The Whirlwind

[LadyTevar]

Wonder if he'll forgive Kaeryn enough to let her look them over?

[Imperial Overlord]

"Trust me," Nalifan said, "we are just going to talk."

"Why don't I believe you?" I replied.

"I intend just to talk," the drow replied silkily. "Sweet reason shall make him come around."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then regretably, some acts of violence may occur."

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow



Vargo hustled up the winding stairs, his robes trailing behind him. Time time time. He didn't have enough. Yendranfel was at the top of the stairs, standing by the door. "Go down to the next level and hold off anyone who comes," the overmaster ordered the aged elf.

"My lord," Yendranfel began, "how do you expect me to stop them if you cannot?"

"Stall. That's all I require. Stall them, because if I fail it is unlikely that the other overmasters will permit your race to live when all this is done."

Yendranfel went pale and hobbled down the steps. Vargo slid up past the aged elf. The doorway opened at touch, revealing a half filled store room. Layers of spells hid the fold in space from all detection, but Vargo wasn't sure if that would be enough against the dark skinned elves who killed psilords as if they were children. He stepped into the fold emerged into the huge library vault that made was the first room. He had to hurry.

Below him, Yendranfel reached the story below. His old bones ached and his senses were not as acute as they once were, but he could make out the sounds of approaching footsteps. They would be upon him shortly and although he had command of some magic, he doubted it would be enough against those who had driven an overmaster to flee.

The first one rounded the corner. An elf, with skin as dark and his hair was pale. Red eyes gleamed in an unlined face. The elf had nearly three feet of enchanted steel in one hand and wore a leather over robe or coat over cobalt silk and dark velvet. Perfect teeth gleamed between lips parted in a feral grin. "What do we have here?" Nalifan asked in accented elvish. "Stand aside slave. I have no quarrel with you."

"I cannot," said Yendranfel. "The lives of my kin depend on me holding you here."

"That's unfortunate," said Nalifan. The drow intoned another phrase and Yendranfel dropped screaming to the floors. Pus oozed from a dozen wounds as the old elf thrashed. The drow stepped over the thrashing body and darted ahead.

Vargo had grabbed three heavy tomes and placed the books in a small enchanted bag that could hold a deceptively large amount. He exited and invoked a spell that sent the fold and all of its contents shooting through space. Then he saw Nalifan. Their gazes locked for a second. Vargo froze. Nalifan didn't. Syllables left his lips.

Vargo's wards shattered like glass and blood vessels burst. Pain wracked his body and bloody froth touched his lips. Vargo managed to gasp out an initiator. The drow hissed as an invisible wall of force coalesced in front of him. He uttered another spell and it vanished in a green flash.

The wall of force had bought Vargo time, not much of it, just enough. He begun the initiators of the most powerful spell he possessed as the force wall disintegrated. A moment before completion, the drow recognized what was happening. Inhuman reflexes and speed allowed the elf to fling himself down the stairs, heedless of his landings. It was almost enough.

Everything in front of Vargo exploded outward. The tower shook and fire filled his vision for a moment and then he saw the city spread out before him as fiery comets and chunks of stone flew through the sky. He had literally blown half of the level apart. For a moment he saw a humanoid figure wearing fluttering robes fall through the sky and then he dropped out of view.

The tower shook again. Stone flaked away and then the top of the tower fell forward, like a felled tree top. Wind and shadow raced over him as the top story fell toward the courtyard. He looked down and met the gaze of an elf with a jeweled half mask. Pure hatred dwelled in the elf's good eye. Then the tower trembled again and then the tower top smashed into the courtyard like the fist of a god.

Trizkel dashed forward, but Vargo smote the stairs with a tremendous blast of psionic force. They collapsed, sending the drow and his companions plumetting down and out of sight, where they would undoubtedly continue to fall down the spiral stairs and hopefully they might even break their necks. Vargo smiled. Now was the time to make his exit.

Then his jaw dropped as he saw Trizkel fly up through the hole in the floor. He began to utter the words to a spell, but Trizkel was faster. Much faster. Ruinbringer punched through his left lung. "Hurts?" the drow asked.

Vargo gasped. Trizkel twisted the blade. It grated on bones and then bone snapped. "I hope so." He flipped Mindeater in his other hand, catching it with the blade protruding from the bottom of his hand. His hand rose and then the spike of black crystal slammed through Vargo's right eye and oblivion claimed him.

[LadyTevar]

I was about to say it was too short... but I realized it was merely the fast pace of the action. Bravo, my dear.

And once again, I love the quotation from Kaeryn's book. That exchange was just so perfect.

[Brain_Caster]

Ouch!

Does that mean Nalfian needs to replace another of his clones?

[Imperial Overlord]

Ouch!

Does that mean Nalfian needs to replace another of his clones?

