Kaeryn's far too smart to say that. That then starts a conversation about results mattering more than the motives and how no ones motives are entirely pure. She'll avoid that conversational trap and stay on message, which is "be nicer, it's an attractive trait."LadyTevar wrote: Actually, Kaeryn should have said "When you do it for reasons other than Power, Revenge, or because you 'owe' someone?"
The Whirlwind
Moderator: LadyTevar
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Imperial Overlord
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The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
Touche. Of course, Nalifan thinks he's attractive enough already...Imperial Overlord wrote:Kaeryn's far too smart to say that. That then starts a conversation about results mattering more than the motives and how no ones motives are entirely pure. She'll avoid that conversational trap and stay on message, which is "be nicer, it's an attractive trait."LadyTevar wrote: Actually, Kaeryn should have said "When you do it for reasons other than Power, Revenge, or because you 'owe' someone?"
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
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Imperial Overlord
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You know Nal, he likes to totally stack the deck in his favor if given the opportunity.LadyTevar wrote: Touche. Of course, Nalifan thinks he's attractive enough already...
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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Imperial Overlord
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Arcane magic is the most widely practiced and diverse form of magic practiced on the planes. There are other forms of magic in use, of course, even if we discount divine spellcraft, such as psionics, shadow magic, pact magic and so forth. It is natural for each practitioner and specialist to have a great deal of confidence in the capabilities of his art, but given the diversity and power of various magical arts it is wise not to overspecialize and be familiar with and master as many abilities outside one's core disciplines as possible.
This is, of course, a general rule and it will manifest itself in different ways between different arts and there will always be the exceptions. I have faced, and am familiar with, arcane sorcery, divine magic, psionics, and shadow magic. Although I am only a practitioner of the first, and a somewhat specialized one at that, I command many useful and diverse spells both within and outside necromancy. I know what powers a priest or psion commands, I know how a how spell fire wielder can consume my spells and use it to fuel my own magic. I know these things and I know the limitations of such abilities as well as the capabilities of my own spells. In doing so, I become the master of the battlefield instead of the victim on the altar.
Woe to the practitioner who faces me or my equals and who lacks those skills.
-Nalifan D'Azurentien
The fires were dead and the Heart of Winter was gone. The chamber was empty now, empty except for Endire and a faint light glimmering in the ice. 'You did the right thing," said a voice behind Endire. The elf spun to see a white haired male elf emerge from the wall of the chamber. He was slighlty shorter than Endire and wore plain white tunic, cloak, pants, and boots.
"I didn't like it."
"It was necessary."
"I sent him to his death."
"He might live."
"We both know better," said Endire. He turned away.
"Things have changed," said the other.
"The arrival of the dhaerow," said Endire. He began walking towards the tunnel. The other had to follow to continue the conversation. "Arinyaniquis said they might actually be allies."
"Too much is at stake to trust dhaerow, no matter how convincingly they tell their story. Their actions, however, are not without benefits. She sees."
Endire stopped. "Truly?"
"The barriers have weakened. She saw again, for the first time in millenia. Your protege may survive. Those dhaerow may be useful. And our people have a chance."
"They had better. I just betrayed a man who thinks I'm his friend instead of his executioner."
"They must not see until it is too late. The amount of chaos must increase and your student is just the man for the job."
"And if he dies, the Heart of Winter will have no master. Ice will start to eat the south."
"Yes, even his death is something we can use to our advantage. There is one other thing."
"What?"
"She saw the dhaerow."
-----------------------------------------------------
It was night when the companions made their ascent up the mountain. Magic obviated the need for climbing tools as they soared up the cliff face. About a mile up they found a cave.
Trizkel lead the way inside, casting off his illusion of humanity and probing the darkness with his all seeing vision. There was nothing but an ancient and cooled lava tube. "It goes in deep," he said. "And there are no wards of any kind."
The others followed him in. Sylvetria fingered her warhammer nervously. "Problems?" Nalifan whispered.
"I don't like confined spaces much."
"So tunnels aren't you thing?"
"Yes."
"I can see problems in this marriage." She mock punched him lightly in the arm and they continued into the mountain. The tunnel connected to other tubes that wormed their way through the mountain's rock. Nalifan whispered a spells and a small orb of bloody light danced ahead, to find the path upwards.
"What if it doesn't work?" asked Mikos.
"It'll work," said Nalifan.
"What if there isn't a way up?" asked the Dalesman.
"Then it will come back and be still. Then I try some of my fancier tricks."
The light flittered back and began to float away from them. "See?" said Nalifan. "There is a route." The Dalesman said nothing.
They spent hours going through winding tunnels and switching from one to another, gradually going higher and higher. They stopped to rest and eat and then continued on.
After another hour or so Trizkel stopped suddenly. Kill the spell, said his voice in Nalifan's mind. Instantly it winked out.
Nalifan's fingers flashed questions in sign to Trizkel's back. What is it?
Light ahead, he sent back telepathically. Faint, but definitely light. We have company.
This is, of course, a general rule and it will manifest itself in different ways between different arts and there will always be the exceptions. I have faced, and am familiar with, arcane sorcery, divine magic, psionics, and shadow magic. Although I am only a practitioner of the first, and a somewhat specialized one at that, I command many useful and diverse spells both within and outside necromancy. I know what powers a priest or psion commands, I know how a how spell fire wielder can consume my spells and use it to fuel my own magic. I know these things and I know the limitations of such abilities as well as the capabilities of my own spells. In doing so, I become the master of the battlefield instead of the victim on the altar.
Woe to the practitioner who faces me or my equals and who lacks those skills.
-Nalifan D'Azurentien
The fires were dead and the Heart of Winter was gone. The chamber was empty now, empty except for Endire and a faint light glimmering in the ice. 'You did the right thing," said a voice behind Endire. The elf spun to see a white haired male elf emerge from the wall of the chamber. He was slighlty shorter than Endire and wore plain white tunic, cloak, pants, and boots.
"I didn't like it."
"It was necessary."
"I sent him to his death."
"He might live."
"We both know better," said Endire. He turned away.
"Things have changed," said the other.
"The arrival of the dhaerow," said Endire. He began walking towards the tunnel. The other had to follow to continue the conversation. "Arinyaniquis said they might actually be allies."
"Too much is at stake to trust dhaerow, no matter how convincingly they tell their story. Their actions, however, are not without benefits. She sees."
Endire stopped. "Truly?"
"The barriers have weakened. She saw again, for the first time in millenia. Your protege may survive. Those dhaerow may be useful. And our people have a chance."
"They had better. I just betrayed a man who thinks I'm his friend instead of his executioner."
"They must not see until it is too late. The amount of chaos must increase and your student is just the man for the job."
"And if he dies, the Heart of Winter will have no master. Ice will start to eat the south."
"Yes, even his death is something we can use to our advantage. There is one other thing."
"What?"
"She saw the dhaerow."
-----------------------------------------------------
It was night when the companions made their ascent up the mountain. Magic obviated the need for climbing tools as they soared up the cliff face. About a mile up they found a cave.
Trizkel lead the way inside, casting off his illusion of humanity and probing the darkness with his all seeing vision. There was nothing but an ancient and cooled lava tube. "It goes in deep," he said. "And there are no wards of any kind."
The others followed him in. Sylvetria fingered her warhammer nervously. "Problems?" Nalifan whispered.
"I don't like confined spaces much."
"So tunnels aren't you thing?"
"Yes."
"I can see problems in this marriage." She mock punched him lightly in the arm and they continued into the mountain. The tunnel connected to other tubes that wormed their way through the mountain's rock. Nalifan whispered a spells and a small orb of bloody light danced ahead, to find the path upwards.
"What if it doesn't work?" asked Mikos.
"It'll work," said Nalifan.
"What if there isn't a way up?" asked the Dalesman.
"Then it will come back and be still. Then I try some of my fancier tricks."
The light flittered back and began to float away from them. "See?" said Nalifan. "There is a route." The Dalesman said nothing.
They spent hours going through winding tunnels and switching from one to another, gradually going higher and higher. They stopped to rest and eat and then continued on.
After another hour or so Trizkel stopped suddenly. Kill the spell, said his voice in Nalifan's mind. Instantly it winked out.
Nalifan's fingers flashed questions in sign to Trizkel's back. What is it?
Light ahead, he sent back telepathically. Faint, but definitely light. We have company.
Last edited by Imperial Overlord on 2007-05-10 11:24am, edited 1 time in total.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
Okay.. who's "SHE"?
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
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Imperial Overlord
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Some things are sweetest the first time. The rush of casting a new spell, the taste of sweet nectar on the tongue, and the look of in your victim's eyes when you twist the knife and his life pours out of him. Nothing is quite like your first kill. You can never truly recapture it. Fortunately, some things get better the more your practice. Sex and torture, for example. Travel is another. Go to new places, explore unfamiliar settings, try new foods, choose new lovers, and kill strange people. Enough of this nostalgia nonsense. Life is sweet.
-Nalifan D'Azurentien, while slightly drunk.
Trizkel took point, leading them around the bend with Nalifan one pace behind on one side and Sylvetria matching the arch-necromancer's stride on the other. The tunnel opened into a larger chamber, its walls covered with worn carvings. Two fifteen foot stone pillars, topped with glowing spheres the size of an ogre's skull, stood at the base of a wide set of stairs. The stairs lead to a pair of black iron double doors. Silver runes glowed softly on doors and the frame.
Standing before the stairs was a man on indeterminate age. He was not young, but age did not seem to have made much of an impression on him. He was a human male with light brown skin and a shaved head. He had a round, clean shaven face and wore a simple white robe over a muscular body. His expression was mild. "I have been expecting you."
"Really?" said Nalifan. "Us specifically?"
"Yes. You may cloak yourself from the eyes of others, but all beings make currents as they move through the waters of existence. Your motions and your intentions revealed your path."
"That seems to me to be a convoluted way of saying you made an educated guess. I'm not impressed by obfuscation and deliberately misleading verbiage. Those have power over the weak minded. My words have greater force."
"Indeed," the monk replied.
