by J. Langland
The guard shook his head. “Sorry, I’ve reviewed the list. There is no Beragamos Antides on the list.”
“Antidellas. Hello?” Beragamos said incredulously, shaking his head in exasperation. Seriously, if young Danyel could recognize him and go into awe, what was this man’s problem?
The guard simply shrugged.
“Stand aside and let me pass,” Beragamos said, using Sancto Mandato.
The guard stepped aside, as expected, and Beragamos opened the door and entered the room to see people scrambling around and having very heated conversations, many of them with people in mirrors.
Beragamos looked around, following his links. His people were all gathered at a smaller table, poring over some documents. He headed over there.
“What do we know?” Beragamos asked, coming up behind them as they were hunched over the table. Hilda, whom he was directly behind, jumped a few inches off the ground in surprise, then spun around to stare at him in shock. All of them—Hilda, Stevos, Timbly, Teragdor and Rasmeth, were staring at him.
“Beragamos!” Hilda exclaimed in surprise. “How did you get here? We have been unable to get off-plane by any means.”
“I was sleeping down in the refugee quarters when the links broke. I’ve been winding my way through this giant maze, following my links to all of you,” Beragamos said shaking his head.
Timbly blinked in shock. “You mean you’ve been here all along?”
Beragamos gave them a mea culpa expression. “Our lord god, Tiernon, asked me to come in secret and quietly observe the battle with the Storm Lords, and in the event you were able to go after Talarius, provide backup against his abductor.” He shrugged. “I was ordered not to reveal myself except in an emergency. I think this qualifies.”
Stevos sighed. “Well, thank Tiernon for that. This is a completely unprecedented situation.”
Beragamos nodded. “It appears all links to the Outer Planes have been severed.”
“Nor can we shift to Tierhallon, or anywhere off this plane,” Hilda said. “The gateway to Fort Murgatroid has been closed, and can’t be reopened.”
“Beragamos!” a voice shouted from the large mapping table in the center of the room. Dashgar and Inethya had spotted him and were heading over.
“Thank Tiernon! You have come to fix this!” Inethya said as she reached them.
Beragamos shook his head sadly. “No. I’ve been here, incarnated, for a few days now. Lying low in case of problems. However, this is not at all what I had anticipated.”
“I doubt anyone would have.” Dashgar shook his head. “I have never seen anything like this.”
Hilda’s eyes suddenly widened. “We have, though!” She nodded at Beragamos. “This is very similar to the wards that Lenamare used to expel demons, albeit a much stronger version. Those wards, while not blocking access to illumination streams or the god pool, did interfere with our communications and blocked archons from entering. They also gave me a headache,” she added.
Dashgar looked at her, considering her words silently.
“Yes, but it is different,” Beragamos said. “The archons are all still here, trapped—with no headaches, I assume—and all illumination streams off-plane seem to be cut.”
“Agreed,” Inethya said. “I can reach illuminaries on Nysegard that have direct connections to me, but I am unable to reach any of my saints. I am trying to determine if any of my illuminaries elsewhere on Nysegard are able to reach saints that are in Tierhallon. If so, we can perhaps get word back to them.”
“Excellent idea,” Beragamos said. “That is quick thinking. We will have to work indirectly if all off-plane links are cut for the Citadel. I can’t believe they could cut the entire world off.”
Teragdor spoke up. “Uhm... question?”
“Yes?” Beragamos asked.
“I’m very new to this high-level stuff, but if all links to the Outer Planes are cut off, what happens when people are slain in battle? How are their souls, their wraiths, going to get to Tierhallon? Would they not be trapped here, susceptible to the Unlife?” Teragdor asked.
Beragamos closed his eyes. The apostle was right. He hadn’t even considered that. If others, mortals, made this connection, there would be widespread panic.
“We’ve got some more planning to do. Let’s get everyone back to the main table,” Beragamos instructed. “We are in battle. A good number of priests are completely offline, without the resources they need for battle and healing, and of those that are connected to us, the only available mana is that which we avatars ourselves have to give out. We need to get priests reconsecrated to avatars that are here.”
