As you stand now at the precipice of a great gray waste staring out into alien stars you find yourself sighing. A bizarre gesture in this place with no atmosphere but one that comes naturally to you despite your newfound power.
Ah yes, the power. It flows through you now. It is you. What was at once a parasite and a boon is now consumed you wholly. You are the power and the power has become you. No longer content to lap at the edges of your consciousness the power itself has become your consciousness, an extension of your unsurpassed will that comes to you as loyally as a dog and is wielded with all the ease of breathing.
You extend it now spreading it through all the cosmos. You know that others can feel it. You want others to feel it. And as your will extends to the cage you sense thousands of priests scream in abject terror as they realize the birth of a newborn god. Beings more ancient than the past four universes before this one stir in their troubled sleep dreaming a thousand new nightmares that rip from their own flesh to feast on mortal souls. You sense enemies, potential allies, new worshipers, old ones withering and dying in terribly painful ecstasy as they feel again your magnificence.
As you reach out to pull yourself along this will to carve out a new domain something small tugs at your attention. Annoyed you barely hold back your wrath to observe the tiny silver shell of the construct before you. A survivor, much like yourself, of a time before humanity was even a concept of the gods. A tiny chronicler of the ruins in which you reached your ascension. It asks a simple question; to recount the events leading up to your ascension for the benefit of its archives.
Smiling you retract your will, shelve your power for but a moment. Why not cater to posterity for but a few hours?
But where to begin? At what point could it be said you had begun your ascension?
Perhaps the best place to begin a tale about the birth of a new god was to start with the end of a very old god.
Asmodeus, warden of the Rough Beast, Prince of Darkness, and oft disputed but never overthrown lord of the Nine Hells, was slain not by a grand deific conflict nor by some lucky assassins blade but through the courage, willpower, and skill of a group of adventurers. Indeed there names will no doubt go down in mortal history as great heroes of epic deeds and impeccable purity. It's unfortunate you know the truth.
Though your mortal self was originally ignorant of the full scale of this event you were aware that the world was changing. Empires were marching to war, great heroes were emerging, and for better or worse you found yourself in the midst of it all attempting to profit, preserve, or simply survive what you can.
Then it happened.
You canot truly recall what you were doing and given your newfound status you find such details unimportant. All that matters now is what you felt. You felt...darkness. Overwhelming, all consuming darkness the blinded not only your vision, but suppressed your ability to move, to think, to live. It felt as if you were dying, no worse than dying. Here you had not the sweet release of Pharasma's embrace but the ever encroaching darkness gripping you, filling you, tearing away at you until nothing was left but the fear and the pain. Opening your mouth to scream there is nothing but a pathetic whine that begins to increase in pitch and volume as suddenly the blackness simply dissipates and is replaced with a blinding white light that tears your retinas asunder with a burning agony that is a sweet release from the ever tightening darkness.
Falling to the floor it is perhaps the first time since your childhood that you have felt so helpless. Gathering yourself you look up to find that you are standing on a flat surface made of a black and crimson marble. The surface is smooth and cold but only seems to extend around you about five feet on each side giving you some room to maneuver but little in the way of movement. Beyond this flat surface is nothing but whiteness, pure whiteness. There are no features out in the infinite whiteness and until now you hear nothing but your own heartbeat and breathing at the moment. You are uninjured and all your gear is with you. You see no one else.
Clad from head to toe in metal, Oterisk stood at the edge of the marble staring into the whiteness, squinting his eyes at it. He circumvented the area, sticking his fauchard into the whiteness and scowling, which was his usual facial expression toward those who don't give him what he wants. The power he had was not supposed to give him a sense of helplessness. He had greater purposes than helplessness. It made him cross.
He had respect for Asmodeus, and although the orcs thought little of the dead, the most exalted among them could illicit a sharp snort of respect for their lost strength. He considered it for a moment and decided against it. He didn't want to give respect to a being who could lose his life to adventurers because he most certainly wouldn't want to share such a fate. His law must come and not be undone by unruly sorts. Chaos would only breed weakness. Like many orcs, Oterisk despised weakness.
The beautiful human looks around to assess her surroundings. She had little memory of what had occurred, or how she had arrived to this...place. Seeing nothing but bright light initially, her hackles were automatically raised. Instinctually, she cast a protective magic, not wanting to take chances with the unknown. Feeling more prepared, with a touch of her mystic gifts roaring through her veins, she began to explore the small area.