The dimensional barriers are sealed. Nalifan's soul can't possess an offworld clone. If he dies here, he's boned.

[LadyTevar]

Ouch!

Does that mean Nalfian needs to replace another of his clones?

The dimensional barriers are sealed. Nalifan's soul can't possess an offworld clone. If he dies here, he's boned.

Ouch... And I'm betting there's a few entities -very- interested in his soul.

Please don't leave us hanging in suspense.

[Imperial Overlord]

There is nothing the drow despise more than weakness, in themselves or others. This hatred can manifest in unexpected ways and is not always a negative thing. Nalifan D'Azurentien has slid away from the ways of the Lolthite drow not because he disdains ruthlessness and power lust, but because he has nothing for contempt for the crab pile society of treachery, petty jealousies, and pointless cruelties. How else should one who was raised without conscience describe waste and counterproductive activities?

It is also why he hates the Arch-Mage Astinius so much. Astinius is weak in all the ways Nalifan is not. In the drow's eyes Astinius is an incompetent tactician, soft, moralizing, emotionally frail, needy, cowardly, and mentally scared. In other words weak, but presuming to possess an ego equal to Nalifan's own. Of course, this is not the core of it.

Astinius has been gifted with spellfire and Nalifan has not. That Nalifan has served Mystra well, possess a ferocious tenacity, and an awesome gift for the Art are undeniable but Mystra has chosen to give her greatest gift not to this paragon of dark elven wizardry but to an emotional cripple violates every tenant of the world Nalifan lives in. In his world, rewards are given to the victors, not the victims and so he fails to see the truth about spellfire.

It is not a weapon for wizards to wield, but one to restrain the abuse of magic. Spellfire consumes magic to fuel its power. It is a weapon that is given into the hands of those victimized by cruel masters to throw down their oppressors. Nalifan, phenomenally talented as he is, will never be the abused boy although he is not doomed to be the cruel master. He is the possibility of the abuse of power, not the defender. And so he does not see that talents and driving will that have made him so strong also make him ineligible from this gift, which is not and never will be the prize of the strong.

Although, as I write this, Nalifan is not blind to his own weaknesses. Perhaps he does see, or will one day. Magic is a powerful tool and he will undoubtedly find compensations in his books or in his laboratory. I have no doubt thatwe will see both wonders and horrors from him in the future.

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow


Pain filled Nalifan's senses, leaving room only for the sound of rushing wind and spinning vertigo. He wanted to both scream and vomit. He did neither. He was Nalifan D'Azurentien and he had been made an instrument of war and slaughter. He had faced worse.

As an apprentice he had been impaled through the gut with a barbed lined spear and then had his own intestines pulled out with spear. Screaming, he had had to complete spells before the healing magics would be used to restore him to health and erase the awful wounds. He had managed then. He would manage now. He was the master of circumstances, not their victim.

He called on the dormant flying spell and his descent slowed. This allowed him to regain his bearings. The concussive force of the spell had obliterated the tower wall and sent him flying into the air. The feather fall spell had reduced gravity's pull upon his body, leaving him flying through the air due to the force imparted by the blasting spell. His motion was slowing. It looked like, due to gravity's reduced pull, he was going to clear the wall.

The drow adjusted his flight path to ensure that he cleared the battlements and then dropped down to the street when the gaggle of elves caught his eye. He twisted in mid air to right himself. Pain was washing through his body. He stopped a yard above the ground. He had too many sprained or broken bones to risk walking.

Arinyaniquis hesitated. He could strike at the drow, but if he failed to kill the wizard who was obviously formidable even if wounded, it was likely that most or all of his charges would be killed in the battle even if the other drow and their thrall warriors didn't intervene. "Stay behind me," the frost mage hissed. He addressed the drow loudly. "You wanted to parley?" Gods of his ancestors, how was he going to get his people out of this mess.

Nalifan smiled and then turned his head to spit a goblet of blood onto the cobbles. The drow's left leg hung oddly, probably broken. "Yes," said Nalifan. "My friends will be here momentarily. I think there is common ground between us."

"Perhaps," said Arinyaniquis warily. Trizkel landed on the citadel wall above him, short swords in their sheaths. "I didn't know dhaerow had friends."

"He's dead Nal," said Trizkel, interrupting the conversation.

"I gathered that."

"The old man survived though. I don't think that he's going to like you much when he recovers."

"I'll live," said Nalifan. He pointed at Yanara. "I don't think she likes me either and I don't think its millenia of antipathy either. Blood kin would be my guess."

"Monster," Yanara hissed.

Nalifan smiled showing bloody teeth. "Yes, the weak have all sorts of ways of describing the strong. Right now you are wondering if you made a bad bet, talking instead of striking to kill and taking your chances. You didn't. Maybe you could take me, wounded as I am, but its a bad bet. And you saw how fast Triz arrived. You made a good call."