Citadel of Light, Cathedral of Tiernon: An Hour Later
Battle Priestess Karis awaited Grob’s arrival in the vestry after the emergency meeting of all priests. She had known something was very wrong. Early this morning, she had awoken to a sense of heart-stopping loss. She had suddenly felt the absence of Tiernon, of his saints. She could still feel her prayer channels to the Prophetess Inethya, but that had been all.
Very shortly thereafter, the assault had begun. Fortunately, the Holy Water systems were still working, and they could still consecrate more water. At the moment, that was their primary defense—that and wizards. The Vicar General had been forced to reverse order their playbook, falling back on the wizards and animages for ranged combat. The Wardens were grounded for the moment until priests could heal again.
A short time ago, in the sanctuary, they had learned more; they were swapping priests in and out of positions to brief them on the situation. Apparently the Citadel had been cut off from the Outer Planes; from all other planes of existence, in fact. All links, all illumination streams, all possibility of travel off-world had somehow been cut off by the Storm Lords.
Priests were sobbing and confused. The Unlife was using the chaos to maximum effect. Their main army was quickly moving in, building and fortifying siege emplacements. Their advance units were starting to put pressure on the wall defenders. The defenses of the Citadel had always been heavily reliant on heavenly resources, and were thus now woefully underpowered. The irony of today’s situation was not lost on Karis. On the day they had thought to go into battle with the most heavenly resources ever, they went in with the absolute least.
The thirteen avatars were also disconnected, their own streams cut. The long and short of it was that the only divine assistance of any sort they could expect was from the avatars that were here. The priests had all been instructed to perform consecration ceremonies to bind themselves to the saints and avatars that were here. Those avatars would supply priests with mana for rituals, as well as manually process the mana from worship services. They were going to need to be doing a lot of worship services.
The first of the main problems was that the local avatars could not easily store great amounts of mana, so they would have to work to carefully time the worship services and mana expenditures. They would be on a very tight budget in terms of mana usage. Every drop would count; there would be nothing to spare. The next problem was that the manual processing and distribution of mana would be fully occupying the avatars. They would be effectively incapacitated and thus completely unable to aid in the direct defense of the Citadel.
The situation this morning, the emergency meeting—all of it had been mind- and soul-numbing to Karis and the other priests. She was in shock; she barely knew what to think. However, she was half-orc, a Battle Priestess of Tiernon, and they were at war against the Forces Of Darkness. It would be a far harder battle than they had anticipated, particularly in light of the secret that had been shared in the meeting.
Being cut off from Tierhallon also meant that those who perished would not immediately be sent to Tierhallon, as their souls could not get off-plane. That revelation had sent the assembled priests into the closest thing she had ever seen to a panic within the Citadel. Of course, there had been assurances that the avatars were working on this and would find a solution. However, in the meantime, they we
re not to bring this up with worshipers unless asked, and then they were to simply assure them that the avatars would handle things.
Karis had to admit, that was very small comfort. In any event, they had been instructed to focus their use of the limited mana supply available to healing and defensive spells. Keep people alive, keep them safe. Alternate plans were being made for the offense; in particular, how to remove the interdiction and restore extra-planar connections. That was the only offensive plan at the moment; everything else would be defensive.
Near the end of the meeting, Grob had motioned her over and told her to wait for him in the vestry. So here she now was, doing all she could to be brave in this unimaginable situation. She prayed to Tiernon directly, even though she knew it would not get through. The only place a prayer could get to at the moment was to the avatars already here. If she needed to pray to one of them, it would probably be more effective to just walk up and talk to them in person. She shook her head. What a weird situation.
The door to the vestry suddenly opened and Grob came in quickly and shut the door behind him.
“Yes, Vicar General?” Karis asked.
“Karis,” Grob said, coming over to her to speak more softly. “As you may be aware, the avatars do not want us reaching out to the Isle of Doom.”
