by J. Langland
“That would seem a very unusual request to make,” Moradel said.
Sentir frowned and said, “Yet Hilda did exactly that.”
“Well, I did reveal myself to him. When you get a direct request from your patron saint, who just healed you and freed you from the chains your leaders placed on you, it is rather difficult to turn down the opportunity.”
Sentir coughed and then chuckled. “Point well taken.” He raised his glass to Hilda as the others also chuckled.
Mount Doom
The gonging continued as they made their way down the very long steep corridor. It was more like a downward spiraling tunnel, Tom thought. “Downward spiraling” also described the emotional mood he was in. Every time he started thinking he was getting a grasp on his new reality, another rung would break beneath him, dropping him even further into the madness. No wonder Tizzy was insane!
At last they exited into a small unlit room. The spiral tunnel had been mostly unlit except for light from a few side passages and rooms that joined the tunnel early on. The Rod of Tommus, with its glowing ruby-and-blue sapphire gem ribbons, had provided their light, albeit they could all see in the dark. The small room had a metal wall on the far side with a very funky door that looked something like a cross between a bank vault and a submarine hatch. With his demon sight, Tom could see that it was crisscrossed with magical energy and runes. However, these were DoomNet style runes, not some runes from a foreign god.
“The opening process is a bit complicated,” Phaestus said. “Völund and I both know it, but the easiest method is to use your Rod. It is, or was, keyed to the locks, and given that only the owner of the Wand—er, Rod, can utilize the Rod, it’s a good key.”
“With the Rod once again active, you should be able to reset the key, as we discussed upstairs, simply by inserting it into the keyhole,” Völund said.
“So was Orcus like the warden or something?” Tom asked.
“Exactly,” Völund agreed.
“Just place the head of the Rod in this hole,” Phaestus instructed.
Tom shrugged and complied. A rush of extremely confusing information suddenly flooded his mind; massive amounts of data and statistics that he could not possibly process in the moments they stood there.
“Simply will the door to open,” Völund instructed Tom.
Tom willed the door to open and suddenly light and magical runes began coruscating across the door and frame, even as the large metal submarine hatch wheel began to spin. As it spun, Tom tried to understand the information he had access to; he stopped as soon as the door cracked open. That information was too confusing, and quite honestly, frightening. He saw hints of really bad things; however, he could not determine if they were bad things about the system as a whole, or bad things about the inhabitants of Tartarus.
They went through the door, a crackling field of coruscating light dancing over the doorway as each individual stepped through. Tom stepped through and felt the field permeating him, scanning him, filtering him. It was extremely odd; particularly given that he was now getting feedback from the Rod telling him the results of the scans. Tom shook his head and continued into the room beyond.
The door opened into a very large chamber that was dimly lit, as if from a single white bulb very high up on the ceiling, which he couldn’t quite make out without kicking his demon sight up to full power, and even then it seemed rather murky. Suddenly, Tom realized that there actually was no ceiling; this light came from the Rod of Tommus and Tartarus itself. They were actually staring up into a vast extradimensional gateway, extending what seemed to be a near infinite distance upward through the multiverse.
“Holy shit,” Tom found himself whispering in awe.
“The Oubliette,” Tizzy said.
“The hole in reality, down through which Zeus tossed the Titans,” Phaestus said, nodding.
“We are at the bottom of an infinitely deep pit,” Tizzy stated.
“That doesn’t make any sense!” Tom whispered, even though he somehow knew it was true.
“It is actually only infinite in one direction, and that is upwards,” Völund stated.
Tom looked at the smith, puzzled.
“There are ways for certain gods, in coordination with the operators of the Oubliette, to open the pit”—he pointed upward—“up there, from any plane in the multiverse, including the outer ones.”
“However, it’s a one-way portal. You can only put stuff into the portal, because it is then sucked down the infinitely long tunnel until the prisoner hits bottom,” Phaestus added.