"I gambled on the word of a dhaerow," said Arinyaniquis. "I don't know many who would consider a traitor's word other than worthless."

"You don't even know me faerie. I'm hardly a typical drow." Mikos appeared on the wall, bow in hand.

"Traitors tend to be exceptional."

"You faerie are tedious. One could certainly call the first generation traitorous, but after that are not we loyal to the ways of our parents?"

Arinyaniquis frowned. "I didn't know the curse was hereditary. For that matter, I have difficulty believing that you could find two traitors of breeding age on the same continent."

Nalifan threw back his head and laughed, which turned into gasping. "You think this was some kind of just punishment? I didn't know faerie could be so naive. This was done to two nations, one mostly guilty and the other entirely innocent. The innocent were driven down into the earth with the guilty. Is that justice, faerie?" Nalifan gestured toward the elves behind Arinyaniquis. "Is that justice? The strong do to the weak as they see fit, elves or humans, it is no different. So call me traitor if you wish faerie but know that we are the strong and they live or die according to our will. You should be grateful that it is the overmaster who are the targets of my wrath. It does make us quite inclined to aid you."

[Brain_Caster]

Interesting. What exactly was Nalifan hit with?

[Imperial Overlord]

Something out of the pit of my imagination. 9th level blasty spell with bonuses to penetrate SR.

[Imperial Overlord]

Peace is built from the bones of your enemies. Everything else is merely a temporary truce.

-Dread Queen Sheharith, addressing her daughters


Making peace implies that one has been leaving behind live enemies. I generally don't like to do that.

-Nalifan D'Azurentien


"Why do I doubt that two whole nations, one entirely innocent, were subjected to a curse reserved for the vilest traitors?" said Arinyaniquis. It was risky, but he could raise a force shell to protect his charges while he held off the dhaerow if it came down to that. That would buy them enough time to scatter. It was a risky, but his best option if things went sour.

"That's because you believe that faerie are just. But if faerie are just, how can any of them become dhaerow?" asked Nalifan. "Or perhaps faeries are merely convinced that they are infallibly just. That it is merely their belief that they and their kin are righteous, wise, and understand the will of the gods. Of course, that means when their kind and distant kin get into a war they already know which side is in the right. Why take a close look when the superficial evidence confirms ones prejudices." Nalifan smiled savagely.

"Why not condemn a nation, when they are so manifestly guilty? Never mind the curse was intended to be used on individuals not bloodlines and that they aren't the only guilty ones? And what happens when your bloodline curse spreads to their close kin, the victims of aggression and conquest by your near kin? Why sort the innocent from the guilty? You've already bungled that job already? The enemy are clearly marked. Just drive them into the earth and hope they all die there deep beneath the surface."

"That can't be true," said Arinyaniquis softly.

"Can't?" Nalifan taunted. "That doesn't change it. My ancestors were Ilythiiri, guilty as could be but innocence didn't save the Miyeritar. None suffered worse than they did then the Crown Wars and then they were cursed and driven into the Underdark. Can you imagine the betrayal they felt? The bitterness, the spite? Is it a wonder that when they managed to claw an niche for themselves deep beneath the earth, that they were just as vicious as the Ilythiiri? Of course not.

"But that is history. We're concerned with the present, are we not? You and the other elves hiding in your holes somewhere want to get these poor innocents to safety without jeopardizing your bolt hole. We're not interested in stopping you. In fact, we've helped you and will continue doing so." He turned to Mikos. "The old elf lived?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you bring him down to his kin. As a gesture of good will and all that."

"Sure," said Mikos. The Dalesman took to the air and flew to the ruined tower.

"Let's come to an understanding," said Nalifan. "You can cart them off to wherever you're going to put them. We'll help you get them out of the city and then leave you to it. You be a nice faerie and don't do anything to make me or my partners decide to visit you with our wrath."

The dhaerow's arrogant self assurance was infuriating, but Arinyaniquis pushed it aside. If there was truth in what he said, and Arinyaniquis would be the first to admit elves were not infallible, then the terms were very favorable. He had long prayed for the opportunity to strike at the overmasters. Dealing with dhaerow was not the price he would have chosen to pay in exchange for the opportunity, but it was a price was willing to pay. "Agreed," he said.

Mikos descended from the tower, holding an elderly elf in his arms. "Grandfather!" Yanara cried out. The ranger touched ground and passed the frail body over to her.

"The overmaster?" Arinyaniquis asked.

"Dead," said Trizkel.

"He had some method of cheating death," said Yanara as she held her grandfather close. "Some magic."

"That is certainly possible," said Nalifan. "There are ways of dealing with such. We have some experience in that area. Now, shall we escort our liberated slaves to whatever part of the city the noble hero wishes to go to, so he can depart and lead them to the promised land?"

Nods from his compatriots answered the drow's question. "Shall we go?" he asked Arinyaniquis.

