by J. Langland
CRUNCH went his mace in a zombie’s skull. The mace’s pleasant glow would be quite useful once Atun had set. He pulled the mace, dripping with brains, out of the skull. The weapon had the option to raise spikes out of the main ball, similar to a morning star, but without the chain. However, in the case of zombie skulls, a simple round ball mace was more effective, as it was not as easily stuck in broken skull bone crevices.
“Aigh!” wailed a soldier about two feet from him. Somehow a zombie—no, that was a ghoul—had gotten between the segments at the wrist joint of her armor and was gnawing on the woman’s wrist.
“Off with you!” Teragdor yelled, quickly crushing the ghoul’s skull. That would prevent it from being turned to a wight. “Let me see your wrist!” he ordered the soldier, moving to try and surround her with his shield. He allowed his mace to fall on its strap as he reached for the woman’s hand.
Teragdor quickly recited the ritual for curing ghoulism and then followed up with a healing ritual.
The woman looked up gratefully. “Thank you, apostle!”
“Keep up the good work!” Teragdor said with a nod as he pulled back, turning around and flipping his mace back up into his hand.
CRACK went his mace, glancing off a ghoul’s head this time. He shoved with his shield and the ghoul went tumbling over the wall to the inside court. Teragdor winced slightly. He had no problem with making zombie mush, but ghoulash was different. Ghouls were infected, diseased mortals; aside from their horrible hunger, they were actually intelligent people. Falling to one’s death like that was not a particularly honorable way to die. Not how he would normally want to defeat, or kill, his opponent.
He suspected however, that such a sentiment came from his mother’s side. He doubted too many orcs had such moral qualms. Of course, that could be the ingrained racism of the Church in Astlan. Orcs were not held in that high regard in the Astlanian Church of Tiernon, unlike here. Having been raised among humans, he had internalized many of those prejudices. Only here in Nysegard could he stand side by side with half-orcs, humans and orcs and see them all as individuals and not preconceived caricatures.
CRUNCH went his mace into another zombie skull. Zombies, on the other hand, were pretty much exactly what he’d always thought they’d be like. Only the putrid smell had he not counted on. No one had ever told him how truly horrible rotting zombie organs and flesh smelled.
Mount Doom, DCC: Early Fourth Period
“The seventeenth regiment, under Flora, shall be responsible our ground and tunnel defense here at Doom,” Arg-nargoloth noted, gesturing on the map table to the ground entrances to Doom. “Tar Roth Non is reporting that all the hydra hounds that survived Lord Tommus here are fully regenerated and ready to eat anyone entering the tunnels.”
“Sorry about that,” Tom said. He really did feel guilty for the havoc his party had wreaked upon the hydra hounds, who had just been doing their jobs.
Arg-nargoloth chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t be; I am exaggerating. All of the hounds actually survived. This is the Abyss, after all. The ones you brained so they could not sprout new heads are just taking longer to regenerate. They should be ready for combat in a few more weeks. Anyway, we still have over a thousand hounds ready for combat.”
“The tenth is ready for Doom air support,” Zog Darthelm reported. “We have gotten three new gravity canons online and the plasma infantry are now at their defensive stations.”
Tom shook his head. “I wish we could use those plasma rifles in Nysegard. I suspect they would work quite well on Unlife.”
“They do indeed.” Morok Deathstealer nodded in agreement.
“I prefer gravity rifles for zombies. One-stop pulverization, brains and all,” Zog replied.
“Neither of which work in Nysegard,” Arg-nargoloth interrupted, trying to keep the planning session on topic.
“Vespa Crooked Stick and the nineteenth are in the process of deploying to the Nysegard Doom,” Targh informed them. “We will want the most experienced Unlife fighters with us at the Citadel. Vespa’s people, along with our mortal forces, will be on high alert during the expedition to the Citadel.”
“How are our magical defenses on the Isle of Doom?” Tom asked.
“Not what we want,” Völund responded. “We’ve been focused on getting the transportation and communication systems online.”
