Straff explained that, in the past, when flickerwing crews had gone rogue, Maramark, the Castellan of the Fortress of the Beating Heart, had authorized up to three other captains to engage and capture the rengade vessel. More was unheard of; yet ten ships were hurtling towards them. "So what do they do to capture a ship?" asked Gorfang. Straff shrugged. "We're celestials, and roughly equal in power," he said, "there's not much we can do to each other. So the enforcer ships use their telekinetics to pull bits off the rogue until either it surrenders or comes apart." Gorfang shrugged. "So we've had it then?" he said, "ten to one?" Straff looked downcast. "Unless you two can add something, yes," he said. Eloy gestured upwards. "But we can't leave the ship, you said?" he asked. Straff shook his head. "No," he said, "Once you're away from the area around the ship, you lose its' protection, and it's bad out there." Gorfang cocked his head. "So the ships themselves are magical items?" he asked. "Yes," said Straff. The orc grinned evilly, and unpacked a short black-and-silver rod from his Bag of Holding.
"How close will we come?" asked Gorfang. "About five hundred feet, maybe three, to come in TK range," answered Straff. "So, we'll get shots and spells in, then," said Eloy, nodding at the Gorbow strapped across the orc's back. Chuckling, Gorfang looked at Straff's grubby once-white robes. "Would you like some armour?" he asked. "Yes please!" said Straff immediately. "Do you have a longsword I could borrow, perhaps?" he continued. Gorfang looked at him narrowly. Straff was no longer the sad broken-down derelict he'd been when they had unearthed him. Forged in the fires of inevitability, confronted with no possible way back to where he'd been, Straff's faculties had reasserted themselves, though underlain with a desperate abandon of the exile. Eloy found him some armour to fit, and a shield which he slung on his back between his wings; Gorfang chuckled as he passed over a holy sword taken from the bleeding corpse of some paladin or other. Straff looked at it for a long moment, then sighed. "Might as well," he said, "probably my last chance to use one."
All three turned back to watch the opposing ships grow bigger as they converged. The ships had spread out to block their path back to the city, and were curving in to swing past the Painstaking Reattunement at different angles. First to pass was the Light's Truth, and Eloy unrolled a scroll he'd selected. Closer and closer came the two sunjammers, rolling slightly so as to lay each others' decks in line of sight to enable the TKs to get a good shot. With the scale of the vessels and the speed of their convergence, Eloy felt uncomfortably certain that if either captain made a mistake, there would be no escape or place to run. Gorfang nocked an arrow, but waited, intrigued, to see what Eloy's spell would do.
Picking his way carefully through the arcane words of the spell, Eloy read them off as the telekinteics of both ships engaged. Bits of their vessel started breaking off and flying off at all angles as the vast bulk of the Light's Truth loomed almost above their heads. Then the spell was completed and a wave of his hand laid a Reverse Gravity field along the entire deck of the other ship. The effect was truly spectacular.
The TKs were all strapped into their chairs; but all the rest of the crew, and everything not fixed down on the deck, suddenly fell into the black sky. Flailing and screaming, the assorted celestials of her crew hurtled up past her masts and out into open space. Most if not all of them could fly, of course, and under normal circumstances would simply have opened their wings, braked their fall, and flown back. Here, though, there was not time. As each passed beyond the protective aura of the ship's magic, he began to thrash with agony. The lack of air was no hazard to breathless celestials either but the hard positive radiation from the Gates was deadly, even at this range. Twisting and shrivelling, they blackened and burned in the unendurable light - yet, horribly, each being's face was a rictus of terrible ecstasy as it overdosed thousands of times over on the Life Light. Straff shuddered and looked away, but his hands remained firm on the heavy wheel.
