending_ to Mostin. It failed.

Calling upon the power in the sapphire which hung around her neck, Mulissu tried to erect a _prismatic sphere_ around herself. Somehow, the force of her amulet was subdued, and the defensive spell did not manifest.

In fact, nothing which was not a transvalent spell would work, it seemed.

She fled away at breakneck speed. The restricted area could not be big – even for Graz'zt, such an act would surely require a monumental effort. She would retreat back into the _magnificent mansion_.

As she approached the portal to the extradimensional space, a breeze stirred from a bound elemental, alerting Mulissu to the fact that time had resumed its normal flow. To the Elementalist's utter confusion, a _gate_ was already open within her courtyard. The scene through the new portal was of _another_ courtyard, in which Mostin stood, beckoning to her.

Guessing correctly that the Alienist had had some presentiment regarding her straits, Mulissu sped through the _gate_ into the bailey of Kyrtill's Burh.

*

Mostin had been walking from the Steeple to the library in the main building of the keep when the prolepsis had overwhelmed him: the sum total of events within Mulissu's demiplane revealed to him in an instant, together with several dozen possible outcomes. He had also known that he only had around six seconds to act – an uncomfortably brief period.

He had invoked a _time stop_, _plane shifted_ and passed through into the courtyard of Mulissu's palace with a quickened _dimension door_. He had swallowed as he saw her, suspended in the air next to a fountain, the flow of which was frozen in time and space. Behind her, half-manifested from a _teleportation_, Graz'zt was an insubstantial haze. Mostin knew that the demon had dismissed whatever ward he had set upon the place in order to intercept the fleeing Elementalist. He knew that Mulissu was incapable of invoking another transportation spell. And he also knew that she must _not_ enter her own extradimensional retreat: it was not safe. He had quickly interposed a _wall of force_ between Mulissu and Graz'zt, blocking the demon's line of effect – opened a _gate_ and retreated back to Wyre.

*

Mulissu appeared next to Mostin.

"You have the _web of motes_, am I correct?" Mostin asked. He knew that she did, but he still sought a verbal confirmation.

Mulissu nodded dumbly. She turned and looked back through the _gate_. Graz'zt _disintegrated_ the _wall of force_ and walked calmly towards the portal.

"Dammit Mostin, shut that thing down. Stop screwing around." Like the Alienist, Mulissu knew that the Demon could not pass through – the _gate_ was not for him, and the Interdict forbade his entry. It was, nonetheless, a disquieting scene.

Mostin ignored her. He was taking the chance to study his enemy – knowing that such an opportunity was unlikely to arise again. The membrane which separated the two realities seemed uncomfortably thin.

"Mostin!" Mulissu screamed. 

He closed the _gate_ abruptly.

*

Eadric was confused. "You said that he would _not_ leave Azzagrat."

"Technically, he didn't," Mostin replied, smiling. "He corporeated a body from the Astral Plane. He was projecting."

"Does that make any difference?" Ortwin asked.

"In practical terms, no," Mostin admitted. "Except that this is a tactic which he will start to employ against us routinely, and we are in trouble. Even if we kill him, it won't kill him – if you know what I mean."

"Why didn't he simply eliminate Mulissu?"

"The most likely explanation is that he wished to interrogate her – I foresaw that she might be taken to Azzagrat and subjected to scrutiny within his sanctum."

Mulissu looked horrified. "This is your fault, Mostin. Gods, I should blast you for involving me in this. My work. My books. I must retrieve my scrolls…"

"You most certainly will not," Mostin snapped. "Forget your pocket paradise, Mulissu – it will never be safe again. Nor will the extradimensional space. And be thankful that he underestimated your power – you're lucky that he didn't anticipate that you might have a transvalent temporal escape plan."

"And _your_ retreat, Mostin?" Eadric asked. "Is it safe?"

"No," Mostin replied sadly. "I suppose not."

"Was it ever?" Eadric grumbled. "What has changed, which makes it vulnerable now?"

"He is bending his mind upon us now, Eadric. In earnest. He glimpses possibilities which disturb him. He is laying intricate plans. I suspect that things will start to get very messy. Very soon. Mulissu, we could use you – will  you…"

"Where is Iua?" She hissed.

"Fumaril," Ortwin said.

"_Scry_ her, and take me there now, Mostin."

The Alienist nodded.

"And Mostin, after you have done that, I never want to see you again. Are we clear on that?"

"Yes, Mulissu. Quite clear." Mostin exhaled sharply, unsure of whether she really meant it this time.





* In game terms, Soneillon ensures that her chief servants (who are sorceresses) never advance beyond a certain level (17th) by drawing on their xp reserves to fuel her own epic spells.
**A kind of _plane shift – teleport_ combo.


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## pogre

Clever players indeed.

Well done all around!

I almost made it through the update without a dictionary until I saw this beauty - suzerainty. Great word perfectly employed as usual.


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## Gez

Another French word imported in English thanks to William the Conqueror. (Me, it was "pall" I did not know.)


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## Mortepierre

Gez said:
			
		

> Another French word imported in English thanks to William the Conqueror. (Me, it was "pall" I did not know.)