"Let's get this over with," the ice mage replied.

None of the surviving guards dared bar their path. Fleeing urchans and beggars formed the vanguard fo their column. It did not take them long to reach the city gate.

"Good luck," said Mikos. "May the gods watch over you." Sylvetria bowed slightly in farwell.

"You'll forgive me," said Nalifan, "but I have no great desire to bathe in the glory of your mistrust and I find the possibility of interesting loot a far more pleasant prospect than the dubious pleasures of your company. I shall, however, wish you a safe journey." The drow rose up into the sky. Trizkel followed a moment latter.

"Nalifan can be . . . well you've seen," said Mikos, "but he's a good ally. And a bad enemy." He flew up to join his comrades. Sylvetria silently saluted Arinyaniquis with her sword and then rose into the air after her lover.

The ice mage watched them leave. He had a lot to think about, but that was for later. He had a lot of people to take care of and not a lot of time before the overmasters and their minions arrived.

[Imperial Overlord]

There are some that argue that the sweetest part of victory is the aftermath, that the pleasures of destroying your enemies and spilling their blood upon the earth are merely the appetizers to the true feast. Real pleasure, so they say, is dealing with the defeated. To see the once mighty come before you on their knees, to see the wealthy open their coffers in an attempt to buy mercy, and to see the haughty offer their flesh or the flesh of their children to sate your lusts, that is the sweetest fruit of war.

While that argument has merits, I am not entirely convinced. Of course, I also like killing more than most.

-Nalifan D'Azurentien, overheard in conversation.

Trizkel entered the ruined tower through the gaping hole in its side. "Nal, I think you'll want to see this." The wounded arch-mage followed in Trizkel's wake. The psychic warrior descended on Vargo's corpse and pulled out the first of three heavy volumes, handing it to Nalifan.

Nalifan opened the book, flipping through the pages. "A spellbook. Interesting. The notation is somewhat derivative of ancient elvish practices." The closed it and accepted the second book from Trizkel. "More of the same. And of course, both can be used as quite effective bludgeoning instruments." He took the third book from Trizkel.

"Thought you would like them, but there's something else behind the door."

"Really? I don't see anything at all. Someone did a very good job of hiding it. Crack it open."

The door was locked and heavily reinforced. It withstood even the impact of Trizkel's book. "Nice door," said Nalifan.

Trizkel smiled and drew Ruinbringer. "There's a correct tool for every job," he said and thrust the sword into the iron door with a terrible shriek of metal on metal. He began to saw away. "Not pretty, but it works."

Nalifan floated through the gap in the door. Trizkel entered behind him and hacked through the hinges. Inside was a vast room, lined from top to bottom with books. Doorways branched off. "Folded space," Nalifan said softly. "Quite an accomplishment."

"Why did he bother to hide it?" asked Trizkel.

"He probably didn't want any of his rivals know he was studying magic," Nalifan replied as he floated towards the ceiling.

"Let me guess," Trizkel said. "You want to stay for a while."

"Amazing guess. Are you a telepath or something?" Nalifan joked. "That's for the future. Right now I need to get Mikos to set my damn leg. I hate having broken bones."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

With every guard and soldier either dead, running, or hiding Arinyaniquis had no trouble sheparding his charges through the city. Obtaining food and drink wasn't a problem, the escape tunnel lead right back to the citadel stores and that was more than enough food for the time being. The problem of transportation remained a troubling one.

As a temporary measure, the ice mage took over a public square and raised walls of ice to keep out any trouble makers while he considered solutions to his transportation dilemma. He could force a passage between worlds and then open another one that exited in the north, but that would continue to damage the already weakened wardings, a course of action he wished to avoid if at all possible. Other options were considered and abandoned as too risky or impractical. He settled down to rest. Perhaps with a little time a solution would come to him.

He lay down on his bedroll, watching the sky and a pair of bats chase moths near the fire. Then it struck him and he smiled. It wouldn't be his usual line of spells, but it would work and the magics were not beyond him. He would need to rest and prepare new magics, but it would work. He slipped off into the reviere, regaining his strength and refocusing his energies. It was morning when he came back to himself.

He carefully selected the new spells, drawing in energy and shaping them into patterns he only rarely used, securing them in his mind. He quickly explained his plan to the elves around him, who were hesitant but willing. He invoked his magics, choosing the strongest and healthiest of those around him.

Whirlwinds of magic surrounded them, encasing them in swirling streamers of sapphire and emerald light. Within the spell cocoons the magic reworked flesh and adding to it. In moments the streamers fell away revealing eagles great enough to fly away with horses clutched into their talons.

He invoked new spells, creating saddles upon their backs so that riders could sit safely. Heavy coats and gloves for the other elves were also fashioned from magic. It had been centuries since elves had last ridden eagles, but the design of the saddles was still preserved in books and in the Museum of the Lost. The spell created leather and fur would rot away and fail eventually, but that would be well after the trip was done. Lastly, he invoked a similar spell upon himself and was transformed.