The only crewmember to escape this terrible fate was the ship's captain, who managed to sieze the wheel of his own vessel and hang on, his ten-foot frame stretched vertically upwards. Gorfang drew, aimed and loosed four arrows from the terrible bow that slew Setram as the ships flashed past each other. All four slammed into the captain, one striking his left arm and breaking his hold on that side. As he desperately clung on with his remaining hand, his shifted balance pulled the wheel over, and the Light's Truth veered violently away and out of the fight. As the Painstaking Reattunement came out from under the shadow of the defeated ship, two more were already converging on the renegade.
Gorfang glanced from one to the other. Which one's the shiniest? he thought. There was no contest; Calzadar was painted crimson, but Morgenstern was plated in what looked like silver and glittered eye-achingly. With a nasty smile, the orc levelled the Rod of Negation at the Morgenstern and activated it.
A pale beam connected the rod and the doomed vessel - and the magic crafted into the great sunjammer ceased to be. From a coherent vessel, guided purposefully through the void, it instantly disintegrated into an expanding cloud of fragments, planks, burning sails and cremated corpses. Bits of flotsam glanced of the Painstaking Reattunement's hull as Straff put the wheel hard over to bring her around to face the Calzadar. Eloy was ready with a second scroll of Reverse Gravity, but the spell failed to work, and he fell back on his Staff of Swarming Insects. Myriads of tiny vermin swarmed over the entire crew, including the TKs, as the ships converged, and the damage to the Painstaking Reattunement as the enemy TKs struggled for a clear view was minimal. Gorfang, bow in hand again, sent a single arrow through the breast of the Calzadar's captain, and he reeled away from the wheel. Out of control, the crimson sunjammer lost way and tumbled away.
The last ship able to reach them was the Wings of Regard, and once more Eloy targeted it with a Reverse Gravity spell. Again, the crew tumbled screaming into the void to their deaths, and - again! - the captain managed to catch hold of something, a spar in this case. Gorfang had a clear shot and once again needed only one, placing an arrow straight between the deva's eyes and killing him instantly.
Then they were through, the remaining ships - Hot Needle of Inquisition, Algonquin, L'turq'd'rif, Wasa, Feline Grace of the Lady Aliss, and Energymind too far behind to catch them in a straight chase, though they turned to pursue anyway. Straff made a beeline for the City Forever and held his course, his two companions on the bridge now the recipients of gazes from the crew ranging from respectful to horrified. The city was an hour away; all they had to do was keep going.
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Nearly two hours later, the Painstaking Reattunement slid into place alongside one of the jetties in the empty harbour of the City Forever. As she did, the three lifted from the deck and into the air. Eloy, already null, had another scroll ready, one he'd been keeping for a really special occasion - and this was definitely it. Every celestial in the city not hopelessly bombed or corrupted lined the concentric walls of the Citadel of the Beating Heart, weapons readied; atop the highest pinnacle stood a shining figure twelve feet high, wingéd in splendour, bearing a flaming sword longer than Gorfang was tall - Maramark, Castellan and Solar Celestial.
Gorfang glanced at Straff."Still coming?" he asked. Straff shrugged. "I'm dead if I don't," he said resignedly. "You're welcome to accompany us for as long as you like," he said.
Gorfang and Straff floated up until they were level with Maramark, at easy bow range for the Gorbow, while Eloy - imperceptible to everyone except Gorfang - angled off to the side. As they approached, Maramark lifted a hand in stern negation. "Stop right there," he said firmly in a voice both authoratative and musical. "Return what you have stolen." Gorfang shook his head. "We have committed no crime," he said aggressively. "Our gods are not signatories to the Dawn Concord!" Maramark did not back down. "I am charged with defending the Seeds of Life, against any who would sieze them." Gorfang growled. "Do not try me," he snarled, "or I will go through your castle like a whirlwind." Maramark shook his head. "You shall not pass!" he blared, and levelled a finger at the orc, clearly starting a spell or spell-like ability.
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Now was the moment. Eloy rattled off the words on the scroll of Destruction he held, and twitched with the rush of sensation as the energies of a seventh-level spell flowed through him. Maramark screamed, a devastating sound that shattered windows and dislodged stones from the Fortress, and stumbled back to topple off the tower, his wings ablaze with unholy black fire as Sabath's hate destroyed his physical form utterly, his life already extinguished.
