Leaving the orc guards on his tent with strict instructions not to let anyone in, Gorfang went to find Eloy and discuss how they were going to use this new information.
Velgostarn was clearly the key to the region, and a strike there was an obvious next step. infiltration could be possible; Eloy could be disguised as one of the reddish near-humans and Gorfang, of course, was already a member of one of the slave races.
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Conversation with some of their freed slave soldiers and a little further torture elicited the fact that it was not unusual for one or two slaves to travel around Sar'Prime as messengers or couriers; with the threat of annihilation hanging over their homes, and the bleak truth that there was nowhere to escape to, control was firm enough that guards were unnecessary. Two slaves travelling the roads would attract no attention. Unfortunately, what would be unusual would be two slaves of different species. Eloy was going to have to be disguised as an orc. "You don't have the tusks for a male orc," said Gorfang with some relish. "It'll have to be a female orc, I'm afraid."
Some time later, Gorfang stood back and examined the results. The suave and handsome human had disappeared, and in his place was quite possibly the least attractive female orc he had ever seen. Not bad, given how unappealing most of the competition was! With captured armour and weapons from orc battlefield casualties layered over their own mithril mail, and everything else stashed in Eloy's Bag of Holding, they were ready to go.
Before leaving they visited the Gith general Vanazha, and explained the first part of the plan. "You'll know if we succeed," said Gorfang, "I ask you to hold position in this quarter so as not to alert them to our interest." Vanazha nodded his bizarre head. "I will give you a week," he agreed. "Now," said Gorfang carefully, "there is a second piece of information I have acquired. When you hear it, your priorities will change - but I want your word you will still help me capture the cities and acquire the slave-soldiers before you act on it." Vanazha raised an eyebrow. "As long as what you ask does not threaten my forces, we have an agreement still," he said. Gorfang squared his shoulders; here was the gamble. He was handing Vanazha the key to the whole war, in the hopes that the Gith general wouldn't decide to take it and abandon their agreement. "Remember the Openers of the Way - the black daggers you're fighting this war over?" he asked. Vanazha nodded, his face twisted in revulsion. "Well," said Eloy, "There's a Big One...."
As they finished describing the capital city of Sar'Pinoth and the Master Opener, Vanazha's eyes were lit with a dangerous blaze, and Gorfang was forcefully reminded of the deeply chaotic nature of the Githyanki. Could he trust them? It was a tense moment, but then Vanazha turned to his table and riffled through his maps. "Once the magic drops, we won't want to waste any time," he said crisply. "You'll have your week; after that you can have another week - we should be able to reach Unnlor in a week with magic restored. Then we pull out and make for this Sar'Pinoth." Gorfang nodded. "Good enough," he said, and the pair left.
The first day was pretty uneventful, a long walk along dusty roads with the occasional village. These contained 'civilian' Sarkrith, and for the first time the pair saw the strange lizards in their home environment. In some ways, the villages were much like those found everywhere else in the multiverse; a quilt of farms and fields surrounding a cluster of dwellings and communal buildings. Some of the buildings' purposes were baffling, and the colours, shapes and angles all wrong, but the normalcy of it was almost reassuring.In the late afternoon a column of Sarkrith troops passed them, heading for the battle lines, and they hastened to the side of the road and bowed humbly until the 'masters' were past. Eloy had worried about whether Gorfang would be able to stomach the abasement needed to blend in, but the orc was focused on his final goal and controlled his pride.As the light failed, they dossed down under a hedgerow. Normally, travelling slaves would sleep in the slave-kennel of the nearest village, but neither wanted to test their masquerade.
"Is this where I make a pass at the girl orc?"
Slap!"I'm not that sort of girl!"
It was late afternoon when they reached the regional capital city of the Sarkrith. For the last few hours, they'd been passing through increasingly populated areas, and now they were approaching the city gates. Except that there weren't any. Incredibly to their minds, the city had no wall or exterior defences, just some guards at the places where the major roads entered the city proper. True, the Sarkrith had iron control over their world, but the arrogance and complacency this demonstrated was breathtaking.
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Dominating the entire area was the Master G'dula, soaring five hundred feet above the ground and linked to the marching lines of silvery spheres that converged across the fields from all directions. The pair gazed up at it for a while. They'd not really expected it to be guarded, here so far from the battle lines, but high in the webwork of metal beams that supported it were flat platforms with guards moving on them - not slave-soldiers either, but Sarkrith thanes.
Once inside, they wandered the streets, mingling with the myriad slaves passing to and fro on the day-to-day business of the metropolis, learning its' byways and layout. Despite the alien appearance of the place, most of the structures seemed made of the local equivalent of wood. At intervals, they paused to study the vast sphere in the centre, Eloy applying his knowledge from several successful assaults to evaluate how this one could be brought down. Not all the city was accessible; the centre third was reserved exclusively to the Sarkrith, the administrative and military hub, and naturally the base of the pylon was located in this area.