The great birds knelt and the elves cautiously mounted their friends and relatives. The children were secured first and then the adults saw to each other. Arinyaniquis dissolved the walls of ice and surged into the air after a brief running start. The others followed.

They were not skilled fliers, but some familiarity was passed along with the spell. Powerful wing beats took them into the air and then they began to catch the thermals. Children and a few adults shouted with glee was wind rushed over them. Arinyaniquis rose high above the city, wheeled and headed north. The others followed suit.

Arinyaniquis gazed down upon the land as they left the city. The eyesight of a great eagle is even better than that of an elf and so, from his lofty vantage point, he was able to make out dark shapes moving slowly across the land. Armies were on the move and they could only be heading one place. He was tempted to intervene, but he had a higher responsibility. He turned his gaze back north and flew on.

[Imperial Overlord]

I've heard any numbers of pompous fools twaddle on about the beauty of nature. I won't deny that there is an appeal in getting away from the presence of ones fellow sapients, far too many of whom are fools, and testing one's skills against unforgiving nature.

That said, I generally prefer a roof over my head, running water, heating, a comfortable bed, a large library, a wine cellar, a stocked kitchen, a skilled chef, two skilled masseuses, the company of friends, and as many eager concubines as I'm in the mood for.

-Nalifan D'Azurentien, on the virtues of civilization.

Nalifan cast the covers off and stood up with the aid of one of the tent's interior supports. He gingerly put weight on his leg. The leg held, without any pain. Slowly he transferred all his weight to that one foot. Still no problems. Humming softly to himself he dressed and exited the tent. Mikos nodded to him when he entered the tower room where they had decided to set up.

"You did good work," said the drow, gesturing to his leg.

"The magic works better if set the bones in place first. Hurts more though."

The drow shrugged. The pain hadn't been that bad and conservation of their healing resources was always good policy. "How are things out here?"

"A lot of scurrying around and such. A few may have snuck into the citadel when I was looking in the other direction, but its been dead."

"I don't care about looters," said Nalifan. "Let them see their overlords thrown down and pick the rings off their cold, dead hands. Any sign of help coming?"

"No," said Mikos. "The elves did some fancy transformation magic about an hour back and a bunch of them turned into giant eagles. The rest got on and they flew away."

"Let me guess: north."

"Yeah. You think the free elves live up there?"

"Probably. One does not acquire that elf's proficiency with frost magic without considerable practice and exposure to the primal forces of ice and winter. The ice is very unforgiving towards interlopers, but with the right skills and magic one could maintain a hidden civilization within it."

"Like the Underdark?"

"A lot like the Underdark," said Nalifan. "I need to encompass some spells. Won't take me too long. I'll relieve you when I return."

"Right," said Mikos as he returned to staring out the window. More people scurrying around like ants below. He yawned and wondered how much longer they would stay. They had seized literally a ton of loot, not counting the books, and they had certainly made the lives of the psilords very unpleasant. The game was becoming quite risky now and the question had to be asked: how much longer were they going to do this? When were they going to leave?

The city stayed its boring self as ant like people went about their business. No one tried to scale the tower wall or enter the spell guarded door to the top room where the adventurers had set up their magical tent. The ice walls and the eagles had been the most interesting part of this wretched city. His gaze drifted off to the forest nearby. Camping on ruins wasn't to his taste. He scanned the horizon and squinted. What was that?

Nalifan exited the tent again holding a wineskin and sausage pastry. "Here," he said passing them to Mikos.

"Thanks," said the Dalesman. He took a bite of the pasty and washed it down with a swing of wine. He pointed at the horizon. "What do you make of that?"

Nalifan squinted. His eyes weren't as sensitive to daylight as they had been, but he still didn't care for it. "Dust cloud I think. Something is on the move. Something big."

"They can't have gotten an army here this fast. We only tore the place up last night."

"Doesn't matter," said Nalifan. "Its coming anyway. How did they do it? No teleportation, no gate opening, no convenient portals, no chronomancy, well technically no chronomancy. But psionics." He shook his head. "Never mind. We'll find out soon enough. Go get Sylvetria and Trizkel to disentangle themselves and get packing. We're going to have a fight on our hands soon enough."

[LadyTevar]

"If there is one thing that Nalifan and I do agree upon, it is the comforts of civilization. Although, I may pass on the concubines..." --Kaeryn, upon hearing of Nalifan's comments.

Wonderfully done, my friend

[Imperial Overlord]

You can tell, if you look closely enough, when Nal realizes he's over matched. He seems calm and he even has this half-grin on his face, as if on some level he's looking forward to the challenge. But it isn't real and it doesn't last, like snow in summer. His tolerance for foolishness vanishes and his delight in cruelty rises to the surface.