"He's not lying or trying to trick us," said Trizkel. "He really has attuned himself to the energy flows. A disciplined mind and body harmonized with the nature of the cosmos. He possesses some truly formidable abilities."
"You understand. Good."
Trizkel rolled his shoulders and flexed his hands. "I do."
"And despite this you will not turn back." It was a statement, not a question. There was a note of resignation in the monk's voice. "You have time to reconsider."
"Your assumptions are in error," said Trizkel. "We merely wish to consult your library."
"That is forbidden. Please leave. Your friends efforts will be futile and your abilities, while formidable, will not avail you."
Trizkel took a step forward. "I have no doubt that your skills are greater than mine, but you are a leaf riding the surface of the pond and I am current. Your attunement will not grant your victory against the raw power I can bring to bear. The fundamental law of the universe is that power matters."
"You have deceived yourself."
"Trizkel," said Nalifan, "can you stop engaging in the exchange of aphorisms with this cage bred human and hurry up and kill him? There's only so much smug condescension I can take from my inferiors."
"His arrogance blinds him," said the monk.
"He has received an education from the best teachers to be had and has walked on a dozen worlds. On each he has gathered new knowledge and overcome all foes. How far have you been from this monastery? Have you ever fought someone trained in another style? Have you seen him kill? No, it is you who are blinded by arrogance. For you to stand against him is to perish. You have even less of a chance against me. Stand aside."
"I must refu-." Trizkel sprung forward, a blur of motion with swords in his hands. The monk stood his ground. Both fighters were a blur of motion as they lashed out and blocked with blades, hands, and feet. Blood fountained in the air and suddenly Trizkel was still. The monk's armless body toppled to ground in front of him.
Blood dripped off Trizkel's blades and his invisible armour of telekinetic force. "He should have listened," he said.
The others walked forward. "He wasn't going to. His world was too narrow for him to consider than his ideology of personal supremacy could be wrong."
"And what about your ideology of personal supremacy?" asked Sylvetria as she began climbing the stairs.
"I don't have one," said Nalifan. "I just happen to be good at magic and killing, which I value highly. This dead fool thought he was superior to us because he mastered a certain skill set. He thought the skill set alone preordained victory."
"Explain the difference between you and him," Sylvetria asked.
"I considered the possibility that Karesh of the Thousand Blades was deadlier than I was. I, we, survived him. And found a way to end him. This carcass thought he could take all four of us at once. He failed to respect his enemies and it killed him. Are you done?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Good," said Nalifan as he stepped around a pool of blood to examine the runes. "Simple enough. If you have enough strength." He intoned a short, harsh phrase. The runes glowed brightly for a moment and the doors swung open.
-Nalifan D'Azurentien, while slightly drunk.
Trizkel took point, leading them around the bend with Nalifan one pace behind on one side and Sylvetria matching the arch-necromancer's stride on the other. The tunnel opened into a larger chamber, its walls covered with worn carvings. Two fifteen foot stone pillars, topped with glowing spheres the size of an ogre's skull, stood at the base of a wide set of stairs. The stairs lead to a pair of black iron double doors. Silver runes glowed softly on doors and the frame.
Standing before the stairs was a man on indeterminate age. He was not young, but age did not seem to have made much of an impression on him. He was a human male with light brown skin and a shaved head. He had a round, clean shaven face and wore a simple white robe over a muscular body. His expression was mild. "I have been expecting you."
"Really?" said Nalifan. "Us specifically?"
"Yes. You may cloak yourself from the eyes of others, but all beings make currents as they move through the waters of existence. Your motions and your intentions revealed your path."
"That seems to me to be a convoluted way of saying you made an educated guess. I'm not impressed by obfuscation and deliberately misleading verbiage. Those have power over the weak minded. My words have greater force."
"Indeed," the monk replied.
"He's not lying or trying to trick us," said Trizkel. "He really has attuned himself to the energy flows. A disciplined mind and body harmonized with the nature of the cosmos. He possesses some truly formidable abilities."
"You understand. Good."
Trizkel rolled his shoulders and flexed his hands. "I do."
"And despite this you will not turn back." It was a statement, not a question. There was a note of resignation in the monk's voice. "You have time to reconsider."
"Your assumptions are in error," said Trizkel. "We merely wish to consult your library."
"That is forbidden. Please leave. Your friends efforts will be futile and your abilities, while formidable, will not avail you."
Trizkel took a step forward. "I have no doubt that your skills are greater than mine, but you are a leaf riding the surface of the pond and I am current. Your attunement will not grant your victory against the raw power I can bring to bear. The fundamental law of the universe is that power matters."
"You have deceived yourself."
"Trizkel," said Nalifan, "can you stop engaging in the exchange of aphorisms with this cage bred human and hurry up and kill him? There's only so much smug condescension I can take from my inferiors."
"His arrogance blinds him," said the monk.
"He has received an education from the best teachers to be had and has walked on a dozen worlds. On each he has gathered new knowledge and overcome all foes. How far have you been from this monastery? Have you ever fought someone trained in another style? Have you seen him kill? No, it is you who are blinded by arrogance. For you to stand against him is to perish. You have even less of a chance against me. Stand aside."
"I must refu-." Trizkel sprung forward, a blur of motion with swords in his hands. The monk stood his ground. Both fighters were a blur of motion as they lashed out and blocked with blades, hands, and feet. Blood fountained in the air and suddenly Trizkel was still. The monk's armless body toppled to ground in front of him.
Blood dripped off Trizkel's blades and his invisible armour of telekinetic force. "He should have listened," he said.
The others walked forward. "He wasn't going to. His world was too narrow for him to consider than his ideology of personal supremacy could be wrong."
"And what about your ideology of personal supremacy?" asked Sylvetria as she began climbing the stairs.
"I don't have one," said Nalifan. "I just happen to be good at magic and killing, which I value highly. This dead fool thought he was superior to us because he mastered a certain skill set. He thought the skill set alone preordained victory."
"Explain the difference between you and him," Sylvetria asked.
"I considered the possibility that Karesh of the Thousand Blades was deadlier than I was. I, we, survived him. And found a way to end him. This carcass thought he could take all four of us at once. He failed to respect his enemies and it killed him. Are you done?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Good," said Nalifan as he stepped around a pool of blood to examine the runes. "Simple enough. If you have enough strength." He intoned a short, harsh phrase. The runes glowed brightly for a moment and the doors swung open.
Last edited by Imperial Overlord on 2007-05-10 04:07pm, edited 1 time in total.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
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- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
The biggest problem about moving into new situations is that you don't see all the pieces. It takes a while to figure out how everything fits together and who is planning what. On the other hand, the outsider has the advantage of a fresh perspective uncontaminated by local biases and assumptions. Still, it's usually the things that you don't know about that bite you on the ass. That's where a healthy level of paranoia can come in handy.
-Nalifan D'Azurentien
Arinyaniquis motioned for the bartender to refill his cup and slipped another pair of copper coins across the table. He didn't much care for beer, but it was better than the wretched vinegar this place called wine. The bartender refilled him and the shape shifted elf returned to the conversation. "It's not that bad," he said.
"No, I'm telling you it's true," said Mardin. "My cousin saw it with his own eyes. Tens of thousands dead. All through sorcery."
Endire waved him off. "As if sorcery could stand against the psilords."
"Maybe," said Lessis. The two men looked enough alike to be brothers. Swarthy, rough shaven, with curly, oily hair. "But the overmasters did gather an army and they did march to Wulvic."
"Are they recruiting," Arinyaniquis asked, as if he was interested.
"Yeah," said Mardin. "It's driving the wages for fighting men up everywhere. Good time to wear a sword."
"If you don't get killed," said Lessis.
"All men die in the end," said Arinyaniquis.
"Truth," said Mardin as he raised his cup.
"Unless your a psilord," said Lessis. He drank as well.
"If you believe the stories," said Mardin.
"Well, since I'm not a psilord it doesn't do me any good either way," said Arinyaniquis. The other men laughed.
"True enough," said Lessis. "Look, the overmaster left the city. Whatever happened with Wulvic, a whole shitload of psilords and mindknights and thousands of soldiers marched back to Neridian. Something's going on."
"Hmm," muttered Arinyaniquis. "Food for thought. Well boys, I'm going to get some sleep. This round is on me." He put a small silver coin on the table. "Drink up on me."
The elf got up and left. Killing the resident psilords would only attract attention. He was after bigger game. Neridian beckoned. Winter was coming.
---------------------------------------------
Xyzasha's long tongue slid up her latest lover's throat. The girl trembled, fear and arousal blending together. The Demon Queen chuckled softly, her hair-tendrils coiling together. "You enjoyed it, didn't you my pet? You didn't think you would but you did. Nothing," she probed the girl's ear with her tongue, "nothing does not yearn for my embrace." She stroked the trembling girl's chin with her thumb. "And know you are afraid. Hmmm? I shall spare you. For now. Perhaps if your skills improve, I will spare you next time."
"My queen," said a voice. Xyzasha rose from her teenaged victim and turned towards the supplicant in the room below her. The demon queen looked down from the dais towards Corpse Grinder.
"Speak," said Xyzasha.
"Cinderheart says he is ready majesty."
Her eyes went wide. She leapt from the dais and swept passed the grotesque nalfeshnee demon. Corpse Grinder turned and followed his mistress into the dark and terrible dungeons beneath the Castle of Claws. Pitiful mewling and moans of pain reached their ears, sounds as beautiful to them as any symphony. Demons scattered out of their way in fear, making craven obeisances to their betters. Xyzasha cared not for their groveling, not now. Not when they were so close.
Two toad-like demons threw open a pair of bronze doors, ushering their mistress into the presence of Cinderheart and the Apparatus. The four armed demon clicked his pinchers and bowed. "Mighty mistress, I am pleased to report the moment is near."
Xyzasha's eyes rested on the steel and brass pillar, studded with crystalline power orbs and life draining spikes. "Near?" she hissed. "Near?"