For a heartbeat there was silence, and then every magical attack, spell-like ability and offensive spell available to the celestials manning the tower was unleashed at the orc, as far as they could see the origin of the attack. Gorfang hung calmly in the air as the vast fusillade of fire, lightning and power converged on him. A moment later, every erg was reflected straight back at its' caster by his Ring of Spell Turning and the Citadel was battered and ripped by flames, explosions and slaughter. Rubble and bodies was blasted in all directions.
The three swept over and past the fortress in the confusion, and it occurred to Eloy that the reason so many were gathered here was that they believed the Portal in the Fortress was the only way onto or off this demiplane. They were wrong, however, and by the time they realized their error it was too late; Gorfang, Eloy and Straff were through the portal.
With a flare of light, the three stepped into gloom of the cellar of the Harmonium officers' mess - to be confronted by ... a terrible smell. Gorfang and Eloy had, of course, fouled the whole cellar before leaving, in the mistaken belief that they didn't have to come back that way. Now, knowing they had to retrace their steps, they rather regretted it.
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The cellar was deserted, and after cautiously climbing up into it, they discovered the main mess building was too. The windows were shuttered and the doors locked, but when Eloy looked out through a crack in the shutters, he discovered a strong guard of Harmonium troops ringing the building, clearly waiting for them to return.
As they had not yet been spotted, the three retreated back into the cellar and rested, Eloy praying to Sabath for the replenishment of his magic. As midnight passed, he felt his tricksome master's approval in no uncertain fashion as the spells became his once more.
With spells of protection and invisibility recast, the three set off to escape the Harmonium's trap. A skylight opened out of the top of the mess, and - not quite believing the Hardheads could have overlooked something so obvious - the three flew up and through it, covered by invisibility and Eloy's Stone of Silence.
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As they cleared the roof, Eloy cast a Summoning, beinging three fiends from the Nine Hells. Rather than simple aggressive monsters, he had selected something far more troubling for the martial, all-male and rather repressed Harmonium.. eyrines temptresses. Fierce, beautiful women at first glance, but for their large feathered wings and glowing red eyes. Even at this range, both Eloy and Gorfang could feel the aura of carnal allure they radiated. They were a bit thin for Gorfang, though, and Eloy had a clear idea at the back of his head that what his witch-wife would do to him if he succumbed would be even worse than anything the fiends or the Harmonium bruisers could inflict. Straff the genderless, of course, was merely revolted.
The front rank of Harmonium troopers, the youngest and most expendable, were largely overwhelmed. Elbowing aside the single one able to resist, five or six stumbled forward to throw themselves into the arms of the posturing, enticing devils. The couple slain by each other in flashes of jealousy got off lightly; those who succumbed died in far worse ways.
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Leaving the Harmonium to deal with the eyrinies, the three made their escape, swooping over the wall and down into the streets of Sigil. A few minutes later, however, they were confronted by something new. Blending out of the shadows came a crowd of grey-faced, strange humanoids, surrounding them nonviolently but implacably, the dabus of Sigil. Glancing at each other, the three exchanged worried looks. Dabus normally ignored everyone and everything, and they served...
Fading out of nowhere, a huge, robed form materialized in front of them. Gorfang's shoulders hunched. Foes that could be fought, he did not fear - he was invincible after all; but everything he'd heard of the Lady of Pain indicated that she didn't fight; didn't need to. She simply was, and those who crossed her, were not.
For a long moment, the huge figure floated in front of them. Then the circle of dabus parted at one place. The Lady glanced at the gap with massive, silent dignity, then back at the adventurers. Her meaning could not have been clearer. The three started walking, and the ring of dabus moved with them. Worse, the vast shadow of the Lady fell over them as she followed.