Resuming his feet, Tak's first thought was for his companion, the Tyrannosaurus. He checks on him, making appropriate calming hoots deep in his throat. He stares off into the nothingness, feeling, appropriately perhaps, nothing. His cold nature, coupled with the death of a god he cared nothing about, has not been altered by the sudden influx of godhood. If anything, it seems to have heightened his nature, making the cold hard aspect of nature that he embodied even more apparent. He settles back onto his backside, staring at the void and waiting for prey. He had all the time in the world.
Oterisk waxes philosophical as he stands amidst the perfectly white void on his platform of marble.
Tak'Vellos waits patiently on his back fighting back the urge to pee in an effort to patiently lie still and await his apparent assailant
Blinking away the burning white light, a huge shaggy form of a man gruffly rises to one kneel looking around Kranoc White-Pelt. I was in battle, Longships burning around me, the smell of salt on the air. What is this place? There is no mead-hall and the sounds of battle and smell of blood. This is not my lords realm... so where am I? Forcing himself up to his feet. Kranoc stoical grips his long-spear, its tip glimmering blue in the light. Then with a sense of methodical purpose he begins checking his gear, adjusting straps and buckles. When the time comes, I may need to move quickly. Best to be prepared. Slowly breathing in and out Kranoc calms himself. He was brought here for a reason, this is not death, he knows this. He awaits.
Something of great and terrible importance has just occurred. The Ulfen man thinks to himself, letting his mind drift back to the moment that the darkness rolled over him, smothering him until nothing else was left. Mediating on the steps leading up to the blackness, Kranoc could remember the call for war. White Estrid and all of the other Linnorm Kings mustering its tribes under one banner as the world gluttoned itself on blood, fire and vengeance.
Roused from his memory's, Kranoc spots a golden haired woman peeking over the side of his platform, before she quickly disappears. I'm not alone here. Wary at the unnerving situation, but unwilling to risk agonizing whatever force has brought him here Kranoc cautiously moves to the edge of each side of his platform, trying to ascertain what is going on.
"Can any of you hear me," the blonde asks, wondering if the very nature of the place they had been brought, had any connection with their home. Gravity didn't appear to follow the normal rules, did sound?
In the mood Oterisk was in, he nearly lopped that pretty head clean off to decorate his new little flat planet. The black and crimson marble could use some nice pinkskin blood on it to make it feel more like home. But he reasoned that his race had yet to surpass the pinkskins, and he might have something to learn from them in this particular world.
He put the fauchard over his shoulder and waited for the head to return or perhaps for another to appear. Heads were made for talking or for stacking in pyramids, but he figured since there was only one the talking would be more interesting for the time being.
"Can any of you hear me," the blonde asks, wondering if the very nature of the place they had been brought, had any connection with their home. Gravity didn't appear to follow the normal rules, did sound?
All of you hear that.
Also, now alert, you see a big man with a large spear and a huge bushy white beard peer over at you for a brief instant as well.
"I hear you puny woman. Have you summoned me here without my permission?" Oterisk asks the question with a bit of malice in his voice.
"And who are you bearded man? Did you create this pitiful land with your magics?" Realizing that insulting pinkskins was not the best way to become friends with them he tried to soften his tone with some forced laughter, although it probably came across as menacing. One of these days though the pinkskins would want to make friends with him and it would be easier.
Who am I? I could ask you the same Orc. Rumbles a voice more used to shouting commands over the din of battle then polite conversation. I am Kranoc White-Pelt. Jarl, War-Singer, Skald and a Servant of the Lord of Iron. I did not bring you here. But I mean to find out who did.
Digging a copper out of his pack Kranoc places it on the edge closest to the blonde haired woman, observing it. Then he moves if over the lip and rests it on her side watching if it will stay. Finally he throws the coin up into the air, watching to see if it will continue to move away from the "cube" or will return to the side that he occupies.
Once he has finished his experiment, Kranoc grits his teeth, if there was as much power here as he suspected he would have to be careful. I have heard of a place like this before. Endless metal cubes floating in the sky. Mindless warriors constantly fighting as the cubes slam together in an infinite tumbling motion. Legends and myths...