"My mistress," said Cinderheart, keenly aware of the danger, "the Greater has been breached again. Its weakness is such that it no longer draws from the Lesser to maintain its strength. It has been degraded. We can now use the Apparatus to open a miniscule breach. We may send one of your servants through."
"Just one?"
"Yes, my lady, but in doing so we will weaken the Lesser. The Apparatus can be charged again, this time requiring less power, and another sent. And then another and another until the Lesser falls like over ripe fruit. It remains for you to choose which of your servants to send forth."
Xyzasha smiled. "That is better then."
"I apologize to your majesty for being unclear."
"You are forgiven. Prepare to make the breach."
"Majesty," said Corpse Grinder, "if I may be so bold, who do you intend to send?"
"I need someone to help weaken the Wardings on the other side and slaughter all potential opposition. Who else would I send but Poison Fester?" She giggled like a teenage girl. "How many do you think he'll kill in the first day?" she said and then dissolved into peals of laughter.
-Nalifan D'Azurentien
Arinyaniquis motioned for the bartender to refill his cup and slipped another pair of copper coins across the table. He didn't much care for beer, but it was better than the wretched vinegar this place called wine. The bartender refilled him and the shape shifted elf returned to the conversation. "It's not that bad," he said.
"No, I'm telling you it's true," said Mardin. "My cousin saw it with his own eyes. Tens of thousands dead. All through sorcery."
Endire waved him off. "As if sorcery could stand against the psilords."
"Maybe," said Lessis. The two men looked enough alike to be brothers. Swarthy, rough shaven, with curly, oily hair. "But the overmasters did gather an army and they did march to Wulvic."
"Are they recruiting," Arinyaniquis asked, as if he was interested.
"Yeah," said Mardin. "It's driving the wages for fighting men up everywhere. Good time to wear a sword."
"If you don't get killed," said Lessis.
"All men die in the end," said Arinyaniquis.
"Truth," said Mardin as he raised his cup.
"Unless your a psilord," said Lessis. He drank as well.
"If you believe the stories," said Mardin.
"Well, since I'm not a psilord it doesn't do me any good either way," said Arinyaniquis. The other men laughed.
"True enough," said Lessis. "Look, the overmaster left the city. Whatever happened with Wulvic, a whole shitload of psilords and mindknights and thousands of soldiers marched back to Neridian. Something's going on."
"Hmm," muttered Arinyaniquis. "Food for thought. Well boys, I'm going to get some sleep. This round is on me." He put a small silver coin on the table. "Drink up on me."
The elf got up and left. Killing the resident psilords would only attract attention. He was after bigger game. Neridian beckoned. Winter was coming.
---------------------------------------------
Xyzasha's long tongue slid up her latest lover's throat. The girl trembled, fear and arousal blending together. The Demon Queen chuckled softly, her hair-tendrils coiling together. "You enjoyed it, didn't you my pet? You didn't think you would but you did. Nothing," she probed the girl's ear with her tongue, "nothing does not yearn for my embrace." She stroked the trembling girl's chin with her thumb. "And know you are afraid. Hmmm? I shall spare you. For now. Perhaps if your skills improve, I will spare you next time."
"My queen," said a voice. Xyzasha rose from her teenaged victim and turned towards the supplicant in the room below her. The demon queen looked down from the dais towards Corpse Grinder.
"Speak," said Xyzasha.
"Cinderheart says he is ready majesty."
Her eyes went wide. She leapt from the dais and swept passed the grotesque nalfeshnee demon. Corpse Grinder turned and followed his mistress into the dark and terrible dungeons beneath the Castle of Claws. Pitiful mewling and moans of pain reached their ears, sounds as beautiful to them as any symphony. Demons scattered out of their way in fear, making craven obeisances to their betters. Xyzasha cared not for their groveling, not now. Not when they were so close.
Two toad-like demons threw open a pair of bronze doors, ushering their mistress into the presence of Cinderheart and the Apparatus. The four armed demon clicked his pinchers and bowed. "Mighty mistress, I am pleased to report the moment is near."
Xyzasha's eyes rested on the steel and brass pillar, studded with crystalline power orbs and life draining spikes. "Near?" she hissed. "Near?"
"My mistress," said Cinderheart, keenly aware of the danger, "the Greater has been breached again. Its weakness is such that it no longer draws from the Lesser to maintain its strength. It has been degraded. We can now use the Apparatus to open a miniscule breach. We may send one of your servants through."
"Just one?"
"Yes, my lady, but in doing so we will weaken the Lesser. The Apparatus can be charged again, this time requiring less power, and another sent. And then another and another until the Lesser falls like over ripe fruit. It remains for you to choose which of your servants to send forth."
Xyzasha smiled. "That is better then."
"I apologize to your majesty for being unclear."
"You are forgiven. Prepare to make the breach."
"Majesty," said Corpse Grinder, "if I may be so bold, who do you intend to send?"
"I need someone to help weaken the Wardings on the other side and slaughter all potential opposition. Who else would I send but Poison Fester?" She giggled like a teenage girl. "How many do you think he'll kill in the first day?" she said and then dissolved into peals of laughter.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
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- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
Contempt for males is a dangerous and foolish thing. If your house mage is weakling and worthy of contempt, then your house has a weakness. If he is strong and treated with contempt, then you create an enemy near at hand. And so on so forth with your swordmaster and master of assassins. More importantly, it is the height of foolishness to have a inferior male sire your daughters. A matriarch's consort should be glorious, a shining beacon of beauty and power that all can gaze upon and know her greatness. Chose and dispose of playthings as you like, but invest much greater care in choosing your court and your consorts.
-Dread Queen Sheharith, addressing her daughters
The double doors opened to reveal a vast chamber lit by glowing crystals suspended by black iron holders near the roof. Rows upon row of shelves contained books and bundles of scrolls. Nalifan strode forward into the room and the others followed.
"How are we going to find what we're looking for in all this?" Mikos asked.
"There's more rooms," Sylvetria said, pointing to a doorway. "And from what I can see, more books."
"Gods," Mikos groaned.
"There could be whole levels full of rooms like this," said Nalifan cheerfully.
"I'm going to kill you," said the Dalesman.
"Relax," said the drow with a smile. "We're going to cheat."
"Killing or torture?" Sylvetria asked.
"Please," said Nalifan. "No need for that. Generations of librarians have tended this place and none of their souls have passed on to the outer planes. They will maintain connections to this place and their knowledge can be extracted."
"If you can do that," Sylvetria asked, "why did we bother to come?"
"Because they're monks, not magicians. Their interpretations of what they read will be questionable at best. I only want them to lead me to the relevant sources so I can make sense of them."
"You're assuming those sources were written by people more knowledgeable than the monks," said Mikos.
"I'm hoping that's true," said Nalifan. "If its not, I'll have to make do with what we can get."
"I wonder why they're aren't more guards," Sylvetria mused.
"The enlightened master would have had them with him if there were any," Nalifan said. "He decided to handle it solo, probably so it would disturb anyone else's balance or ki or whatever pseudomystical gobblegook they subscribe to."
"He was not without power," said Trizkel.
"He was lacking in judgement," said Nalifan. "Similar practices are rare, but not unknown among the drow. I can assure you that they have a more pragmatic and open minded approach to problems. This idiocy is a product of their arrogance and isolation. Now give me a little room." The drow sat down crosslegged on the floor.
The rest spread out in a loose circle. Nalifan began to chant the initiators of a potent spell. Black mist swirled around the arch-necromancer. Faces began to form in the mist, distorted visages of the once living. They opened their mouths to cry soundlessly. Nalifan uttered a single word and the mist broke up and faded away. Nalifan stood up. "That way," he said pointing.
"That easy?" asked Sylvetria.
"That easy," the drow replied.
"He's very, very good at this," said Trizkel with a slight smile.
"If you want I could do it do slow way with a full hour ritual and a big light show at the end," said Nalifan.
"Whichever you prefer," replied Sylvetria. The arch-necromancer lead them through the next room. A young man in a tan robe with a shaved head was putting a scroll on a shelf. He stopped to stair at them as they passed through. Nalifan lead them up a stairway to the next level. Two more initiates gaped at them as they passed.
"They don't seemed alarmed," said Sylvetria.
"Intruders are impossible so they have no instructions on how to deal with intruders," said Trizkel. In fact it is more likely that we have permission than we are intruders. They're used to being told what to do."
"Are you sure?" asked Sylvetria.
"No. It's an informed guess, based on their natures." Trizkel tapped the mithril piece covering a quarter of his skull. "A good guess."
"Ahh, here we are," said Nalifan as he stopped at a shelf. He pulled out a book at the end of a shelf that was full of scrolls. He blew dust off the cover. "No one has been reading this recently." He began flipping through the pages, speed reading to find the relevant sections.
Mikos looked around nervously. "The librarians have disappeared."
"We'll have company soon," said Sylvetria. She conjured a horn bow from her gauntlets and strung and arrow. She covered one of the entrances.
"Probably," said Nalifan as he continued reading. "Ahh. Here we are. Or maybe not." He flipped to the next page and then the next.
"Nal, not to rush you, but we are probably going to have to fight our way out," said Trizkel.
"I know," said Nalifan. He flipped back a page and reread in more depth. Then he flipped back. "I'll hold up my end."
"Maniacs," he whispered.
"What?"
"One of their projects," he said and flipped the page. "They were quite desperate to try that." He flipped the page again. "Ah ha. We might be getting somewhere."
A man in a white robe stepped through the doorway that Sylvetria was watching. "Hold it," she said.
He smiled slightly at her. His skull was shaved and he had an ageless look about him. "You do not have permission to be here. All who defile the solitude of the Mountain without permission must die. Your violation of the Shield of the World only compounds your guilt. Surrender and we will be merciful."
"To Bane with that," she said and let fly. The man batted the arrow out of the way. "Malar's breath," she cursed and then he was rushing at her.
-Dread Queen Sheharith, addressing her daughters
The double doors opened to reveal a vast chamber lit by glowing crystals suspended by black iron holders near the roof. Rows upon row of shelves contained books and bundles of scrolls. Nalifan strode forward into the room and the others followed.
"How are we going to find what we're looking for in all this?" Mikos asked.