“No way to climb out. It is impossible to detect the one-way portal from inside the tunnel, because there are literally infinite possible locations the portal could have been opened from. It’s basically a very complex extradimensional wormhole that ends here,” Völund finished.
“Once here, the Oubliette operators must contain, restrain and process the prisoner,” Darg-Krallnom said.
“And that can be very tricky,” Tizzy commented, taking a puff from his pipe.
“Indeed,” Völund agreed rather ominously.
“So what happens with this processing?” Tom asked.
“Basically, the prisoners are analyzed and then held until a suspension cell can be readied for them,” Phaestus said. “At that point, they are interned in Tartarus.” He pointed to the far side of the room, which lit up as he spoke.
Where the architect pointed stood a massive gate or doorway, more than a thousand feet tall. Tom blinked, trying to look at it. It appeared to be some seriously funky, ornate, H. R. Giger-esque door. The difference was that the door seemed to be changing, morphing to display other forms, intricacies and monstrous humanoid forms on it, even as he looked at it.
“I am pretty damn sure the Jilted Bride knows nothing about this,” Darflow Skragnarth marveled. From what Tom could gather, only the most senior commanders had ever been down here. From the expression on Zelda’s face, he was pretty sure she had never been here.
“She knows of Tartarus, of course, just not where it is, or who’s in charge. I should think that would have changed her calculus four thousand years ago,” Phaestus said.
“I think Sammael has a pretty good idea,” Tizzy added casually.
Völund and Phaestus turned to stare at him.
“What?” Tizzy shrugged. “I didn’t say anything; it’s just that in casual conversations over the millennia, he has mentioned certain things that make me think he at least suspects. In particular, he seems to want to put the Demiurge here once he defeats him.”
“Oh hell, no!” Völund shook his head from side to side with a look of horror.
“I don’t think that is a battle that will be over any time soon, so we don’t need to worry about it,” Phaestus said to calm the smith.
“Speaking of prioritizing worries—are we going to stand around gawking or are we going to silence that stupid bell?” Arg-nargoloth asked.
Phaestus and Völund both nodded, looking rather abashed. They headed to another door to the right of where they had entered, similar to the one they’d just come through. Phaestus gestured for Tom to open the door as before. Tom complied, and the door hissed open with the smell of stale air.
The all piled into a forty-foot-square room which was lined with all sorts of gothic cyberpunk equipment, again very reminiscent of H. R. Giger. Actually, he thought, it was sort of a cross between the Command Center, the Tech Command Center, and a Giger alien spaceship. Tom used his demon sight to make sure there were no creepy acid-dripping Xenomorphs hanging out in the room.
Phaestus waved his hand over a panel near the door, causing the monitors in the room to flicker to life. Tom felt a vibration from the Rod alerting him to the activation of the “Tartarus Processing and Control Center.” It was odd how that name just came to his mind.
Völund, Phaestus, Darg-Krallnom, Arg-nargoloth, Roth Tar Gorefest, Delg Narmoloth and Helga Dourtooth all took what Tom assumed were preassigned console positions—all were first g
eneration commanders. Zog Darthelm, his favorite Sith lord D’Orc, also took a seat.
Zog was unusual; he was both first and second generation. His father was a D’Orc, which would make him second generation, but he had been born before his father had ascended (or descended as the case was), and Zog later came to fame and also ascended. It had been confusing at first; mainly because of the way he’d introduced himself. However, Tom got the story while they were reliving the battle with the Knights of Chaos.
The rest of the commanders simply stood around rather awkwardly, since D’Orcs were not known to just stand there when things were happening. Of course, Tom was also “just standing there,” but he was trying to follow through the Rod what his people were doing on the consoles.
“I am mighty glad you showed up, Lord Tommus!” Roth Tar Gorefest stated as his hands manipulated controls on his console. “Nothing remotely interesting, other than Darflow, of course”—he nodded to his former enemy—“has happened here for thousands of years. You show up and we get a feast, Knights of Chaos, Darflow and his crew, and now the potential for a Titan to escape and destroy a couple worlds before we can defeat it and recapture it.”