At times like these, it would be in our foes best interest to perish with Mikos's arrows lodged in their brains. Overmatching Nalifan does not mean being beyond his ability to lay low. Especially while I remain to fight at his side.

-Trizkel, in a moment of irritation with a fool who thought his mighty master made him beyond harm's reach.


"Time bending," said Trizkel. "They can hide nothing from these eyes." The two drow were standing on the top of the citadel's tallest tower. "How hard would that be?"

"To move a whole army by means of accelerating the time flow around them?" said Nalifan. Before him lay the city and beyond the distant black clumps that marked tens of thousands of marching soldiers. "So a day passes for them for every hours in the rest of the world? Enormous amounts. I couldn't do it alone. Not on this scale."

"That's what I was afraid of," said Trizkel. "They must be moving in force?"

"The overmasters? Yes. At least a dozen of them. If they could could get all that infantry here, they probably have wyvern riders and calvary nearby. Perhaps in the woods."

"Waiting to pick us off when we bolt," said Trizkel. "That's almost clever. How close are you to done?"

"Sorting the books? Not even close. I'm going to lose valuable tomes abandoning this place."

"They're expecting us to run, yes?"

"Yes."

"So all the psilords are lurking out there, waiting for us to come out. We've killed overmasters, slaughtered their soldiers, mundane and psionicist both, taken their cities, and plundered their citadels. They're not well loved by their people. What do you think will happen if we destroy their field army?"

Nalifan smiled. "What unexpected depths of deviousness you have, brother in all but blood. Civil discontent, schisms among the oligarchs, sacrificial lambs among the ruling caste, and all sorts of internal strife. What wonderful possibilities. The tree of repeated failure does yield up such bitter fruit."

"I thought you would approve. And it might give you enough time to finish sorting."

"Do you have a plan?" said Nalifan.

"Sort of," Trizkel replied.

------------------------------------------------------------------

A single man stood on the battlements of Wulvic, watching the army approach. In his hand he held a bow of black wood. He waited patiently.

There were twenty thousand odd men coming this way, ordered in tight ranks. They wore the heraldry and the arms of mundane retainers and soldiers of the psilords, which the Mikos could not truly distinguish at this distance. That did not matter.

The spell cast upon him allowed him to see magical and psionic auras and they were few and far between and none of them were that powerful. Trizkel's perfect vision did not fail. The great were absent from the psilords' ranks, undoubtedly waiting for them in ambush.

They brought no engines these people but then again they did not expect that they would have to storm the city. They were there merely to flush them from these walls and drive them into the jaws of their masters, one half of a trap. He drew back his bow and reached into his bottomless quiver. One of countless looted arrows came to his hand.

He was well out of bow shot, even with the advantages of elevation. He loosed the arrow. It sped through the air, a dark blur that was barely visible. An archer toppled and fell from one of the companies of archers.

More arrows began to sail through the air and started the harvest of men.

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In distant Neridian a woman from a very wealthy family, very expensive psionic training, and very minimal psionic skills walked the upper market. With her was her nine year old daughter, her daughter's moderately pretty brown haired governess, and two burly household retainers. Nessana deSzraine was very conscious of the fact that she was high born, blonde, blue-eyed, and beautiful in the old northern fashion. As far as she was concerned the overmasters and their kind were jumped up warlords whose time would eventually pass.

She sniffed in dismissal at the bolts of silk presented for her approval. "Those will not do, not at all," she said to the scurrying dressmaker and her two laborers. "If you wish to maintain my patronage you will do better," she continued coldly.

"Yes mistress," said the dressmaker, bowing. "Of course. My deepest apologies." She gestured at her two assistants, burly men hauling rolls of silk. "Perhaps something from further south might meet with your approval?"

"I doubt it. Perhaps next time I deign to visit your squalled little shop I might see something that meets my needs." She turned on her heel to leave. That's when little Menana went into convulsions.

The governess went white and tried to hold the child. Menana's thrashing were to wild for her to restrain and the child tore free of the governess. "Menana!" Nessana cried. "Stop this!"

The child went limp, collapsing on the carpet. "This is your fault," Nessana said turning on the governess. She looked at her guards. "Seize her. The clod will pay in full for the slightest harm that her incompetence has let occur to my daughter." The retainers seized the white faced girl.

"Well that does make things simpler, doesn't it mother?" said Menana as she stood up. She straightened her dress.

"By the dead gods child, you gave me such a fright."

"Oh, there is no need to worry about that mother. Excuse me for a moment." The child turned towards the dressmaker and her assistants. "Hold her for me." The two men seized the dressmaker by the arms and forced her to the floor. The bar to the dress shop slid into place, locking the door.