Once again, Eloy's nullity was their hole card. Like the other regalia powers, it could be used even in the magic-less shadow of the g'dulae, and was in any case their only chance of getting past the guards. Lynien could have, though, thought Eloy. Fortunately, the platforms had been placed where it was easiest to rig them, rather than at the weak spots in the structure, and Eloy figured that once he was at his target, he could let the nullity slip and rely on his own stealth skills. Even if his own equipment had retained its' magic, it was useless, sealed in the Bag of Holding until the anti-magic field was removed.
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Leaving Gorfang tucked into a corner between two of the uncommon stone buildings, Eloy slipped out of existence and walked quickly across the street and between the two Sarkrith guarding the gate to the inner city. Gorfang shook his head, disorientated for a moment. Why am I hiding here, when there's work to do? he thought. Then it came back to him and he remembered. Eloy... hope he doesn't fall off. Not until he's finished anyway.
Scrambling up the pylon, Eloy became more aware of the differences from the ones he'd tackled before. The g'dula itself was twice normal size; the pylons were more than twice normal thickness. It was going to take a lot of work to bring this one down... He unpacked his tools and got to work.
Eloy crouched on the metal beam, his hands braced around the spanner. It was slotted onto the last bolt he needed to remove, and he could hear the faint creaking as the metal protested against the strain of supporting the entire quadrant of the pylon. All he had to do was undo this one, and the collapse would begin - rapidly. Taking a deep breath, he gripped the spanner and twisted. With a grating scream of tearing metal, the bolt sheared and everything around him began to move, all at once and all in different directions. Dropping the spanner to spin away into the darkness, Eloy sprang forwards and began to sprint through the girders.
With the sphere coming down towards his side of the structure, he knew his only chance of survival was to run through the pylon and climb down the far side of the structure. Unfortunately, the collapse meant that pretty much every beam was moving in different directions and at different speeds, but all with more than enough force to crush him to paté. Swinging, jumping, running and ducking, he worked his way as fast as he could through the churning darkness of shifting metal, with the ever-increasing groaning, grinding sound of the sphere as it rolled faster and faster through the failed supports battering at his ears.
He jinked left, bounced hard off a beam that hadn't been there a second ago with his shoulder, shifted position for the next jump - and his foot slipped. As he tumbled into space, another beam moved into view below him, swinging ponderously outwards as its' far end was crushed under the doomed g'dula. Desperately he reached for it and managed to get one hand onto it, coming to a halt with a jolt that felt as if it had shattered every bone from his fingers to his collarbone. He dangled painfully for a moment, then hauled himself up and loped along the life-saving beam towards the next one. Picking up speed again, he shifted from one to another, ran along a third and saw ahead of him a black square of darkened sky - the far end of the pylon. Nearly there! He tensed for the next jump - and the beam he was standing on shattered under the impact on its' far end.
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This time Eloy was catapulted off in a cloud of metal fragments, half-stunned and disorientated. He tumbled down, agonizingly aware of how high he was.Then the belt around his waist emitted a pulse of light, and a brief wash of pain flowed into Eloy from it. All of a sudden he was not alone. A tall figure - half again his height - was lying casually in the air next to him, keeping pace with his plunge. Its' skin was slick, smooth and coal-black, its' body muscled. It was dressed in the style of the ancient Khabrans, but its head had nothing of the human; it was the head of a jackal, but a jackal imbued with a fearsome intelligence and power, and with glowing red eyes. He knew and dreaded it; the nameless demon tasked by Sabath with offering him salvation from death at the cost of terrible pacts.
"Will you pay the price for my aid?" it asked, speaking Selasht in a voice like acid over gravel. Once, Eloy had been prepared to promise anything; but he had seen many things since then and had learned caution the hard way. "What is the price?" he screamed over the rush of air. "Your first-born son." replied the demon in a flat, terrible voice. Eloy blanched. The last price had been difficult, but this... "Never!" he yelled back. Was it paternal protection? Unwillingness to lose the legacy he'd prepared to follow himself? Fear of what his wife would say or do to him if he agreed? He wasn't sure. It flashed across his mind that he really didn't want to die dressed as a woman, either. The demon vanished with a snarl as the ground rushed up beneath Eloy and -
Fragments of metal tore through the air around Gorfang's refuge as the sphere and pylon flew apart under unbearable pressure. Screams, shouts and the sound of collapsing buildings surrounded him and he grinned at the damage being done to the enemy by their act. Then he blinked. It was just a glimpse, but he was sure he'd seen Eloy's body tumbling through the wreckage. Damn,he thought, and before he realized it, he was running.