"There's more rooms," Sylvetria said, pointing to a doorway. "And from what I can see, more books."
"Gods," Mikos groaned.
"There could be whole levels full of rooms like this," said Nalifan cheerfully.
"I'm going to kill you," said the Dalesman.
"Relax," said the drow with a smile. "We're going to cheat."
"Killing or torture?" Sylvetria asked.
"Please," said Nalifan. "No need for that. Generations of librarians have tended this place and none of their souls have passed on to the outer planes. They will maintain connections to this place and their knowledge can be extracted."
"If you can do that," Sylvetria asked, "why did we bother to come?"
"Because they're monks, not magicians. Their interpretations of what they read will be questionable at best. I only want them to lead me to the relevant sources so I can make sense of them."
"You're assuming those sources were written by people more knowledgeable than the monks," said Mikos.
"I'm hoping that's true," said Nalifan. "If its not, I'll have to make do with what we can get."
"I wonder why they're aren't more guards," Sylvetria mused.
"The enlightened master would have had them with him if there were any," Nalifan said. "He decided to handle it solo, probably so it would disturb anyone else's balance or ki or whatever pseudomystical gobblegook they subscribe to."
"He was not without power," said Trizkel.
"He was lacking in judgement," said Nalifan. "Similar practices are rare, but not unknown among the drow. I can assure you that they have a more pragmatic and open minded approach to problems. This idiocy is a product of their arrogance and isolation. Now give me a little room." The drow sat down crosslegged on the floor.
The rest spread out in a loose circle. Nalifan began to chant the initiators of a potent spell. Black mist swirled around the arch-necromancer. Faces began to form in the mist, distorted visages of the once living. They opened their mouths to cry soundlessly. Nalifan uttered a single word and the mist broke up and faded away. Nalifan stood up. "That way," he said pointing.
"That easy?" asked Sylvetria.
"That easy," the drow replied.
"He's very, very good at this," said Trizkel with a slight smile.
"If you want I could do it do slow way with a full hour ritual and a big light show at the end," said Nalifan.
"Whichever you prefer," replied Sylvetria. The arch-necromancer lead them through the next room. A young man in a tan robe with a shaved head was putting a scroll on a shelf. He stopped to stair at them as they passed through. Nalifan lead them up a stairway to the next level. Two more initiates gaped at them as they passed.
"They don't seemed alarmed," said Sylvetria.
"Intruders are impossible so they have no instructions on how to deal with intruders," said Trizkel. In fact it is more likely that we have permission than we are intruders. They're used to being told what to do."
"Are you sure?" asked Sylvetria.
"No. It's an informed guess, based on their natures." Trizkel tapped the mithril piece covering a quarter of his skull. "A good guess."
"Ahh, here we are," said Nalifan as he stopped at a shelf. He pulled out a book at the end of a shelf that was full of scrolls. He blew dust off the cover. "No one has been reading this recently." He began flipping through the pages, speed reading to find the relevant sections.
Mikos looked around nervously. "The librarians have disappeared."
"We'll have company soon," said Sylvetria. She conjured a horn bow from her gauntlets and strung and arrow. She covered one of the entrances.
"Probably," said Nalifan as he continued reading. "Ahh. Here we are. Or maybe not." He flipped to the next page and then the next.
"Nal, not to rush you, but we are probably going to have to fight our way out," said Trizkel.
"I know," said Nalifan. He flipped back a page and reread in more depth. Then he flipped back. "I'll hold up my end."
"Maniacs," he whispered.
"What?"
"One of their projects," he said and flipped the page. "They were quite desperate to try that." He flipped the page again. "Ah ha. We might be getting somewhere."
A man in a white robe stepped through the doorway that Sylvetria was watching. "Hold it," she said.
He smiled slightly at her. His skull was shaved and he had an ageless look about him. "You do not have permission to be here. All who defile the solitude of the Mountain without permission must die. Your violation of the Shield of the World only compounds your guilt. Surrender and we will be merciful."
"To Bane with that," she said and let fly. The man batted the arrow out of the way. "Malar's breath," she cursed and then he was rushing at her.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
There are times when talking is the best option. There are other times when massive violence is the right choice. I'm very good at the latter option.
-Trizkel
Sylvetria dismissed her bow and drew forth a sword that crackled with harnessed lightning. The monk sprinted towards her, batting her blade to the side with his left hand while striking at her with his right. She dodged by taking a step back, drew her sword back, and stabbed. He tried to dodge, but wasn't fast enough. She rammed the blade through his left lung and then tore the blade out. The monk fell back, bleeding and gasping for breath.
Mikos let fly at the monk closest to him. His first two arrows were swatted away by the rapidly closing monk. Then one struck home in the monk's right bicep and then Mikos landed two more in the monk's chest. The wounded man continued forward, blood gushing from his wounds. He tried to lunge at Mikos. The Dalesman downed him with a kick to the stomach and booted him away.
Trizkel shrugged off a blast of telekinetic power that should have shattered bones and ruptured organs. The drow leapt across the room, his blades flashing. Mindeater slipped into the monk's abdomen and Ruinbringer pierced his heart. Blood sprayed against Trizkel's force armour and dripped onto the floor. From his position near the door Trizkel could see another half dozen monks coming.
"Nal!" he shouted as he moved to hold the corridor. "We're going to have company! Hold the entrances! Bottle neck the bastards!"
Mikos staggered, hammered by an intense telepathic assault that would have killed an ordinary mortal. Sylvetria blurred towards his attacker, moving almost too fast to see. Blood sleeted across the walls and shelving as the psion's head bounced on the floor. A man circled around her right, keeping just of reach. A woman did the same along her left. More of them were coming in through a third corridor.
"Let them come," said Nalifan as he helped Mikos to his feet. "Cluster around me."
Sylvetria smiled at her attackers and stepped back, blade extended to ward them away. Trizkel eased back, bloody blades in hands. More monks came into the room. "An interesting program of combining physical and mental conditioning with psionic training," said Trizkel. "No wonder they're cocky."
"Yes," said Nalifan as more monks entered the room. "A potentially formidable combination." He shouted the words to a spell. A terrible keening wail filled the room and all the monks jerked and spasmed. Blue light erupted from their eyes and poured out of their mouths. They shuddered and the light faded as their lifeless bodies hit the floor. "I prefer my own arts though."
In the upper levels of the ancient castle Perfecti Zyush floated down to a courtyard full of adepts racing towards a toward. "Halt," he said softly. All of them did, immediately.
"They have slain perfecti. You can do nothing against them but die," he told the adepts. They bowed in acknowledgement.
A dry voice spoke in his head. What do you intend to do?
Zyush recognized the voice of Perfecti Kaas. Evaluate them and delay them. Gather the rest of the perfecti and the senior adepts. You must be dispersed physically, but strike as one. These ones are too strong for lesser measures. The former Overmaster of Neridian knew too much about the horrors of the ancient world to fall into the trap of blind certainty in his own supremacy that the more insular masters of the Mountain were vulnerable to. The world outside corrupted, but it taught as well.
Confront them alone? They will kill you as they have slain their others. I can feel the death they have wrought.
Perhaps, replied Zyush. That is a risk I must take. He walked through the threshold and into the library.
Death is the inevitable end of all things, Kaas sent, repeating an old piece of wisdom. Only the time of its arrival remains uncertain.
"Death dealers!" Zyush shouted as he moved deeper into the library. "I would parlay with you!"
He heard soft footsteps ahead. A man with coal black skin and a short sword in either hand walked into the light. He was armoured in invisible fields of force over garments of fine silk and soft leather. He was muscular and his head was shaved. A gleaming headpiece of mithril and rubies covered on of his eyes and a quarter of his skull. "Talk," said Trizkel in accented Achenoi. Blood dripped off his blades. "I'm not feeling patient or merciful. Whatever you have to say, make it good."
-Trizkel
Sylvetria dismissed her bow and drew forth a sword that crackled with harnessed lightning. The monk sprinted towards her, batting her blade to the side with his left hand while striking at her with his right. She dodged by taking a step back, drew her sword back, and stabbed. He tried to dodge, but wasn't fast enough. She rammed the blade through his left lung and then tore the blade out. The monk fell back, bleeding and gasping for breath.
Mikos let fly at the monk closest to him. His first two arrows were swatted away by the rapidly closing monk. Then one struck home in the monk's right bicep and then Mikos landed two more in the monk's chest. The wounded man continued forward, blood gushing from his wounds. He tried to lunge at Mikos. The Dalesman downed him with a kick to the stomach and booted him away.
Trizkel shrugged off a blast of telekinetic power that should have shattered bones and ruptured organs. The drow leapt across the room, his blades flashing. Mindeater slipped into the monk's abdomen and Ruinbringer pierced his heart. Blood sprayed against Trizkel's force armour and dripped onto the floor. From his position near the door Trizkel could see another half dozen monks coming.
"Nal!" he shouted as he moved to hold the corridor. "We're going to have company! Hold the entrances! Bottle neck the bastards!"
Mikos staggered, hammered by an intense telepathic assault that would have killed an ordinary mortal. Sylvetria blurred towards his attacker, moving almost too fast to see. Blood sleeted across the walls and shelving as the psion's head bounced on the floor. A man circled around her right, keeping just of reach. A woman did the same along her left. More of them were coming in through a third corridor.
"Let them come," said Nalifan as he helped Mikos to his feet. "Cluster around me."
Sylvetria smiled at her attackers and stepped back, blade extended to ward them away. Trizkel eased back, bloody blades in hands. More monks came into the room. "An interesting program of combining physical and mental conditioning with psionic training," said Trizkel. "No wonder they're cocky."
"Yes," said Nalifan as more monks entered the room. "A potentially formidable combination." He shouted the words to a spell. A terrible keening wail filled the room and all the monks jerked and spasmed. Blue light erupted from their eyes and poured out of their mouths. They shuddered and the light faded as their lifeless bodies hit the floor. "I prefer my own arts though."
In the upper levels of the ancient castle Perfecti Zyush floated down to a courtyard full of adepts racing towards a toward. "Halt," he said softly. All of them did, immediately.