Nessana backed away from her daughter's body, her face a mask of horror. "It's time for us to get properly acquainted," Typhu said. "Coming back from the brink of death and taking new flesh is so tiring and unpleasant. Why don't you help me take the edge off?"

[LadyTevar]

Time to review, and point out the minor typos:

But it isn't real and it doesn't, like snow in summer

Doesn't What?

"Those will not due, not at all," she said

Due/Do.

Nessana walked away from her daughter's body, her face a mask of horror.

backed away might be a better image.

Otherwise, a great story

[The Nomad]

Just a question : barring The End to All Flesh, what kind of epic spells does Nalifan has access to? (the kind that would take out a sizeable chunk out of a ten-thousand strong army, I mean )

[Imperial Overlord]

Just a question : barring The End to All Flesh, what kind of epic spells does Nalifan has access to? (the kind that would take out a sizeable chunk out of a ten-thousand strong army, I mean )

The Crown of Sorcery and The End of All Flesh are the epic spells Nalifan currently commands. He has laid prepatory work for others, but they are not finished. He has no spells to wipe out thousands in a single stroke.

[Imperial Overlord]

Yeah, the drow talk tough and fight nasty. Sure Nalifan spent decades training for war. Grow up in the Dales and you'll know war. Not petty fighting between nobles but fighting to protect your home, your family, and everyone you ever cared about. Growing up in Shadowdale it isn't will there be a war, but how long until Zhentil Keep tries again. Yeah, I know war.

-Mikos, in one of his more talkative moments.


I love watching amateurs screw up trying something new. It's cuter with kittens than with people, but with people the chance for amusing mayhem and injuries more than makes up the difference.

-Nalifan, in conversation.


The Achenoi army retreated, leaving two dozen archers dead on the field. Mikos let them go. He could have killed more, but that would have told them exactly how far he could reach. Work parties had been sent to the woods and were felling trees. Siege ladders and rams would be easy to make quickly. They must have expected to be able to just march in through the front gate. Mikos grinned. He was just the start of the nasty surprises.

It took them half the day to finish felling trees and hewing wood. Trizkel came by with a bag a food and they shared half a bottle of wine before the drow left. It was dusk by the time they finished and formed up again. They wre forming up with ladder and rams. The sun sank in the west, disappearing over the horizon. The Achenoi began their advance.

He let them come closer and then he began to kill their archers. Arrows flew from his bow and men fell from formations. The archers continued to move closer as Mikos continued to winnow their ranks. The rams and the ladders slowly came forward.

Bleeding men the archers came close enough to fire and raised their bows. A storm of arrows was launched at the walls in the general vicnity of Mikos. The Dalesman retreated behind a battlement as arrows fell around him. He peaked out.

Two score men had been holding back their arrows in anticipation of this moment. They let loose. Almost all missed. One struck Mikos in the chest and failed to penetrate his enchanted mail. It would bruise but nothing more. Mikos killed five of them in quick succession.

The ladder companies were nearing the wall. Mikos continued killing archers. The ladders weren't his problem. Wulvic had thirty foot high stone walls and solid oak gates, stout defences but nothing unbreachable. Nothing that was last long against what the attackers would bring to bear.

The first ladders swung up as the first companies reached the wall. Men began to climb. Mikos continued to kill. Men were reaching the top of the first ladder as a score of men moved the read ram in front of the gate.

Trizkel shimmered into view as he seized the top of a ladder and heaved. The base of the ladder was torn out of the earth and into the air as Trizkel raised the ladder, and the half dozen soldiers dangling from it, above his head and then tossed it behind him. So it was the first soldiers of the overmaster's army entered Wulvic, although none of the survivors were in shape to fight.

Trizkel moved to the next ladder and did it again. And again. The ram hammered the gate, splinting wood. Mikos killed and killed and killed. Two arrows smashed into Trizkel's force armour as he tossed over a fourth ladder loaded with screaming men. "How many of these things did they make?" he shouted.

"About a score," Mikos replied, shooting through an archer's neck to strike the man behind him in gut.

"Going to take a while," said Trizkel as he grabbed the fifth. It was lighter than the others as all but two soldiers managed to let go before he raised it too high. "Oh well," he said as he tossed it behind him.

The front gate smashed open under a final blow from the crude ram. The men manning it came face to face with a stone wall that sealed off the gateway just five feet behind the gate.

"Sounded like the gate," said Mikos.

"I wonder how they like Nalifan's surprise," said Trizkel as he headed for number six. There were men on the wall now, with axes and maces raised as they headed for the stairs or the two adventurers.

Mikos shrugged and drew his swords. His fingers were beginning to get sore from all the shooting anyway. "I'll kill, you toss."

"Sounds about right," replied Trizkel.

[LadyTevar]

*DIES LAUGHING*

From Nal's Quote, to Nal's little surprise behind the gate, you gave me the best laugh I'd had all day.

*SMOOCHES* I needed that!