Phaestus spoke up. “I can assist there. While my wife will not go to the aid of the followers of the Five Siblings, she is more than happy to help Doom resist any potential treachery on their part. She will be bringing in two companies of sphinxes. We will place them all in key strategic locations. They will not let anyone pass; it’s one of their specialties.”
Tom nodded. “As to our advance party, Arg-nargoloth,” he said, looking to the commander, “you are to be in command of Doom itself. Your first is going to Nysegard in command of the second regiment, correct?”
“That is consistent with our practices for the last ten or twelve thousand years.” Arg-nargoloth said, nodding in agreement.
“So you have your hands full here. Darg-Krallnom and Targh, will you join me in the advance party?” Tom asked. “You both have great experience with the Citadel.” The two D’Orcs nodded in agreement.
“Talarius, you are the one pushing for this.” Tom smiled at the knight. “You also know the most of the modern Church. Will you join me as well under your oath?”
“I will.” Talarius nodded.
“Is there anyone else who should join us?” Tom asked.
Talarius spoke up. “I might offer a suggestion.” Tom nodded for him to continue. “I have made the close acquaintance of Sir Stainsberry, Knight Magus of the El Ohîm. Given all that has transpired between Doom and the Five Siblings, along with the oddity of this interdiction, it might be advisable to bring him along up front.”
“Very good idea!” Arg-nargoloth exclaimed. “I had no idea one of the El Ohîm was on the Isle of Doom. That will work in our favor.”
Darg-Krallnom chuckled. “Yes, that will give the avatars at the Citadel pause before committing any perfidy.”
Tom shook his head. “What are the El Ohîm?”
“It translates literally as ‘of the gods,’ ” Talarius informed him. “So Sir Stainsberry is a Knight Magus of the gods.”
“Which gods?” Tom asked suspiciously.
“All of them!” Talarius grinned. “Or at least all of them that have sworn to uphold the Concord of Conciliation and the Balance.”
Tom just looked at him curiously, not really understanding.
“They are representatives, in a sense, marshals, of the Tribunal,” Phaestus explained. “The Tribunal is something of a governing body for inter-pantheon affairs. Each signatory pantheon has a representative on the Tribunal. It is their job to keep order between the pantheons.”
“Interesting. So bringing Stainsberry is like bringing a sheriff to ensure everyone agrees on the rules?” Tom asked.
“Yes. Although I would say that Doom’s interactions with the Tribunal are… complex,” Arg-nargoloth said.
Tom looked at him questioningly, but Phaestus explained, “Doom, and the Tartarvardenennead, are not signatories to the Concord of Conciliation. This is for a number of reasons, including conflict with the Courts of Chaos, as well as the fact that the Tartarvardenennead is not technically a pantheon in the traditional sense.”
“It would be rather against our mission,” Darg-Krallnom said.
Phaestus shrugged. “In any event, Tartarus also complicates things. The Tribunal very much wants to control Tartarus; however, the Tribunal as a whole does not know that we are the ones running Tartarus—for our own protection, of course. Some do, or some in the representative pantheons know, but the actual Tribunes may not know.” The god shook his head. “Tartarus’s secretive nature complicates many things.”
“We should really consider doing an Oubliette session on the whole administrative and political aspects of Tartarus at some point,” Tom s
aid.
“I will put it on the list. All of Doom’s relationships are going to have to be reviewed and re-evaluated,” Phaestus said.
“So,” Tom said, shaking his head to clear it. “Back to planning!”
The Inferno
Barabus looked up as Chancellor Alighieri entered the bridge looking rather perplexed. Heron noticed as well. The chancellor had sent word for them to assemble on the bridge. It was getting to be a tight fit with not only their standard group, but their two new passengers as well.
“What have you found, chancellor?” Heron asked him.
“Well, I believe I have restored the link to Talarius…” Dante said, sounding less than certain.
“Why, that is excellent news! I was sure a man of your talent could succeed!” Melissance practically gushed at the chancellor, who smiled less confidently than Barabus had ever seen him behave.