Several other D’Orcs hooted in shared appreciation.
Tom just shook his head. A downward spiral into insanity, indeed.
Murgatroy
Vaselle made his way down to the tavern attached to the inn. It was quite late, Damien was asleep, yet slumber eluded the warlock. He was simply too excited by the ongoing events. Things were going incredibly well. He and his master were getting along quite well, and they were all now hard at work on the master’s plan to conquer the multiverse. Or at least, he thought that was the plan. The orcs and D’Orcs pretty much assumed that was the plan. His master, however, seemed oddly vague on the point. Vaselle could not really “feel” or “see” any thoughts from his master in this regard.
True, the master wanted to restore the former glory and freedom of the orcs; that was his new purpose. However, despite that, Vaselle was not getting a strong world domination vibe off the master, let alone a multiversal domination vibe. Of course, defeating Lilith was going to be a clear priority, and then, who knew? Perhaps the master would settle for being a Cofactor of the Abyss.
From what both the D’Orcs and the new demon recruits had said, it wasn’t like the current Cofactors ever slept together. They could barely stand to be in the same room with each other, let alone the same bed. So that shouldn’t be an issue. But was it? Did demons have sexual preferences? From his studies, he knew they were quite indiscriminate in their raping. Vaselle was sure no self-respecting demon would ever let the gender of their victim influence or abend the planned physical, sexual, mental and spiritual degradation and demise of their subject. That would be extremely unprofessional. Plus, he was pretty sure Boggy had confirmed this fact in one of his drunken stories.
Vaselle smiled to himself, thinking of the good times he’d been having at Mount Doom. To be truly part of a united team, working at a common goal. The comraderie around the campfire, like the previous evening when Edwyrd had returned after the battle. They had all eaten dinner together—everyone, including Gastropé, and Tom had shown them the balling of the battle.
That battle! It was absolutely insane! Vaselle could barely understand much of the magic that had been used. What was a gravity cannon? Sekhmekt’s super-heated breath? He laughed when he remembered Gastropé’s shock at discovering that Tom had battled alongside an actual goddess. The funniest part was that when they’d explained who she was—the Nyjyr Ennead goddess of war—Gastropé had almost fallen over. It turned out that they had been, and in fact still were, searching for signs that another Nyjyr Ennead goddess, one Bastet, was active in Astlan and possibly working with Exador. Vaselle shook his head. What an amazingly small multiverse!
Gastropé had filled them all in on what he was doing, what the Nimbus was up to, and how the alvar had all been freaked out by a simple shopping trip. The shamans had nearly split their sides laughing at the overreaction of the alvar. Those alvar were seriously paranoid. Vaselle shook his head in amusement, but then he tried to shove all of that to the back of his head. It was time for a drink, and he didn’t want to accidentally blurt something out while tipsy.
He entered the tavern room, which was not crowded but still busy enough at this time of night. There was an open spot at the bar, on the end next to a priest of some sort. As he got closer, Vaselle easily recognized the rather shabby robes of an itinerant priest of Tiernon. He’d certainly spent enough time with them to recognize one.
Up until he’d met his master, Vaselle would have studiously avoided being anywhere near a priest. The reminder of his personal shortcomings made the situation too uncomfortable. However, now that he was the servant of a great master capable of defeating the greatest Knight of Tiernon and able to steal Tiernon’s mana at will, he felt no shame. In fact, he was on a first-name basis with his master and the master’s avatars. There was no way this ugly priest would have gotten with a thousand leagues of one of Tiernon’s avatars, let alone Tiernon himself. So Vaselle was actually feeling pretty good about pulling up a bar stool next to the priest.
Vaselle sat down on the stool and gazed at the very sorry back bar. While he really couldn’t afford to go the fancy taverns in Freehold, he could afford, and did visit, good upstanding middle-class taverns. This tavern, with its serious lack of selection (there appeared to be only two ales, “light” and “dark,” if the symbols were correct, plus a single barrel of wine of the day) was decidedly not up to his normal standards.