[Imperial Overlord]

Sieges are not an art, but a science. They are a balancing act where one must match relative strength and relative weakness and trade lives for time. The skilled practitioner can overcome just about every obstacle and take every fortress, given adequate resources.

That said, if there are heroes of legend present, all bets are off.

-High Marshal Megora Sansrel, senior strategist of the Church of Tempus.


There's a lot of things I could say at this point involving the proper applications of strategy, tactics, and logistics and all the rest but that wouldn't really address the subject. In war you strive to kill the enemy. Not merely their flesh, but their will to fight as well.

I could go on about the catastrophic effects of morale collapse on an army and how the mental out weighs the physical by such and such and a terrorized foe is not much of a threat and so on and so forth but that would be really boring. Killing and terrorizing the enemy is both fun and effective and I'll leave it at that.

-Nalifan D'Azurentien


Sylvetria watched as soldiers came over the siege ladders and onto the parapet. Mikos was hacking and stabbing his way down the wall, his limbs a blur as he killed a path to the next ladder. Trizkel followed in his wake, seizing and tossing the ladders and them following Mikos to the next one.

Some of the soldiers weren't staying on the wall to fight, a sensible enough decision the way men were dying up there. The instead headed towards stairs, possibly in an attempt to move around and flank or perhaps to just escape. Either way, Sylvetria was their problem.

She raised the silver lance in her left and and pointed it at a stairway full of descending soldiers. Argent lightning flashed, branching out like a tree as it went. Bolts blackened stone and sent stone chips flying. What they did to flesh was worse. Men screamed and convulsed as their flesh blackened and charred.

She pointed the lance in her right hand at another flight of stairs and unleashed lightning hell upon it. More men screamed and died under the lightning lash. Trizkel reached another ladder and sent it and the men on it crashing to the flagstones nearby.

She raised the left lance again and blasted more men off the parapet, taking a few chunks of the battlements with them. She took another group out with the right hand lance. A smell very similar to that of roasting pork hit her nostrils.

Another ladder struck the ground nearby. Some soldiers were descending on a third, distant stairway. She raised her left hand lance and blasted most of them into smoking meat. She felt a faint buzz through her gauntlet. Most of the charge was depleted for now. She sent it back to her other weapons and readied the right hand lance.

Mikos opened the throat of the closest soldier to the bone. Blood gushed from the wound and the soldier fell, clutching his throat as blood spilled through his fingers. Mikos kicked him off the parapet as he moved up, stabbing the next man in the heart with his short sword. He kicked in the kneecap of the next man and stabbed him in the throat. Trizkel tossed the next man coming off the ladder over his shoulder and then lifted and tossed the ladder.

More men were coming down the stairs as Mikos and Trizkel approached the last ladders. She walked forward as men reached the ground. A few were jumping from the battlements, choosing broken bones over certain death. With a practiced eye, Sylvetria eyed the men in front of her. They were ready to wilt away. Lightning flashed from the lance and half of them burned.

Most of the survivors ran. She dismissed the lance and summoned a pair of axes. Mail parted and under her blows as she cleaved flesh and broke bone. They ran rather than face her. Most tried to escape by darting into the alleys and backstreets as she ran down men with the speed of a charging horse. She pulled an axe from the skull of her latest kill and looked back.

The street was empty of life. On the battlements Mikos raised his bow in salute. The dead were scattered everywhere, lying sprawled in broken in her wake or fallen from the wall. Trizkel was at the far end of the street. He waved at her. She smiled. It wasn't such a bad day.

[The Nomad]

Hehe nice . That's what you get for annoying epic-level heroes .

BTW what does the Crown of Sorcery do? Enhance his spellcasting abilities, protect him or something else?

[LadyTevar]

Nitram: Since when is Nalifan a "hero of legend"? Legend I can understand, but 'Hero'? I just can't picture that one.

[Imperial Overlord]

Nitram: Since when is Nalifan a "hero of legend"? Legend I can understand, but 'Hero'? I just can't picture that one.

Since he's not talking about Nalifan that's not a problem. The relevant part is that he's talking about people in Nalifan's league. And some of the people who Nalifan pulled out of a kuo-toa slave pit or saved from the dire winter might have slightly more generous opinions of him.

The Crown of Sorcery is a heinous Int buff with a ward against antimagic and disjunctions build into it, as well as allowing his death spells to overcome death ward spells. So yeah, its a spellcasting buff.

[Xon]

Nitram: Since when is Nalifan a "hero of legend"? Legend I can understand, but 'Hero'? I just can't picture that one.

Smashing a lawful evil nation is a "good" thing, and he doesnt make a habit of taking over other "good" nations, so close enough is good enough?

[LadyTevar]

Hey, blame Nitram, not me

As Kaeryn's player, I can tell you that she sees him as 'heroic in spite of himself'.