“I was not aware of that, but given the resources we thought we had, that makes sense. No need to bother them; it would be very difficult for them to get here in time anyway,” Karis said.
“I know. I have no idea what resources they might have to spare, nor do I think they can get here very quickly. It is nearly a week of around-the-clock flying for them under the best of circumstances. However, we are in very dire straits. If nothing else, perhaps they can avenge us when they finally arrive,” Grob said.
Karis nodded grimly. It was a very dark thought.
“You know where the communication stone is, yes?” Grob asked.
“I do, Vicar General,” Karis answered.
“Then get hold of Targh Bowelsplitter and see what they can do.”
Isle of Doom, Krallnomton
“Orcus’s balls!” Targh cursed as Valg brought him the news from the Citadel. Valg had been the closest shaman to the linked talisman to the Citadel, and thus the one to answer its call. The young shaman had been in complete shock and quickly assured the person on the other end that he would inform the Oracle, Targh, and get back to her shortly.
“Sound the Call. We need to prepared for anything, including going to the Citadel if Lord Tommus agrees,” Targh said. “I will go gather the commanders in Mount Doom.”
Valg nodded and launched himself towards the Call Tower as Targh flew off towards the entrance to the volcano.
Mount Doom, Council Chamber
Tom entered the conference room with Darg-Krallnom and Tamarin by his side. Most of his commanders were already seated; he was surprised to note that Talarius had also come. Naturally he would have heard the Call of the Horns on the island and would have wanted to know what was going on.
Tom himself wanted to know what was going on. All he knew was that they had been contacted by the Citadel of Light, one of the largest fortresses belonging to the Five Siblings. He assumed that Talarius knew that too. This could be tricky.
Tom sat down in his chair; Tamarin shrank herself and sat on his shoulder. He waited a few moments for the last of his commanders to assemble. He then looked to Targh, even as Valg entered and went to stand by his grandfather’s side.
“What news?” Tom asked.
“Valg has received word from the Citadel that they are under an unprecedented attack by the Storm Lords,” Targh said.
“Unprecedented?” Darg-Krallnom asked. “That is a very strong word, given the history of the Citadel.”
“Indeed. It seems that the Storm Lords have not only lain siege, but somehow cut off all extra-planar contact to the Citadel,” Targh said.
That caused the assembled commanders to murmur amongst themselves.
Tom shook his head. “So they cannot plane shift or open gateways to other planes such as the Abyss? But do they even use demons? How much of a problem is this?”
Valg shook his head. “No, my lord. All contact to other worlds is cut off. Neither links nor illumination streams can go off-world. They are completely cut off from Tierhallon and the other Sibling Realms. No different than a priest entering the Abyss,” Valg explained.
“You mean their priests are essentially powerless?” Talarius asked in shock.
Valg nodded. “Exactly. They cannot draw down mana from the god pools. The only mana they have access to is their own personal mana or that generated by local worship services. Nothing from off-world. The souls of the newly dead cannot travel to the Outer Planes, and are subject to capture and consumption by the Unlife. They are completely cut off!”
That caused everyone in the room to gasp, and begin murmuring. The horror of the situation was a palpable weight upon the room.
A chill ran down Tom’s spine. Those streams that he had hijacked had been cut, their priests completely cut off. Remembering that, a memory suddenly struck at him from out of nowhere.
“Vosh!” Tom screamed at Vosh An-Non. His general looked over to him from where he was battling an avatar of Nét. “I’ve lost the link to Doom!”
“What?” Vosh yelled back in shock.
“I don’t know, but the link is down to Doom. I’m trying to reroute through the local Doomalogue, but something is wrong. It should have failed over automatically, but it did not! I am trying to manually connect, but I think there is something going on at the Doomalogue—something very bad!”
“Can you try routing to another Doomalogue? Try Gormeghast, Astlan, any other!” Vosh shouted as he stabbed his sword into the diaphragm of the avatar he was battling.