"They have slain perfecti. You can do nothing against them but die," he told the adepts. They bowed in acknowledgement.
A dry voice spoke in his head. What do you intend to do?
Zyush recognized the voice of Perfecti Kaas. Evaluate them and delay them. Gather the rest of the perfecti and the senior adepts. You must be dispersed physically, but strike as one. These ones are too strong for lesser measures. The former Overmaster of Neridian knew too much about the horrors of the ancient world to fall into the trap of blind certainty in his own supremacy that the more insular masters of the Mountain were vulnerable to. The world outside corrupted, but it taught as well.
Confront them alone? They will kill you as they have slain their others. I can feel the death they have wrought.
Perhaps, replied Zyush. That is a risk I must take. He walked through the threshold and into the library.
Death is the inevitable end of all things, Kaas sent, repeating an old piece of wisdom. Only the time of its arrival remains uncertain.
"Death dealers!" Zyush shouted as he moved deeper into the library. "I would parlay with you!"
He heard soft footsteps ahead. A man with coal black skin and a short sword in either hand walked into the light. He was armoured in invisible fields of force over garments of fine silk and soft leather. He was muscular and his head was shaved. A gleaming headpiece of mithril and rubies covered on of his eyes and a quarter of his skull. "Talk," said Trizkel in accented Achenoi. Blood dripped off his blades. "I'm not feeling patient or merciful. Whatever you have to say, make it good."
Last edited by Imperial Overlord on 2007-05-22 05:23am, edited 2 times in total.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
Umm.. what?Trizkel shrugged off a blast of telekinetic power that shoulder have shattered bones and ruptured organs.
Still, once again we see what HighLevel adventurers can do to mid-level opponents.
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
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Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
They weren't mid level.LadyTevar wrote: Still, once again we see what HighLevel adventurers can do to mid-level opponents.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
What were they?Imperial Overlord wrote:They weren't mid level.LadyTevar wrote: Still, once again we see what HighLevel adventurers can do to mid-level opponents.
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
-
Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
High. Mid teenish.LadyTevar wrote:What were they?Imperial Overlord wrote:They weren't mid level.LadyTevar wrote: Still, once again we see what HighLevel adventurers can do to mid-level opponents.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
To go all game mechanicky for a moment, the Mountain teaches both monkish disciplines and psionic talents. Zyush is a retired overmaster, a renegade monk was a high master (now a melted ice statue), and so on and so forth. Class distribution varies.The Nomad wrote:If I got it right, some of them were Psionic Fists?
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
Since we are going all game mechanics for a short while, how many levels have they gained since Since When Does Trouble Knock? Nalifan must have lost a horrendous amount of xp with all those clone bodies destroyed and the creation of two epic spells, but I guess the incredible foes he had defeated would have more than compensated this.
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Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
About a half dozen levels. Nalifan only died once and yes, the epic spells would have cost, but the opposition was so heinous that it would have been buckets and buckets of xp. Karesh, winter wights, balors, rakshasas with lots of character levels, worms that walk, a demilich with epic wizard levels, high level Banite priests . . . . .
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
Murder is a craft. It can be executed competently or incompetently, in a workman like fashion or with an artistic flourish. Although some of the practitioners may deceive themselves about the nature of murder, like any other craft it is judged on the cost and the quality of the execution and not in the flourishes the craftsman undertakes while committing it.
Slaughter is different. Slaughter is a sport, usually a team sport. A dangerous one, as some of the prey will fight fiercely to live. The shock of a blade hitting bone, the screams of the burning, and the pleading look in the eyes as the defeated beg for their lives are so sweet, like sweet nectar on your tongue.
So many sweet things in life and humans limit themselves to so few. You add in their short lifespans and its sad really. You so deprive yourselves.
-Nalifan D'Azurentien
"Bravado will not help you here," said Zyush. "Your crimes are many and escape is impossible. Mercy is not beyond your reach."
"Crimes are for those bound by laws," said Trizkel. "I am drow. Your moralistic prattle means nothing to me."
Zyush eyed Trizkel carefully, attuning himself to the energies guarding his body and augmenting his flesh. To the perfecti's inner eye, Trizkel's weapons and body jewelry glowed with a light scarcely dimmer than that of the sun. "You are arrogant elf-"
"Drow," Trizkel interrupted. "I am not one of the faerie."
"As you say," said Zyush, filing away that fact for exploration later. "You are strong, but I am stronger."
"You have greater psionic power," said Trizkel, "but your techniques are anemic and psionics are but a part of my strength, not the whole. To stand against me is to stand against the whirlwind."
"Our strength defeated the Illithid."
"I *know* that not to be true," said Trizkel, placing an odd emphasis on the word "know". He smiled slightly. "You do not *know* yourselves."
"You are quoting something," said Zyush. "Some received wisdom."
"The Illithid were undone by those who they had caused to not *know* themselves, but who learned to *know* new things in the service of the Illithid. War, conquest, steel, themselves. They began The Rising and it did not end until The Declaration of Two Skies. What happened here was nothing more than the abandonment of a fragment of a failing empire. Look at yourselves. Have you done anything to approach the grandeur of the Achenoi magelords? You are barbarians who driven out a few sickly old men from the ruins of their ancestors' palace and now consider yourselves greater than they were as you sit at their table and drink from their cups."
Zyush took a step back. He felt fear now, for the first time in a long while. This one's confidence was too great. "Those words you speak. *Knowing*, The Declaration of Two Skies. They are not your own."
"No," said Trizkel. "They are the words of Zerthimon, whose followers *knew* themselves and steel and sorcery and psionics. They, who along with the followers of Gith who *knew* war and conquest overthrew the Illithids and shattered their empire during The Rising. That was ages ago and I am drow. We have taken what there was to be learned of the psionic arts from the followers of Zerthimon and Gith and refined them through training and research as well are relentless competition. The weak were culled, the strong prospered." Trizkel stepped forward, blades held lightly in his hands. "This parlay doesn't seem to be leading anywhere."
Zyush fled, a burst of psychokinetic energy propelling him through the corridor and up the stairs so quickly he was a barely visible blur. He burst out of the tower door and into the courtyard.
Adepts waited on the ground with throwing blades in a dispersed crescent formation. Other adepts, psionicists, waited on the walls or looked through windows facing down into the courtyard. A score hung in the air, half of them perfecti. If they fell, so did the heart of the Mountain. Zyush took up a position just behind the crescent. They are terribly strong, he sent to all who were gathered here. Strike hard and do not let up.
He gathered power for a strike that would devastate even Trizkel's defences, but the drow did not come.
Your guests are tardy, sent Kaas.
You want to take them on one on one inside? Zyush asked.
I decline your generous offer, Kaas replied. But what is taking them so long?
They may have decided to retreat instead.
Perhaps, replied Kaas.
Then the ground shook and stones crumbled away and fell into the lower levels. The whole courtyard was falling away. Zyush stepped into the air just as the footing beneath his feet collapsed. Adepts fell into the tunnels and chambers below, accompanied by a rain of stone. Cracks crawled up the walls and towers surrounding the courtyard and stones began to fall. Junior adepts began screaming in panic.
The west wall fell, tumbling down the mountain side and continuing to fall for almost another five miles straight down. The crash of falling stone drowned out most of the screaming as the southeastern tower fell towards the courtyard. One of the floating adepts didn't get out of the way as it smashed through where the courtyard used to be and into the lower levels.
The other towers and walls were falling now, about half of them towards the rubble pit that had once been the courtyard and about half of them away from it. A few adepts managed through skill or luck to take to the air or avoid the worst effects of the collapse. A few more of those caught in the collapse might still be alive and could be rescued.
Zyush surveyed the devastation with growing horror. So much of the Mountain's strength ruined in just moments. "Ancestors," he whispered. Stone shifted and settled below and then a patch melted away.
Trizkel shot up into the air, a sword in each hand. Zyush hit him with psionic blast that should have scrambled his organs. It splashed off his defences. Kaas gathered even more strength. Emerald light enveloped him and the perfecti fell, his body transmuted to glass. It shattered into a million pieces on the rubble below.
Pain tore through Zyush's chest as three black feathered arrows punched through his wards and drove their points through his flesh and out his back. He coughed up blood as the archer rose up next to a woman in shining plate, a silver lance in her hand. Searing white lightning shot from the lance and an adept fell. Trizkel sprayed acid upon two more adepts and perfecti who fell screaming.
Zyush's concentration faltered and he began to fall. He possessed just enough strength to arrest his fall, landing gently on dust and rubble. He telekinetically snapped off the arrowheads and withdrew the shafts from his body as he poured energy in enhancing his body's healing abilities. The loss of blood slowed to a trickle and the holes in his lungs and muscle tissue shrunk. His body began producing more blood at an enormous rate. He would live.
Above him he dimly heard explosions and screams. Bodies fell around him. Zyush took a deep breath, mustered all of his strength, and stood. His enemies descended toward him. All of his comrades lay around him, dead or dying.
Nalifan D'Azurentien smiled. "It is amazing what kind of damage you can do with spells that grant mastery over earth and stone?" The arch-necromancer was smiling broadly. His feet touch stone and he landed in front of Zyush. "Of course I encompassed them to move through the mountain in case the tunnels didn't connect directly to their library, but this use of them was so much more fun. Don't you think?"
"Get it over with monster," said Zyush.
"The mouse does not tell the cat when the game is over," said Nalifan. "And my order hasn't been squeezing every peasant in its reach dry for generations. So which of us is the monster?"
"I thought laws don't apply to you. So why are you arguing?"
"They don't and I argue because I choose too. It amuses me to needle hypocrites. And it amuses me to do this." Cat quick the drow drew his sword and rammed it into Zyush's guts. Nalifan smiled, twisted the blade, and pulled it out. The perfecti screamed as loops of bowel spilled out of the wound. The drow easily dodged out of the way of the mess.
Sylvetria drew her sword and approached. "Enough Nal."
"Enough?" said the drow. "How do you think they punish the peasants? How much pain and suffering do you think his servants dish out daily?"