Well, to quote James D. Nicoll : The problem with defending the purity of the English language is that English is about as pure as a cribhouse whore. We don't just borrow words ;on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary


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## gloomymarshes

Great update! And yea, I didn't know what suzerainty meant either. THat was the only one though


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## darkbard

funny, suzerainty gave me no pause, but prolepsis sent me scampering for a nearby dictionary [didn't have it] and then back online, opening up a new window to check online dictionaries [found it on the second site i visited].  

but words of any sort do not suffice for praising this update.


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## Gray Sage

This Story Hour is incredible. If I had the ability, I would transplant my existence to Wyre and apprentice myself to Mostin. Move over, Orolde!

"My infinity is bigger than yours." - Loved this quote, though if one were to replace 'infinity' with 'ego' then I think it would hold more truth. But then, not all truths are unequal.

So now I can't wait until your next post so that I can find out more about Lai and Ninit. Especially Ninit, since apparently Graz'zt fears her. And Graz'zt is now making house calls - _classic!_

Thank you for the updates, they totally made my morning.

PS. Do you ever plan to write more for Divertimento?


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## Mytholder

Woo! Update.

And my brain hurts, as always.


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## Cheiromancer

Oh no!

Graz'zt is supposed to just sit there and take it.  He's not supposed to show initiative!  Now our heroes are in disarray- Nwm gone for months, Mulissu jumping ship, Ortwin bored with Iua and interested in Koi....

And Eadric, Soneillon's champion... what would he look like with the Cthonic template?

Just in case anyone is unaware, the complete story is available through the link in my sig.


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## Pyske

Just curious:  has anyone actually made a thread to discuss the philosophy of Sep's Story Hour?  You know, define what infinities we are talking about, decide if the statement "I serve the dialectic" never doesn't apply, and consider the implications of Ortwin's epic bluff skill actually being able to change the Truth?

 . . . . . . . -- Eric


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## Roman

Hurray, this update made my day!


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## Krellic

I am of the distinct opinion that Sep's infinity is bigger than all of ours... :\


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## Noir

Cheiromancer said:
			
		

> And Eadric, Soneillon's champion... what would he look like with the Cthonic template?




I wonder if Eadric eventually will embrace Oblivion. It sure would be very cool.


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## Tanager

Krellic said:
			
		

> I am of the distinct opinion that Sep's infinity is bigger than all of ours... :\




It's not the size of the infinity that counts, but how one uses it.  

Or so they say...


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## Roman

Noir said:
			
		

> I wonder if Eadric eventually will embrace Oblivion. It sure would be very cool.




That would indeed be very interesting!


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## darkbard

i seem to recall someone talking about setting up a yahoo discussion list for sep's story hour but i don't know what ever came of it....


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## Lela

darkbard said:
			
		

> i seem to recall someone talking about setting up a yahoo discussion list for sep's story hour but i don't know what ever came of it....



http://games.groups.yahoo.com/group/sepulchraves-wyre


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## Baron Opal

I would be rather disappointed if Eadric embraced Oblivion, although I think that he does have the where-with-all to endure the test. 

It warms my DMing heart to see Sep have Graz'zt take an active role. It greatly disturbs characters and players to become the hunted.

I also like to see the players / characters slowly finding and utilizing other resources / allies in their war against Graz'zt. In my campaign the players may decide to move against an elder dragon and they have not used the same opportunities. Woe to them...   

Baron Opal


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## Pyske

Another thought... does Graz'zt have a silver cord?  Clearly, the implication in the story is projection, not plane shift.  In both 3.0 and 3.5, severing the cord is fatal.  "If the cord is broken, the character is killed, astrally and materially."  Is this the rash act our heroes have been waiting for?

 . . . . . . . -- Eric


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## William Ronald

Another great update, Sepulchrave!  I found Eadric's response to Soneillion to be interesting and appropriate -- I think Eadric is as true to his inner nature as Soneillion is to hers. (Mind you, I think Eadric is learning more about himself and the worlds around him.)  To accept Soneillion's offer would be a betrayal of himself -- and loyalty is one of Eadric's cardinal values.

I am interested in learning more about Ninit, Lai, and Rhul.  The plot thickens -- and the story is as good as ever!

By the way, how is the house hunting project going?


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## Knightfall

Excellent, excellent update, Sep. Your writing always inspires to think bigger when it comes to my own homebrewed world.

Cheers!

KF72


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## grodog

Wow.  

Just wow.  

That's not an easily-won wow either:  I don't wow easily.  Even the past several very good updates weren't wows for me.  

But wow.

Nice work, as always Sep!  Hats off to your players and their ability to save their bacon in six seconds or less.  I wonder what, if anything, Dan learned about Graz'zt that he didn't already know as Mostin studied him through the gate....


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## BiggusGeekus

I *always* notice these updates when I'm really pressed for time at work!

dangit.  

Well, no help for it.  I'm going to have to get fired.

:: waddles off to read the update ::


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## weiknarf

Sepulchrave II said:
			
		

> "And his world is threatened?" Lai had asked.
> 
> "His world has been stolen from him."