He assumed they must have some bottles in back, but there were none up front, nor did there appear to be any hard liquors. Of course, those could also be hidden; he wasn’t really sure of dive bar protocols and inventory security. He did understand magical retail security, of course, being a merchant himself. However, the vast majority of his work was bespoke; his inventory was primarily example devices. Rarely did he sell prefabricated items; the cost of creating and maintaining such an inventory was expensive, at least for his specializations. Not that there weren’t plenty of merchants that did, but then they were generally only retailers and not craftsmen as well.
Hmm. That got him thinking. With access to Doom’s gems and precious metals, he would have the resources to make more arcane devices than ever. Of course, his service to the master came first, but with the need to provision shamans, warriors and others with arcane devices, he could be of great service with his skills in arcane device construction.
And thinking of inventory security, he would have to ramp up security if he were going to have lots of gems and metals around. Perhaps he should relocate to Mount Doom? With Phaestus and Völund around, surely there were going to be excellent laboratories there. On the other hand, Vaselle thought to himself, working out of Mount Doom would make it difficult to be the master’s servant in Astlan. Clearly, I need to discuss this with the master, so that we can determine the best way for me to serve.
Vaselle shivered with happiness, thinking about the joy of serving his master, of being his master’s tool in the upcoming restoration project. A loud cough woke him from his reverie. He discovered the barkeep staring him in the face.
“You toasted already? Or can I get you something?” The barkeep growled.
“Light ale, if you please,” Vaselle said.
The barkeep grabbed a clay mug from below the counter, turned and stalked to the light ale barrel without saying anything.
Vaselle shook his head. He really should not let himself get so distracted in such an unsavory environment. He had no way of identifying them, but he was certain the back corners of the tavern held ethically challenged patrons seeking to exploit the less ruthless drunken patrons.
Vaselle chuckled. Such individuals would be in for a big surprise if he was forced to summon his master to protect him. That would be a joyous thing to see, and probably a very smelly bowel-emptying event. He shook his head slightly, however, realizin
g that that would be a frivolous reason to summon his master. In fact, it might possibly anger the master. Vaselle frowned. No, as enjoyable as it might be, it would be unworthy of a good servant to summon his dark lord to a bar fight.
Crap! He had done it again. He realized the barkeep was back and wanting to be paid.
“No tabs. Cash on the barrel,” the barkeep said.
“How much?” Vaselle asked. He must not have heard the barkeep say a price.
“A secundus.”
Vaselle frowned, not quite sure what a secundus was. He assumed it was a second-class bronze coin, which implied a decent beer. The venue contradicted that, but oh, well. He dug into his purse and pulled out the equivalent Council States coin and handed it to the barkeep.
The man stared at it and flipped it over a couple times. “No change,” he said, pocketed the coin and headed towards the other end of the counter.
Vaselle shook his head and took a sip of the ale. He promptly coughed at the nasty concoction.
The priest of Tiernon looked over at him and said, “You from out of town?”
Vaselle blinked, looked over to the ugly priest, and realized that it wasn’t so much that the priest was ugly, he was half orc. He blinked again. “Uhm, yes...”
The priest nodded.
“I’m sorry, but you are a priest of Tiernon, yes?” Vaselle asked.
The priest sighed wearily, as if he’d heard the question a few too many times. “I am.”
“And you have orcish blood?”
“I do.”
“Sorry,” Vaselle said. “I am sure you get that all the time. It’s just that when I was a youth, I was schooled first by the Brothers of Hendel, and then later I spent some time at the seminary of Tiernon before deciding on wizardry.” It was a real stretch, but close enough without getting into humiliating details. “And, well, it was a rather human-centric organization, so I am a bit surprised.”
The priest blinked and suddenly smiled. “You are a follower of Tiernon? Or of Hendel?”