"More than this," Sylvetria said and decapitated Zyush in one sure stroke. "He gets a clean death because to do otherwise would be to lessen me. Understand?"
The drow shrugged. "As you wish."
"Good," she answered. "Now lets see to wrecking what's left of this place."
"Agreed," said Mikos. "Let's see if we can get this place really going by nightfall."
Slaughter is different. Slaughter is a sport, usually a team sport. A dangerous one, as some of the prey will fight fiercely to live. The shock of a blade hitting bone, the screams of the burning, and the pleading look in the eyes as the defeated beg for their lives are so sweet, like sweet nectar on your tongue.
So many sweet things in life and humans limit themselves to so few. You add in their short lifespans and its sad really. You so deprive yourselves.
-Nalifan D'Azurentien
"Bravado will not help you here," said Zyush. "Your crimes are many and escape is impossible. Mercy is not beyond your reach."
"Crimes are for those bound by laws," said Trizkel. "I am drow. Your moralistic prattle means nothing to me."
Zyush eyed Trizkel carefully, attuning himself to the energies guarding his body and augmenting his flesh. To the perfecti's inner eye, Trizkel's weapons and body jewelry glowed with a light scarcely dimmer than that of the sun. "You are arrogant elf-"
"Drow," Trizkel interrupted. "I am not one of the faerie."
"As you say," said Zyush, filing away that fact for exploration later. "You are strong, but I am stronger."
"You have greater psionic power," said Trizkel, "but your techniques are anemic and psionics are but a part of my strength, not the whole. To stand against me is to stand against the whirlwind."
"Our strength defeated the Illithid."
"I *know* that not to be true," said Trizkel, placing an odd emphasis on the word "know". He smiled slightly. "You do not *know* yourselves."
"You are quoting something," said Zyush. "Some received wisdom."
"The Illithid were undone by those who they had caused to not *know* themselves, but who learned to *know* new things in the service of the Illithid. War, conquest, steel, themselves. They began The Rising and it did not end until The Declaration of Two Skies. What happened here was nothing more than the abandonment of a fragment of a failing empire. Look at yourselves. Have you done anything to approach the grandeur of the Achenoi magelords? You are barbarians who driven out a few sickly old men from the ruins of their ancestors' palace and now consider yourselves greater than they were as you sit at their table and drink from their cups."
Zyush took a step back. He felt fear now, for the first time in a long while. This one's confidence was too great. "Those words you speak. *Knowing*, The Declaration of Two Skies. They are not your own."
"No," said Trizkel. "They are the words of Zerthimon, whose followers *knew* themselves and steel and sorcery and psionics. They, who along with the followers of Gith who *knew* war and conquest overthrew the Illithids and shattered their empire during The Rising. That was ages ago and I am drow. We have taken what there was to be learned of the psionic arts from the followers of Zerthimon and Gith and refined them through training and research as well are relentless competition. The weak were culled, the strong prospered." Trizkel stepped forward, blades held lightly in his hands. "This parlay doesn't seem to be leading anywhere."
Zyush fled, a burst of psychokinetic energy propelling him through the corridor and up the stairs so quickly he was a barely visible blur. He burst out of the tower door and into the courtyard.
Adepts waited on the ground with throwing blades in a dispersed crescent formation. Other adepts, psionicists, waited on the walls or looked through windows facing down into the courtyard. A score hung in the air, half of them perfecti. If they fell, so did the heart of the Mountain. Zyush took up a position just behind the crescent. They are terribly strong, he sent to all who were gathered here. Strike hard and do not let up.
He gathered power for a strike that would devastate even Trizkel's defences, but the drow did not come.
Your guests are tardy, sent Kaas.
You want to take them on one on one inside? Zyush asked.
I decline your generous offer, Kaas replied. But what is taking them so long?
They may have decided to retreat instead.
Perhaps, replied Kaas.
Then the ground shook and stones crumbled away and fell into the lower levels. The whole courtyard was falling away. Zyush stepped into the air just as the footing beneath his feet collapsed. Adepts fell into the tunnels and chambers below, accompanied by a rain of stone. Cracks crawled up the walls and towers surrounding the courtyard and stones began to fall. Junior adepts began screaming in panic.
The west wall fell, tumbling down the mountain side and continuing to fall for almost another five miles straight down. The crash of falling stone drowned out most of the screaming as the southeastern tower fell towards the courtyard. One of the floating adepts didn't get out of the way as it smashed through where the courtyard used to be and into the lower levels.
The other towers and walls were falling now, about half of them towards the rubble pit that had once been the courtyard and about half of them away from it. A few adepts managed through skill or luck to take to the air or avoid the worst effects of the collapse. A few more of those caught in the collapse might still be alive and could be rescued.
Zyush surveyed the devastation with growing horror. So much of the Mountain's strength ruined in just moments. "Ancestors," he whispered. Stone shifted and settled below and then a patch melted away.
Trizkel shot up into the air, a sword in each hand. Zyush hit him with psionic blast that should have scrambled his organs. It splashed off his defences. Kaas gathered even more strength. Emerald light enveloped him and the perfecti fell, his body transmuted to glass. It shattered into a million pieces on the rubble below.
Pain tore through Zyush's chest as three black feathered arrows punched through his wards and drove their points through his flesh and out his back. He coughed up blood as the archer rose up next to a woman in shining plate, a silver lance in her hand. Searing white lightning shot from the lance and an adept fell. Trizkel sprayed acid upon two more adepts and perfecti who fell screaming.
Zyush's concentration faltered and he began to fall. He possessed just enough strength to arrest his fall, landing gently on dust and rubble. He telekinetically snapped off the arrowheads and withdrew the shafts from his body as he poured energy in enhancing his body's healing abilities. The loss of blood slowed to a trickle and the holes in his lungs and muscle tissue shrunk. His body began producing more blood at an enormous rate. He would live.
Above him he dimly heard explosions and screams. Bodies fell around him. Zyush took a deep breath, mustered all of his strength, and stood. His enemies descended toward him. All of his comrades lay around him, dead or dying.
Nalifan D'Azurentien smiled. "It is amazing what kind of damage you can do with spells that grant mastery over earth and stone?" The arch-necromancer was smiling broadly. His feet touch stone and he landed in front of Zyush. "Of course I encompassed them to move through the mountain in case the tunnels didn't connect directly to their library, but this use of them was so much more fun. Don't you think?"
"Get it over with monster," said Zyush.
"The mouse does not tell the cat when the game is over," said Nalifan. "And my order hasn't been squeezing every peasant in its reach dry for generations. So which of us is the monster?"
"I thought laws don't apply to you. So why are you arguing?"
"They don't and I argue because I choose too. It amuses me to needle hypocrites. And it amuses me to do this." Cat quick the drow drew his sword and rammed it into Zyush's guts. Nalifan smiled, twisted the blade, and pulled it out. The perfecti screamed as loops of bowel spilled out of the wound. The drow easily dodged out of the way of the mess.
Sylvetria drew her sword and approached. "Enough Nal."
"Enough?" said the drow. "How do you think they punish the peasants? How much pain and suffering do you think his servants dish out daily?"
"More than this," Sylvetria said and decapitated Zyush in one sure stroke. "He gets a clean death because to do otherwise would be to lessen me. Understand?"
The drow shrugged. "As you wish."
"Good," she answered. "Now lets see to wrecking what's left of this place."
"Agreed," said Mikos. "Let's see if we can get this place really going by nightfall."
Last edited by Imperial Overlord on 2007-05-22 09:08am, edited 1 time in total.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
-
Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
The problem with ancient and buried evil is that it never stays that way. This is completely understandable. If you were frustrated and imprisoned for an hour you would plot to get around it. Now imagine that it's a century instead of an hour. And since the entity was so tough that it was easier to imprison it instead of killing it, then it stands to reason all Nine Hells will break loose. Or in this case, the fury of the Abyss.
-Nalifan D'Azurentien
A thousand strangers passed through the gates of Neridian. Arinyaniquis was one of them, just another sweaty and dusty traveler who had come to make his fortune at the capital. The disguise the elf wore was completely mundane, but effective enough. A hat and his hair hid his ears, heavy clothes bulked out his frame, wads of cotton in his cheeks changed the lines of his face, and road grime helped hide his lack of stubble.
It wasn't necessary. The gate guards, including the mindknight scanning for illusions, barely gave him a second glance. The ice mage suppressed a smile. They were looking for elves with night black skin or hidden by illusions or shape changing and so missed the one under their noses.
He wondered how the dhaerow managed and then dismissed the train of thought. It was too easy to circumvent the gates with the right magic. Shape shifting and burrowing under the wall would work well enough and he was sure he could think of other ways given enough time.
His eyes drifted up, to the dome topped towers of the overmaster's palace. The den of the enemy, now wounded and diminished in numbers and authority. Their slaves had seen them fail and seen them die. Now was the time to twist a knife and strike again.
As he considered his plan of attack there were things he deliberately did not think about. In a war to the death against an enemy that could tear the thoughts from the minds of their victims, what he knew could be used against everyone. He did not think of what Endire had not told him or the secrets he was keeping not only from him but from the rest of the elves. He did not question why the knowledge of Elenthenian had not been removed. Instead he simply trusted. He did not need to know all the details, it was in fact better that he didn't. He simply trusted Endire to use him as an instrument of his people's survival. That was enough.
-------------------------------------------------------
There is a small desert in northwestern Achenoi, an unnatural expanse of cracked and barren earth. Almost no one lives in that accursed expanse and even animal life mostly shuns it. Birds and bats occasionally travel the skies and bugs and lizards can be found near the hardy scrub bushes, but for the most part there is nothing there but the dome of the Lesser Ward.
The dome twisted and reflected light, flowing and twisting like a mass of quicksilver. Nothing could see in or out. Sometimes eruptions of colour swirled through the dome's make up, briefly turning it deep red or a baleful purple. What that signified no one on the outside could tell you. That lore was lost.
Thunder boomed in a cloudless sky. A small patch at the base of the dome turned black, just for an instance. A nightmare stepped through and the black patch turned silver again.