They were guided directly to the shabby side-street where they'd first entered Sigil, and straight to the portal. Gorfang unpouched the key, and the portal flared into life. Impassively, the Lady watched as they stepped through and out of her city.
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From the dim grey rainy streets of, the transition to the sun-hammered land of Khabra was almost like a physical blow. Eloy gasped and loosened his collar, and Gorfang squinted and covered his sensitive orcish eyes.
As the flash of the portal died away, the archway that formed its' shape at this end shifted, then tumbled into a heap of broken rubble. At the same time, the key dissolved into fine ash in Gorfang's hand, draining through his fingers and into the sand. As a message it was most emphatic; the Lady of Pain did not want them back in Sigil.
Gorfang shrugged, and the three turned and left the ruins of the Hall of the Conjurers. As they walked out into the desert, Straff glanced up, and frowned. "What's -" he began, but did not get time to finish. With supernatural speed, a ball of incandescent fire hurtled down from the sky and struck Straff squarely, enveloping him instantly. The others stepped hastily back; the flames were holy, sanctified to whatever god of good Straff had defied to help them. Terrible screams came from within the fire, going on and on as the celestial suffered, and then with a soft sound the fire died.
Straff knelt in a smooth, perfectly round depression in the sand, the inner surface of which was fused into black glass. Thin trails of smoke rose from his naked form, every inch of which was covered in cuts, scorches and ash. His wings were gone, leaving only ragged, raw stumps. Tears ran down his haggard, stricken face; ran from brown eyes, not the silver ones he'd had before. The skin of his face and shoulders was already reddening with sunburn. Straff the Angel was fallen; cast from his deity's Host, he was now mortal.
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Eloy and Gorfang picked him up, and fed a flask of KaBoomBoom to him, assuaging his physical hurts. Eloy unpacked some spare clothes for him, adding a Cloak of Protection and then hanging a necklace featuring a dragon tooth around his neck. "These will protect you," he said reassurungly. Straff, still in shock, nodded vaguely.
Gorfang snapped the last stele and the three vanished.
The Four Kings were waiting, as before, in a temporarily cleared hall deep within the pyramid. "Welcome," said Amonenhat, Lord of Battles. "Your quest nears its end. In the Halls of the Avatars it shall reach culmination." He parted the sand in an archway, opening a corridor down which the group made their way. Descending stairs on which Gorfang and Eloy had once fought, they passed the remnants of the giant scorpion that had so nearly ended Eloy's life and entered the halls where the giant avatar statues stood.
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The largest had held Isetbashayet's, King of the Gods of ancient Khabra, but with his end it had crumbled, as had that of Nepthis, lady of death. In its place stood the remaining four; Hektis, God of War, Sabath the Adversary, Trickster and Deceiver, Nebekheshsut the Fatemaster, and Gennen of the Book, Lord of Magic and Lore, patron of the absent Méabh .
Gorfang and Eloy were surrounded and permeated by their Gods' approval and affection as they stepped into the midst of the statues. Gennen seemed to have been elected spokesman, but he spoke first to his fellow deities.
"It is agreed, then. We will share the power of the Seeds between Us, that Our followers shall live and lest the jealous newcomer Gods divide and destroy Us." Nebekheshsut nodded, but Hektis and Sabbath muttered and kicked the ground like reluctant schoolboys for a moment before grudgingly agreeing. Each knew in his stroppy heart, though, that Gennen was right.
Hektis and Sabath's avatars turned to their Regalia-Bearers. Eloy gave over his Seed straight away, but Gorfang held on to his. "Fight you for it." he said to the God of Strife, Lord of War, Master of Battle. Hektis chuckled. "That's My boy," he said approvingly, "but it's no use to you."
With both Seeds resting in what had been Isetbashayet's plinth, the four avatars stretched their hands out over them and the ritual began. Slowly, the power of the forbidden spells was drawn into the four Gods. Finally, it was done, and the Seeds that Gorfang and Eloy had quested for were no more than lifeless husks.