“Crap! Those are not working either! I am unable to reach any of the Doomalogues other than the local one! We are completely cut off!”
Tom gasped, bending over in fear and horror at the realization hit him. No, hit Orcus! That was the moment when Orcus had realized they were cut off from Doom and all the Doomalogues. The terror, the sudden desperation! He felt light-headed and found himself hyperventilating, despite not needing to breathe. He tried to close his eyes, only to realize they were already closed. He leaned back in his chair, opening his eyes to stare up at the ceiling, and suddenly realized that Tamarin was yelling frantically in his ear.
“Master! Master! What is it? Are you under attack?”
Tom took a deep, slow breath and held it. He had to calm himself. He stretched his arms before him to force himself to relax, unclenched his fists. He was here, he was Tom. He was not Orcus. This was not Etterdam. Slowly, Tom felt the panic subside, the reality of the room overtaking the memory. He breathed slowly, closing his eyes again and then opening them.
Everyone in the room was staring at him in shock; several were standing. Darg-Krallnom and Arg-nargoloth had gotten up and moved to his side.
Tom shook his head and waved them away. “I’m fine. I’m sorry,” he said, trying to calm everyone. “I was suddenly hit by one of those memories. An extremely powerful memory of Orcus and Vosh An-Non on Etterdam, near the end. The emotions overwhelmed me.”
“Near the end? What triggered that?” Vargg Agnoth asked in concern.
“It was the issue of being cut off from all other planes,” Tom said. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to remember the vision, the memory, but not get caught up in it. “We were in battle against Sentir Fallon and several of his fellow avatars, along with an avatar named Aodh and others who served Nét.” He shook his head. “I have no idea who Nét is, other than that I—or rather, Orcus—hated him very much and wanted him dead or in Tartarus. But in any event, at one point Orcus lost contact with Mount Doom.”
Delg Narmoloth nodded. “When Lilith sabotaged us.”
Tom shook his head in disagreement. “No, it was more than that. He lost contact with Mount Doom, and he was upset that his link
s didn’t fail over to the Etterdam Doomalogue. He tried to reestablish the links through the Etterdam Doomalogue, but it was broken—something was wrong with it and he was having problems. He then tried to connect via other Doomalogues, such as on Astlan. For all those he tried, he got no response, nothing. That was different from what was wrong with Etterdam. He could sense Etterdam; he just couldn’t get the linkage up and pull mana.”
“We stayed active for some time after we presumed Orcus dead,” Targh said. “It was a graceful shutdown because the control connection to the Wand was lost. I would assume that Etterdam would have done the same.” He shook his head. “In fact, Etterdam should not have shut down because he was there with the Wand.”
“This is interesting,” Phaestus said. Tom blinked, he had not been aware that Phaestus, and Völund as well, had joined them.
“Etterdam was the first link to shut down,” Völund said. “It shut down, or our connection to it was lost before Doom itself shut down.”
Phaestus nodded. “That is one of the few things we were able to determine after the fact.”
“At the time, we were all too busy trying to expel Lilith’s forces,” Arg-nargoloth said.
“We never did determine how she got into Doom. Every entrance in the Abyss was heavily guarded,” Darg-Krallnom said.
“Perhaps she came through from Etterdam?” Roth Tar Gorefest suggested.
Phaestus nodded. “It would not have been as heavily guarded. If she had taken that, sabotaged it and then taken the portal back to Doom... that would explain a lot.”
“However, Orcus should still have been able to make contact with Astlan, or even Nysegard for that matter,” Völund said.
“But he could not,” Tom said. “I—he was at a loss to explain it. But if it was something like this, what has been reported at the Citadel, that would explain why he could only contact the Etterdam Doomalogue.”
“Which Lilith had already sabotaged,” Phaestus said, nodding.
“It would also explain how we lost so many D’Orcs,” Morok Deathstealer said. “If all extra-planar access had been severed around the battlefield, any D’Orcs that were killed would have been unable to return to the Abyss.”