Poison Fester was thirteen feet tall and roughly humanoid. His skin was dark red and his head was that of a gigantic, slavering wolf. A venomous serpent sprouted from his left shoulder, hissing. His naked flesh was adorned with platinum jewelry. In his hands he held a great double bladed axe tipped with a dark red stone. The blades and haft of the axe were marked with designs that seemed to twist and shift of their own accord.
The great demon threw back his head and let loose a howl of victory. He then vanished from sight, having turned invisible. The demon began to run south east. He needed information before he could proceed. One way or the other he would find whatever civilization this miserable world possessed and from their he would seize the names of those who might be able to stand in Xyzasha's way. The owners of their names would then begin to die.
There was no doubt in the demon's mind that he could accomplish this. His kind had been shaped by the Abyss to fight the Blood War in a time before human history had begun. That he had been made on this world instead of birthed on the Abyss made no difference. The molydei imposed what little order the Abyss would accept, dragooning even the might balors to fight in the armies that were thrown against the legions of Baator. How could mere mortals stand against a demon that wielded power enough to make a balor quake?
Poison Fester already knew that answer. They could not. The Greater was already failing and soon the Lesser would fall as well. Nothing would be allowed to stop it and the reward for his service in this matter is that he would be the first to enjoy the suffering of a planet full of victims. Venom dripped from his snake jaw's in anticipation, venom that even demon's feared. He ran faster.
-Nalifan D'Azurentien
A thousand strangers passed through the gates of Neridian. Arinyaniquis was one of them, just another sweaty and dusty traveler who had come to make his fortune at the capital. The disguise the elf wore was completely mundane, but effective enough. A hat and his hair hid his ears, heavy clothes bulked out his frame, wads of cotton in his cheeks changed the lines of his face, and road grime helped hide his lack of stubble.
It wasn't necessary. The gate guards, including the mindknight scanning for illusions, barely gave him a second glance. The ice mage suppressed a smile. They were looking for elves with night black skin or hidden by illusions or shape changing and so missed the one under their noses.
He wondered how the dhaerow managed and then dismissed the train of thought. It was too easy to circumvent the gates with the right magic. Shape shifting and burrowing under the wall would work well enough and he was sure he could think of other ways given enough time.
His eyes drifted up, to the dome topped towers of the overmaster's palace. The den of the enemy, now wounded and diminished in numbers and authority. Their slaves had seen them fail and seen them die. Now was the time to twist a knife and strike again.
As he considered his plan of attack there were things he deliberately did not think about. In a war to the death against an enemy that could tear the thoughts from the minds of their victims, what he knew could be used against everyone. He did not think of what Endire had not told him or the secrets he was keeping not only from him but from the rest of the elves. He did not question why the knowledge of Elenthenian had not been removed. Instead he simply trusted. He did not need to know all the details, it was in fact better that he didn't. He simply trusted Endire to use him as an instrument of his people's survival. That was enough.
-------------------------------------------------------
There is a small desert in northwestern Achenoi, an unnatural expanse of cracked and barren earth. Almost no one lives in that accursed expanse and even animal life mostly shuns it. Birds and bats occasionally travel the skies and bugs and lizards can be found near the hardy scrub bushes, but for the most part there is nothing there but the dome of the Lesser Ward.
The dome twisted and reflected light, flowing and twisting like a mass of quicksilver. Nothing could see in or out. Sometimes eruptions of colour swirled through the dome's make up, briefly turning it deep red or a baleful purple. What that signified no one on the outside could tell you. That lore was lost.
Thunder boomed in a cloudless sky. A small patch at the base of the dome turned black, just for an instance. A nightmare stepped through and the black patch turned silver again.
Poison Fester was thirteen feet tall and roughly humanoid. His skin was dark red and his head was that of a gigantic, slavering wolf. A venomous serpent sprouted from his left shoulder, hissing. His naked flesh was adorned with platinum jewelry. In his hands he held a great double bladed axe tipped with a dark red stone. The blades and haft of the axe were marked with designs that seemed to twist and shift of their own accord.
The great demon threw back his head and let loose a howl of victory. He then vanished from sight, having turned invisible. The demon began to run south east. He needed information before he could proceed. One way or the other he would find whatever civilization this miserable world possessed and from their he would seize the names of those who might be able to stand in Xyzasha's way. The owners of their names would then begin to die.
There was no doubt in the demon's mind that he could accomplish this. His kind had been shaped by the Abyss to fight the Blood War in a time before human history had begun. That he had been made on this world instead of birthed on the Abyss made no difference. The molydei imposed what little order the Abyss would accept, dragooning even the might balors to fight in the armies that were thrown against the legions of Baator. How could mere mortals stand against a demon that wielded power enough to make a balor quake?
Poison Fester already knew that answer. They could not. The Greater was already failing and soon the Lesser would fall as well. Nothing would be allowed to stop it and the reward for his service in this matter is that he would be the first to enjoy the suffering of a planet full of victims. Venom dripped from his snake jaw's in anticipation, venom that even demon's feared. He ran faster.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
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Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
As a general rule, if your castle is on fire you are losing.
-Nalifan D'Azurentien.
Whatever. Let's just kill them all.
-Trizkel.
The flames were visible for miles and miles. Tongues of green flame climbed into the the sky from the towers and buildings of the castle. Serfs crept out of their huts to watch the end of their masters in silent awe. Overseers nervously fingered hard wood cudgels or clutched crossbows. When the serfs remembered their owner's proxies the look in their eyes was naked hunger.
The four companions approached the closest compound, disdaining disguises. Their hands were empty, but their weapons were near. The overseers didn't see them until they were close and drew themselves into a ragged line to face the adventurers. There was a eleven of them. most of whom were wearing cuirasses and greaves of boiled leather. "Be off with you," bellowed a big man with grey in his beard. Torches and a bonfire were lit to provide light. He knew that there were serfs watching in the darkness. "We want none of your trouble."
"Good," said Nalifan. "We only want your four best riding horses."
"Now way in hell," said the big man.
"Reconsider," said Mikos. "You do not want to throw down with us."
"Fuck-" the words cut off with a gurgle as Mikos put a knife in his throat. Sylvetria summoned her bow and put a shaft into one of the crossbowmen's guts and another into his left lung. Two bolts flew towards Nalifan. One missed and the bounced off his wards.
Trizkel was a blur of motion and was upon the overseers in the blink of an eye, swords swinging. He decapitated one with Mindeater and put Ruinbringer through another's spine. Mikos shot one in the head and another twice in the chest. The survivors started running. They let them go.
Thunder rolled across the sky. "Another breach," said Trizkel.
"Yes," said Nalifan.
"How much more can it take?" Sylvetria asked.
"Hard to say," said the arch-necromancer.
"And how much longer until the demons get lose?" she pressed.
"If there are any alive left under the Lesser Ward? Depends on how strong and clever they are."
"What do you think?"
"Me? Demons and cockroaches will survive almost anything. They'll pour out of the Lesser Ward like carrion beetles heading for a carcass the moment they can make a breach in the Lesser."
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Poison Fester jerked his head to the side as he heard the breach of the Greater. Good. Very good. The pathetic whimpering at his feet caught his attention. The demon picked up the pathetic human animal and pulled his arms off before tossing it aside.
Most of the villagers had fled from their burning houses into the surrounding darkness, a darkness that was no obstacle to Poison Fester. He could see better in the dark than they could during the day. It was easy sport, but greater challenges awaited him.
They had so easily surrendered what he had wanted from them. Why, he barely had time to burn their children before it all came out, mixed with blubbering pleas for mercy that would never come. Their masters were psionicists who repressed the study of arcane magic. They alone might have the power to restore the Wards and their capital was both south and east of here. That had been all he needed.
So he had torn apart and devoured their children before crippling them and giving them an opportunity to flee. They crawled away from him on mangled limbs or succumbed to despair and waited for him to take them. He swung his axe and a head flew. They had, in fact, begun to bore him. He was going to have to think of more inventive tortures for the next batch, but first he was going to execute his queen's will. With maybe just one or two more massacres along the way.
-Nalifan D'Azurentien.
Whatever. Let's just kill them all.
-Trizkel.
The flames were visible for miles and miles. Tongues of green flame climbed into the the sky from the towers and buildings of the castle. Serfs crept out of their huts to watch the end of their masters in silent awe. Overseers nervously fingered hard wood cudgels or clutched crossbows. When the serfs remembered their owner's proxies the look in their eyes was naked hunger.
The four companions approached the closest compound, disdaining disguises. Their hands were empty, but their weapons were near. The overseers didn't see them until they were close and drew themselves into a ragged line to face the adventurers. There was a eleven of them. most of whom were wearing cuirasses and greaves of boiled leather. "Be off with you," bellowed a big man with grey in his beard. Torches and a bonfire were lit to provide light. He knew that there were serfs watching in the darkness. "We want none of your trouble."
"Good," said Nalifan. "We only want your four best riding horses."
"Now way in hell," said the big man.
"Reconsider," said Mikos. "You do not want to throw down with us."
"Fuck-" the words cut off with a gurgle as Mikos put a knife in his throat. Sylvetria summoned her bow and put a shaft into one of the crossbowmen's guts and another into his left lung. Two bolts flew towards Nalifan. One missed and the bounced off his wards.
Trizkel was a blur of motion and was upon the overseers in the blink of an eye, swords swinging. He decapitated one with Mindeater and put Ruinbringer through another's spine. Mikos shot one in the head and another twice in the chest. The survivors started running. They let them go.
Thunder rolled across the sky. "Another breach," said Trizkel.
"Yes," said Nalifan.
"How much more can it take?" Sylvetria asked.
"Hard to say," said the arch-necromancer.
"And how much longer until the demons get lose?" she pressed.
"If there are any alive left under the Lesser Ward? Depends on how strong and clever they are."
"What do you think?"
"Me? Demons and cockroaches will survive almost anything. They'll pour out of the Lesser Ward like carrion beetles heading for a carcass the moment they can make a breach in the Lesser."