Nebekheshshut turned to speak to the others. "This power is not meet for My use," he said gravely, "it contradicts My very nature. Thus, I give it into the hands of My most favoured servant." He paused, and a brief, wintery smile curved his dispassionate face. "She would probably have ended up with it anyway,"
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A glow appeared next to him, and rapidly expanded into a misty but familiar female shape. Lynien grinned at her two friends, winked and lifted an insousciant thumb.
"She shall be the Goddess of Thieves and the Fateless, of Chance and the Unexpected, the light-fingered and self-sufficient," said Gennen, "Lynien, Lady of Chance." The misty form gave her new peers a merry bow, blew a kiss at her old comrades, and vanished.
"What of him?" asked Hektis, pointing to Straff where he huddled in silent misery. "Without him this could not have been done... yet he is a wretch." Eloy started to speak, but a greater manipulator was there ahead of him. "That makes him My business, then," said Sabath with an arch grin. He looked at Straff. "Will you serve Me now, Fallen One?" he asked. "Your past is gone and you will never drink of the Light again; but the Dark will accept you, if you wish it? You already wear My Regalia after all." Straff looked at him for a moment and then nodded. "Brace yourself," chuckled Sabath with dark relish, and clapped the fallen angel on the shoulder. Straff disappeared. "Your training has begun," said Sabath.
 DM Note: .. in other words, a level each :). |
Their quest accomplished, both Gorfang and Eloy felt a wave of divine approval, gratitude and power flow through them. Then the statues were mere cold stone again, the spirits of the Gods gone back to their proper places, and the four dead kings of Khabra turned to head back to their tombs. Anshenkehra was last to leave, and as he went he handed Eloy another stele. "This will take you home", he said.
For the first time since Gorfang had placed his god’s regalia around his wrist, it felt uncomfortable; like an itch under a splint around a broken limb; he could not quite put his finger on it. Was he losing his faith? He didn’t know. Had he expected more when he turned way from the path of war and choose that of the priesthood? He didn’t know.
What he did know was the feeling of betrayal by his god. Both he and the slimy bastard had risked all to obtain the seeds for their chosen lords and they had, within seconds, given the power away. He had nothing against Nebekheshsut and Gennen, but they had done nothing to help retrieve these relics, so why should they profit? Isetbashayet and Nepthis had accepted their fate.
The orc was pleased, though, that Lynien would live for ever as the Goddess of Thieves and the Fateless. Gorfang missed his companion; they had been a good team. Antagonising Eloy would never be the same again. This new goddess needed a temple, a huge one and not one of stone. The first, largest and probably only temple would be in his heart. She might as well have it, she owns just about everything else of mine, he thought….
Gorfang turned away from the four avatars and returned home muttering to himself, “I will never understand gods and their ways! What is so important about coming back from the dead anyway? If I kill someone, the last thing I want is the kurvanogtar coming back to life. And if I were to meet my match - hypothetically speaking that is - why on earth would I want to come back…..”
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Gorfang and Eloy were enjoying a quiet ale in the Flaming Spear, one evening a month later, when the door burst open and Eloy's first priest, Crastinuc, came in, pale-faced, hollow-eyed and shaking. Dropping into a chair at their table, he grabbed Gorfang's ale and gulped half of it without pausing to breathe. Given he normally exhibited a justifiable fear of the orc, this behaviour tokened some momentous development.
"Lord," he addressed Eloy, "the most incredible thing has happened. I have been officiating at the funerals of the men who died in the Naxos business," he continued. Gorfang glanced at Eloy, but the human was giving no clues. "I was speaking over Reaver Clunstsall, and ... somehow ... different words just came to me. I spoke them, and I felt the fire of a spell flow though me, though it was not one I knew. Lord..." he struggled for a moment, "Clunstall lives! He is not undead; he is alive! I have just raised the dead!"
The Multiverse had changed, a change of overwhelming significance, and Alair would never be the same again....
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Session Date: 22nd Feb 2012 |
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