“However, it’s a bit odd,” Dante said.
“What do you mean, odd?” Heron asked.
“Well, the link does not go anywhere in the Abyss,” Dante told them looking up and around at the others.
“Where does it go?” Captain Cranshall asked.
“To Nysegard,” Dante replied.
“Nysegard?” Barabus asked. That was one of the last places he’d have expected Talarius to be.
“Yes, so it appears.” The chancellor nodded.
“Are you sure it’s Talarius on the other side?” Heron asked.
“Pretty certain. It is someone associated with Tiernon; I can now recognize that signature fairly easily after the last several days,” Dante explained.
“This is so bizarre.” Barabus glanced at Tamerlane, who was wedged into a corner behind him. The Diocate shook his head, indicating it made no sense to him either.
“You are certain that it goes to Nysegard?” Captain Cranshall said.
“Yes, as I have said a couple of times,” Chancellor Alighieri replied sternly. I have triple-checked the coordinates against every tool I have. Nysegard, being in our own localverse, is not that difficult to identify. It’s not like he was wandering around a random Earth or something.”
“What the…?” The chancellor suddenly exclaimed, staring at the locket intensely.
“What is it?” Heron asked.
“The link just went dead.” Dante began moving the locket around in order to stare at it from multiple directions.
“It went dead?” Barabus asked.
“Yes. It was there just fine, and now the link is simply broken!” Dante exclaimed.
“Did he plane shift?” Sir Samwell asked.
Dante shook his head. “Not unless he went to the Outer Planes; the link should follow him to any other world he could travel to.”
“Well, that would be rather disconcerting,” Melissance said suddenly.
“What do you mean?” Barabus asked.
“Well, you said he is with this mana-stealing demon, yes?”
“Yes.” Barabus nodded. “As far as we know.”
“Well, if Talarius went to an outer plane—the only way he could break such a link, as I understand the chancellor—then he most likely went to Tierhallon,” Melissance said with a shrug.
“And the demon with him,” Salvatore added.
Chancellor Alighieri frowned. “Well, that would not be good.”
Sir Samwell shrugged. “Well, look on the bright side…”
“What bright side?” Barabus asked, suddenly worrying about a war between heaven and hell.
“It could simply be that the demon just killed Talarius and he went to Tierhallon the old-fashioned way,” Sir Samwell replied.
Citadel of Light, Shrine of Doom: Mid Fourth Period
Battle Priestess Karis Crooked Stick sat on one of the stone benches in the Shrine of Doom, staring at the communication stone and worrying. She was awaiting a response from Doom as to whether they could assist, and how many days would it take them to reach the Citadel with whatever forces they could spare. This was her assigned task from the Vicar General himself, but she feared it was a waste of time. Things were so dire that it was doubtful that the Isle of Doom could even arrive before the Storm Lords overran the Citadel. Her time would be better spent leading her squadron in the defense of their home than waiting for word from saviors who could not possibly make it in time.
She did not know whether to laugh or cry. They had been terribly worried about the oncoming attack but had steeled themselves to hold on, even as their ancestors had. Then, suddenly, a few days ago their hopes had surged, culminating yesterday with the assured belief that they would be able to beat back the Storm Lords, perhaps even permanently.
That all came crashing down this morning, and now there was only despair. The rising and dashing of hope in the lead-up to this siege was more emotionally wracking than actual battle with the Storm Lords. Battle, combat—that was what Karis needed to feel better. Even if doomed, no pun intended, to failure, if she could at least be out there and go down fighting, she would feel so much better.
Instead, she was here, watching a spherical stone on a small table in the middle of this shrine to Doom—or more precisely, Orcus. She glanced to the fresco of Lord Orcus in his human form above the old, long-dormant runic gateway to the Isle of Doom. Since Orcus’s death, this shrine was simply a communication point. In the old days, it had been the portal to the Isle of Doom. Legend had it that not only had the gateway been used to move forces between the Citadel and the Isle of Doom, but also for trading and commerce.