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Poison Fester jerked his head to the side as he heard the breach of the Greater. Good. Very good. The pathetic whimpering at his feet caught his attention. The demon picked up the pathetic human animal and pulled his arms off before tossing it aside.
Most of the villagers had fled from their burning houses into the surrounding darkness, a darkness that was no obstacle to Poison Fester. He could see better in the dark than they could during the day. It was easy sport, but greater challenges awaited him.
They had so easily surrendered what he had wanted from them. Why, he barely had time to burn their children before it all came out, mixed with blubbering pleas for mercy that would never come. Their masters were psionicists who repressed the study of arcane magic. They alone might have the power to restore the Wards and their capital was both south and east of here. That had been all he needed.
So he had torn apart and devoured their children before crippling them and giving them an opportunity to flee. They crawled away from him on mangled limbs or succumbed to despair and waited for him to take them. He swung his axe and a head flew. They had, in fact, begun to bore him. He was going to have to think of more inventive tortures for the next batch, but first he was going to execute his queen's will. With maybe just one or two more massacres along the way.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
I'm waiting to see what/who has decided to take a little vacation on this planet this time. Planar travel is getting to be classy, it seems.
Gith? Ilithid? Elven Champions come to finally save their people?
Gith? Ilithid? Elven Champions come to finally save their people?
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
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Imperial Overlord
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 11978
- Joined: 2004-08-19 04:30am
- Location: The Tower at Charm
Clerics trade their freedom for power. The become the instruments of gods and demons, beings that care far more for the big picture than the fate of individuals. Even the most benevolent, especially the most benevolent among them, think that way. A priest has an easy road to power for she does not have to master magic only contain it. The cost is high for even those who may serve perfectly are limited by what their gods choose to give and may be sacrificed in a struggle they do not understand.
-Nalifan D'Azurentien, discussing "The Magician's Road"
The blood of three villages was on Zahaneth's muzzles. The protogod had gorged himself on meat and souls to rebuild his strength and generate new bodies. Since his defeat at the hands of the outworlders ten thousand humans beings had been consumed by him. He was the terror of three provinces and more than a few psilords and mindknights had died hunting him. Soon he would be ready again and this time he would be stronger than he would have ever been.
Five beings were flying towards him. Ahh his demon slaves. He was not impressed by the service of Gutweaver and his minions. He allowed them to approach.
The demons landed at the center of the gutted village. Gutweaver bowed low to the bipedal purple elephant. A pair of fiery balors and another pair of vulture like vrocks landed behind him. "My lord," said the demon obsequiously. "I have begun to regather minions in your service."
"The Greater Ward prevents them from returning after their usual term of service," said a blood red two ton tiger. "You have had time to summon more than this rabble, but have not. Why?"
"My lord-" the klurichir demon began, "it has been necessary to avoid the attentions of the psilords. Without teleporation, I have only a few opportunities to bring through more servants to dispatch in your service."
"I am not entirely convinced," said the elephant thing. The tiger lunged, biting off the head of the closest vrock. Bones crunched under its jaws. "Demon meat. So sweet. Convince me."
The demon bowed low. "Your will my lord."
"Fill the world with demons until the Greater Ward collapses with their weight. Kill everything in your way. Slay the outworlders or bring word of their location to me. Do so soon or I will consume you and bring another through will serve me more ably."
-------------------------------------------------------------
Tyla and Denian walked down the road. "We walk over half the empire and we end up on the road back home without finding them," said Denian. "Figures."
"If you dislike the task so much why don't you just leave. The overmasters always make room for renegades from the Mountain."
"I'll wait until the current crisis is over," Denian replied.
"Ahh. So you noticed all the people they killed."
"Hard not to. All those bodies . . ."
"I thought the dead overmasters would make more of an impact on you."
"Bahh. You don't give a damn about those peasants either. Certainly weren't worrying about where the clothes you wear or the food you ate came from."
Tyla changed the subject. "I am concerned though. They have enough strength to harm the Mountain."
Denian bit back his reply. To challenge the strength of the Mountain was unthinkable, but for these ones. . . . "Maybe," he said. "Yes, the could."
He pointed. "Look, there's a patrol of overseers ahead. If the outworlders have been up to their usual tricks, they'll know."
"Yes," she said. She extended her arm and called out. "Hail." The overseers came closer. Three of them were men. One tall, one average height, and one short. The fourth rider was a woman. They were armed to the teeth and armoured in leather and mail. They weren't overseers, their baring made that clear if nothing else did. Petty nobles, unusual in these territories.
They came closer and Tyla's gaze pierced the illusion which receded before her like fog on a sunny day. She saw their true selves. "Ancestors," she said softly. "Denian."
"What?" he said.
"It's them," she said softly. The psion did a double take.
"I think they know who we are Nal," said Trizkel.
"Yes," said the arch-necromancer with a smile. "I believe they do."
Denian raised his hands. "We mean you know harm."
"I doubt that's true," said Nalifan. "I imagine that you mean us a great deal of harm. You just realize that you're out of your league. 'Please don't hurt us' would be far more honest."
"Please," said Tyla.
"Ahh. The pleading of fresh victims," said Nalifan.
"Nal," said Sylvetria.
"Your consort is spoiling my fun," said Nalifan.
"She's a woman. Head of the household and all that."
"True," said Nalifan. "Go," he said.
"Go?" said Denian, not quite believing what he heard.
"Your Mountain is thrown down," said Nalifan. "Your serfs have seen the end of their masters. I've seen a dozen dead overseers on the trip back. However many survive of your order, your way of life is over. Your in hostile territory now. Your serfs may very well slit your throats in your sleep. Have fun."
-Nalifan D'Azurentien, discussing "The Magician's Road"
The blood of three villages was on Zahaneth's muzzles. The protogod had gorged himself on meat and souls to rebuild his strength and generate new bodies. Since his defeat at the hands of the outworlders ten thousand humans beings had been consumed by him. He was the terror of three provinces and more than a few psilords and mindknights had died hunting him. Soon he would be ready again and this time he would be stronger than he would have ever been.
Five beings were flying towards him. Ahh his demon slaves. He was not impressed by the service of Gutweaver and his minions. He allowed them to approach.
The demons landed at the center of the gutted village. Gutweaver bowed low to the bipedal purple elephant. A pair of fiery balors and another pair of vulture like vrocks landed behind him. "My lord," said the demon obsequiously. "I have begun to regather minions in your service."
"The Greater Ward prevents them from returning after their usual term of service," said a blood red two ton tiger. "You have had time to summon more than this rabble, but have not. Why?"
"My lord-" the klurichir demon began, "it has been necessary to avoid the attentions of the psilords. Without teleporation, I have only a few opportunities to bring through more servants to dispatch in your service."
"I am not entirely convinced," said the elephant thing. The tiger lunged, biting off the head of the closest vrock. Bones crunched under its jaws. "Demon meat. So sweet. Convince me."
The demon bowed low. "Your will my lord."
"Fill the world with demons until the Greater Ward collapses with their weight. Kill everything in your way. Slay the outworlders or bring word of their location to me. Do so soon or I will consume you and bring another through will serve me more ably."
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Tyla and Denian walked down the road. "We walk over half the empire and we end up on the road back home without finding them," said Denian. "Figures."
"If you dislike the task so much why don't you just leave. The overmasters always make room for renegades from the Mountain."
"I'll wait until the current crisis is over," Denian replied.
"Ahh. So you noticed all the people they killed."
"Hard not to. All those bodies . . ."
"I thought the dead overmasters would make more of an impact on you."
"Bahh. You don't give a damn about those peasants either. Certainly weren't worrying about where the clothes you wear or the food you ate came from."
Tyla changed the subject. "I am concerned though. They have enough strength to harm the Mountain."
Denian bit back his reply. To challenge the strength of the Mountain was unthinkable, but for these ones. . . . "Maybe," he said. "Yes, the could."
He pointed. "Look, there's a patrol of overseers ahead. If the outworlders have been up to their usual tricks, they'll know."
"Yes," she said. She extended her arm and called out. "Hail." The overseers came closer. Three of them were men. One tall, one average height, and one short. The fourth rider was a woman. They were armed to the teeth and armoured in leather and mail. They weren't overseers, their baring made that clear if nothing else did. Petty nobles, unusual in these territories.
They came closer and Tyla's gaze pierced the illusion which receded before her like fog on a sunny day. She saw their true selves. "Ancestors," she said softly. "Denian."
"What?" he said.
"It's them," she said softly. The psion did a double take.
"I think they know who we are Nal," said Trizkel.
"Yes," said the arch-necromancer with a smile. "I believe they do."
Denian raised his hands. "We mean you know harm."
"I doubt that's true," said Nalifan. "I imagine that you mean us a great deal of harm. You just realize that you're out of your league. 'Please don't hurt us' would be far more honest."
"Please," said Tyla.
"Ahh. The pleading of fresh victims," said Nalifan.
"Nal," said Sylvetria.
"Your consort is spoiling my fun," said Nalifan.
"She's a woman. Head of the household and all that."
"True," said Nalifan. "Go," he said.
"Go?" said Denian, not quite believing what he heard.
"Your Mountain is thrown down," said Nalifan. "Your serfs have seen the end of their masters. I've seen a dozen dead overseers on the trip back. However many survive of your order, your way of life is over. Your in hostile territory now. Your serfs may very well slit your throats in your sleep. Have fun."
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
Tis awesome!
RoflImperial Overlord wrote: Denian raised his hands. "We mean you know harm."
"I doubt that's true," said Nalifan. "I imagine that you mean us a great deal of harm. You just realize that you're out of your league. 'Please don't hurt us' would be far more honest."
"Okay, I'll have the truth with a side order of clarity." ~ Dr. Daniel Jackson.
"Reality has a well-known liberal bias." ~ Stephen Colbert
"One Drive, One Partition, the One True Path" ~ ars technica forums - warrens - on hhd partitioning schemes.
"Reality has a well-known liberal bias." ~ Stephen Colbert
"One Drive, One Partition, the One True Path" ~ ars technica forums - warrens - on hhd partitioning schemes.