Speaking of which, how is Nehael doing?


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## Joshua Randall

For whatever reason, these updates have a very Moorcockian (as in Michael Moorcock, _Elric of Melnibone_) feel to them. Especially the part about Rhul et al. -- they remind me of the various supernatural entitities whose help Elric sought in his various adventures (especially Stormbringer, the book). Of course, most of Elric's allies ended up as soul-food for Stormbringer, the sword... we can hope Eadric won't follow that path!

My hat is also off to Sep for employing "one hand giveth and the other taketh away" -- at the same time that Graz'zt begins taking a more active role, the heroes also gain new allies. Good DM trick to keep things in a state of tense balance.

As for Nym, I take it that his discarding of his torc is meant to symbolize his adoption of the Vow of Poverty (and the accompanying Acetic benefits) from _Book of Exalted Deeds_.


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## Azure Trance

Joshua Randall said:
			
		

> As for Nym, I take it that his discarding of his torc is meant to symbolize his adoption of the Vow of Poverty (and the accompanying Acetic benefits) from _Book of Exalted Deeds_.



 A +8 to his wisdom among the other juicy benefits are sure to help his material dispossession.


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## Suldulin

and lo, there was great joy as Sep updated


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## Cheiromancer

Just noticed this, but...

Isn't _More Than You Can Chew: Part I_ normally followed by a _Part II_?  Or is the most recent update a prolepsis itself?

I am curious how Mostin got that little glimpse of what was happening to Mulissu, especially as he didn't have the _web of motes_.  It sounds like _Foresight_, but I can't see how or why Mostin would have cast it in the previous few hours.  A new epic spell?

I liked Mulissu's quickened, componentless _Time Stop_.  Another useful epic spell, no doubt.


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## Pyske

Cheiromancer said:
			
		

> I am curious how Mostin got that little glimpse of what was happening to Mulissu, especially as he didn't have the _web of motes_.




I believe Sep is granting retroactive information from the web of motes, based on the idea that Mostin's current "diminished" intellect can't remember everything he learned from the web at once.  Seems to me to be a wise choice compared to telling the player everything that his PC with god-like intelligence learned up front. 

 . . . . . . . -- Eric


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## sithramir

Just would like to state my thanks for again astounding my sense of imagination. Brilliant


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## Jumbie

Sepulchrave II said:
			
		

> His name is Nwm. Remember it."



I got a chill when I read this.

Awesome work as usual Sep.

Thanks for giving us the gift of your Story Hour!


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## grodog

Cheiromancer said:
			
		

> Just noticed this, but...
> 
> Isn't _More Than You Can Chew: Part I_ normally followed by a _Part II_?  Or is the most recent update a prolepsis itself?




You lost me on this one Cheriomancer:  did Sep change the thread title, or did I missing a complete update somewhere along the way?


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## Cheiromancer

We just had a two-post update entitled _Dream and Demon_.  The update immediately preceding it (back on March 08) was entitled _More Than You Can Chew: Part I_.  It ended with Nwm's shapechange being dispelled, and Nwm and Eadric plummeting to the ground.

[edit]Whoops!  I'm a moron- there's an update that never made it into my compiliation.  Sorry for the confusion.  [/edit]


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## Jackylhunter

Wonderful as usual Sep!!  This is sort of throwing a monkey in the works - First Nwm leaves the group for a few months, and now Mulissu 'never' wants to see Mostin again.  He's losing allies to help him cast *Grazzt* left and right.  Can't wait to see what happends next.


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## BiggusGeekus

Jumbie said:
			
		

> I got a chill when I read this.




Me too.  I had thought Nwm was out of the woods (so to speak) when the whole kerfuffle with the sword died down.  Now, it seems, he is forced back into the spotlight again.


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## Mytholder

Please shoot me.

I now have Mostin singing to Shomei in my head, to the 'tune' of Kelis' Milkshake song.

"My infinity's bigger than yours,
Damn right, it's bigger than yours..."


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## Felix

Was some of that last Sep update edited? The first time I read it I distinctly remember Ortwin thinking of the heady wine a mixture of demon and fey produces... now I can't find it.

Maybe the internet bookweevils got to it. Or am I just imagining things?


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## Gez

No-no, it was there, and it is there.

It's post 194 of that thread, at the end.

The Cambion's sudden passion made Ortwin smile inwardly. He had become accustomed to her moods – the way that her languor would abruptly change into aggression, or her impassive gaze could fill with venom or desire in an instant. *The fusion of fey and demon made for a heady wine…*

"Where is Iua, Ortwin?" Eadric interrupted his reverie.

"She has returned to Fumaril for a while," Ortwin replied. "Which is fine. She was getting boring, in any case."

Eadric raised an eyebrow, but let it pass. "We can talk about this tomorrow. I am in no mood to deal with you when you're drunk. I'm going back to the Burh."


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## Olive

New thread!!! 

With subscription emails down, not as many people will see this, but I think it's worth putting in anyway...


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## grodog

Thanks for the pointer Olive


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