It was actually a very large temple, larger than Karis’s small chapel to Tiernon. Legend had it that the giant D’Orcs could march three abreast through the gateway. The shrine also had a very wide passageway up to the old main courtyard and stables. According to legend and a few old alvar, the stables had even had a section dedicated to boarding the mighty D’Wargs. Obviously, like gryphons and hippogriffs, they could not be stabled with horses without the horses revolting in fear.
Karis had to chuckle imagining that. Of course, she had never seen a D’Warg, but she had seen paintings of the fierce creatures. She had to admit that they gave even her, a combat-hardened half-orc battle priestess, serious pause. She would never want to face one on the wrong side of a war, but riding one into battle would be fantastic! D’Wargs would scare even vampires. Although, unfortunately, due to the nature of their digestive system, the vampires would be unable to soil themselves as she charged them on D’Wargback.
She blinked as something in the room started rattling. She glanced at the communication stone, where the rattling was coming from. That was very weird; it was not the noise a communication stone made when someone was trying to communicate. Karis stood up and walked over to the small table with the stone, reaching down to pick it up.
It was definitely active, but there was no one trying to speak to her on the other side. What was going on? She stared at the stone for several moments before realizing that a second vibrating noise was coming from somewhere in the room. She looked up to see dust falling off the wall under Orcus’s portrait.
What in Tiernon’s name…?
Suddenly the dusty, nearly invisible runes around the gateway sprang to life. Karis gasped in surprise as the runic gateway began to stir, runes flashing on and off in an activation pattern. This was the second surprise runic gateway activation she’d had in a week! Within a matter of moments, all of the runes flashed brightly, and midday atunlight poured through the gateway.
Karis drew back in shock and surprise as the gateway that had been dead for over four thousand years, and thought to be inoperable, opened. Was it the Isle of Doom? She blinked in the bright atunlight as from the gateway emerged three human-sized people with a very large, ugly winged orc behind them.
It was the Isle of Doom! Tears started streaming down Karis’s cheeks. Somehow the Isle of Doom had managed to open a runic gateway over a thousand leagues away. No one, other than avatars, had had that much power since Orcus’s death.
Karis shifted h
er focus from the D’Orc to the others. On her right was a cloaked knight in the plate mail of the El Ohîm; the one on her left was clearly a Knight Rampant of Tiernon, even if his armor was oddly styled. However, all three figures paled in comparison with the individual leading them. This was a young man of pale complexion with long, black curly hair, wearing flowing robes covered in arcane symbols and carrying an immense staff with glowing sapphire and ruby gems twisting down the shaft.
This could not be! This was impossible! Karis glanced above the young man’s head to the painting on the wall over the gateway. Her jaw dropped as her eyes flicked between the young man and the fresco above, her mind going numb. She fell to her knees and bowed her head. “My Lord Orcus! You have returned! Praise be to the Lords of Light!” she managed to say with the last of her breath. The Lord of Light’s presence had stolen the very wind from her lungs.
Chapter 145
Citadel of Light, Shrine of Doom: Mid Fourth Period
Tom blinked in surprise as the heavily armored half-orc knight got down on her knees and bowed to him.
“My Lord Orcus! You have returned! Praise be to the Lords of Light!” the knight—a woman, Tom realized—said.
“Yes. I—I’m surprised that you recognized me,” Tom said a bit hesitantly. He had not been planning on introducing himself as Orcus, primarily because he himself was not convinced that he was Orcus returned, and because he was already calling himself Lord Tommus.
The knight looked up above his head. “It’s rather hard not to. Although you do look much younger.”
Tom and the others turned to look up, following her gaze. There was a very large mural with Tom’s bearded face on it.
Well, that explains that, Tom thought, shaking his head. “So, and you are?” he asked, turning around and offering his hand to help her to her feet, even as he was mentally verifying that in order to get to Mount Doom, he needed to route through the Doom of Nysegard, as expected.