The night-eyed vision of his people allowed him to make his way through the settling wreckage, and to locate the fallen body sprawled among the shattered, twisted metal. Eloy looked like a cut of meat on the butcher's slab; his slave-orc outfit was mere shreds, and every inch of his flesh was covered in blood. Gorfang reckoned that pretty much every bone in his body was broken; and yet he was still alive - a faint mist of breath was visible in the cool night air. His Ring of Flying might have kicked in at the last instant, perhaps, or maybe the churned ground he'd fallen on had broken his fall. Regardless, he lived yet, though clinging to life by a thread.
As Gorfang ran up, a thought struck him. He remembered that strange power of Eloy's that deflected blows aimed at him. Did that still work with him unconscious? Was that what had saved him? He kicked at the dying man's leg and a chunk of flesh went flying. No, it didn't. Interesting. Gorfang stood and looked down at Eloy for a long moment. Trickster, weasel, first servant of his own God's most deadly foe, untrustworthy thief and swindler; long-time companion, comrade in arms, occasional provider of healing - the last of Gorfang's comrades left to him. Swiftly, he bent down and opened the bloodstained Bag of Holding, drew out a flask of Boom Boom Boom,tipped it between Eloy's shattered jaws and stroked what was left of the throat until the Man in the Shadows swallowed weakly.
Eloy's eyes opened, rather to his own surprise, and looked into Gorfang's hellish countenance and still-conflicted eyes, redly reflecting the flames from the ruin they'd wrought. Gorfang grinned. "Saved your life again," he chuckled. "Damn me; I should have gone with the demon," Eloy muttered. The surviving Sarkrith guards from the base of the pylon were already searching and calling, so the pair slid on Rings of Invisibility and Flying and lifted into the dark sky. Velgostarn spread out beneath them and they were able to see the results of their actions.
A vast wedge of ruination had been torn through the city where the flying metal from the shattered sphere and its' pylon had torn through the buildings. Black, twisted wreckage clawed upwards like dying fingers, interspersed with greasy, sooty red flames, spreading like blood across the ruins. Shouts and cries, and many outright screams rent the night, as the citizens of Velgostarn fled, or fought fires, or died in the chaos. Undoubtedly some also signified the realization that their protection from (as they saw it) the evil danger of magic was gone. It occurred to Gorfang that many - if not most - of the casualties would be slaves, not Sarkrith. He shrugged.
Slightly less than a day later, Eloy and Gorfang approached the encampment of the Githyanki, to be greeted by a completely changed landscape. The bridgehead had expanded by several miles, and the edges were ablaze with magic and psionic energy as the exultant Gith warmages and psychic warriors, denied much involvement up to this point, flung themselves into the fray to confront the horrified Sarkrith. Airborne Gith wizards soared across the sky, raining magical death down on the foe, and one intercepted the incoming pair with congratulations and approval.
Landing and reverting to the visible, Gorfang and Eloy made their way to General Vanazha's tent and ducked through the flaps. Inside they found controlled chaos, as the General and his staff grappled with the sudden escalation of their operation. Vanazha was thumping the map with his first and bellowing for a bigger table. As the pair entered, he turned to look at them and grinned - from a Githyanki, an unsettling sight. "Let's go and get those cities!" he roared.
The magic of the Plane Shift faded, and Eloy found himself standing in front of his home in Lossal. The sight of green trees and grey stone - and snow! - was almost unbearably good after so long of strange brown buildings and purple vegetation. For a moment he hesitated. He had been away since June, and he was unsure how he would be welcomed by his by now heavily pregnant witch-wife. He gulped, and opened the door.
Gorfang stood on the balcony where, a year and a half ago, he had first set foot in the ancient fortress of his ancestors, gazing out at the mountains. Gazing east. Four hundred miles away, towards the fortress-city of Kishshul.
Even before his return, with eight thousand Sarkrith-trained orcish warriors, six thousand two hundred ogres, assorted dependents and - perhaps most of all - enough mithril to fund nearly anything, the day of war with the orc realm founded by Sack, Hildraft and Duzmakhmol had been fast approaching. Now, it was close and inevitable. He knew he had only a short time to achieve the integration of his new troops into the social and military structure. Already a myriad things needed his attention; unrest in some quarters, decisions on where to expand to, personal intervention in the matter of unexpected monsters lurking in the depths, funding to be realized from the mithril to feed and equip his growing army. So far, the dragons of the north had not accepted his offer of a home and treasure for alliance; but his hope was that the prospect of mithril at the core of that hoard would tip the balance.
Four months later, Gorfang and Eloy stood once more in the Githyanki bridgehead on Sar'Prime, their minds clear and ready for the push to Sar'Prime. Gorfang's lieutenants had firm control of his troops, and training was well in hand; the mithril was trickling out to the market. Eloy - after an initial frosty reception - had more than made up with his witch-wife, and their son Eloy-Sabath had been born in mid-April.
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Session Date: 18th July 2012 |
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