Closing his eyes Kranoc calls upon the will of his Lord As the Magic flows through him, Kranoc begins to slowly open his eyes, but ready to slam them shut if the images are too powerful. Suspecting that if the power that suffuses this place is as strong as he thinks he could very well blind him if he was to look at it dead on.
"I'm not puny, and I didn't summon you either, Orc. Kranoc, was it? I'm Lilia. Do you have any idea what is happening riht now?"
Oterisk addresses the bearded one first. "You could ask, and I would tell you that I am Oterisk, Son of Grask Uldath, Member of the Society, and Master of the Hafted Blade. If it were your god who brought us here, think you we should battle? But my guess is that it was not he or he would have told you."
"And woman, you look puny to me. Only Orcs and Elves are as tall as I am and Elves have no weight to them. After spending two winters in Absalom, I find few humans who are not puny. You can loose your spite on me, I care not for those without some fire in their veins." His fearsome face broke out into something of a smirk. He may be far from anything he had known, but at least the company was interesting.
The dinosaur-companion stands up. "I hear, but I do not see. Are you the one responsible for calling me here? If so, do you wish battle, for I will destroy you." He says this without any malice, simply as a statement of fact.
The coin Krannoc places sticks to the side of the wall as readily as if it were glued. Retrieving it he flips it into the air. It goes a good four feet into the air before it simply keeps on going. Perhaps infinitely into the endless void. The place is not exuding magical auras. But this does little to quench your concerns.
No... no magical auras. I think I would feel better if there was something, anything to indicate that there was. It would take one level of power to create something like this. But to mask it, that is on a order of magnitude greater then I could possible imagine. Perhaps the fabled Wizard Nex or Geb could create something like this, but no one that I know of in this age. At least no moral. No more cautious then ever Kranoc thinks back to his experiment with the coin. There seems to be some form of gravity here, each based on the side of the "cube" you stand on. Briefly Kranoc considers summoning a creature to this realm and using it to test if he could safely move from one edge to the next. However after a moments thought Kranoc reconsiders. If he was brought to this place by a being as powerful as he suspected, it may not allow or wish for another to be invited. Gritting his teeth Kranoc moves towards the lip that leads to a smoothly polished door, and tries to "step" over the lip onto the next plane.
Lilia could see the others in her "line" of vision were as confused as she. "Alright, whomever brought his here, please show yourself. This is a really neat trick with this strange dimension, by the way."
Krannoc gathers his courage and feels an odd sensation as he half falls half flots downward and suddenly finds himself standing on the other side of the cube facing the wooden door.
Lilia gets a response. In a voice that speaks to you simultaneously in a beautiful soprano of every language in know and countless others that you don't it calls from the side with the cloudy figures. "Do not be afraid. We have much to discuss. But first you must come here and attend the reading."
"Very well," lilia nods, trying to move so that she could get to the Table with the three unknown figures. She wasn't quite sure how to get there, but figured trying to climb out of her 'dimension' toward them would be the way to start.
Just to be safe, however, she intoned a blessing from her ancestors, to protect her from any chance of falling in this unknown place.
Listening to the unearthly voices Kranoc shivers. If the intention was to unnerve the newly arrived guest, their host had succeeded. Turning his bearded face left and right Kranoc tries to ascertain where the voices came from, but they seemed to echo throughout the realm. Still, the blonde haired woman must have seen something to indicate that they were not alone on the cube. Striding towards the edge of the platform that would intersect the door and what the woman must have seen, Kranoc moves to the edge. I was invited after all. The ulfen thinks to himself just before he steps towards the voices.
Hearing the voices come from one of the sides of his platform that wish to have a meeting and not understanding the strange gravity, Oterisk takes a step off into the whiteness and lets himself freefall towards the voices. He fell for about two feet before the new gravity pulled him toward the cube again and he ended up being deposited somewhat gently on his back. Well, gently for an orc.
The seven foot warrior stood quickly with a modicum of decorum and set the butt of his fauchard next to his foot in a stance that looked deceptively at ease, but his beady eyes never lost their intensity. "I attend your reading, so attend to your explanation."
Tak, hearing the voice, steps toward the edge of the platform and over. He falls for a moment, then finds himself right-side up. "I hear you, voice. I will hear your reading."
Kranoc, feeling much more confident about the workings of this place simply strides over there as Lilia crawls across with almost no trouble except for a moment of disorientation. Oterisk steps over and poses on the side of the cube making demands of mysterious beings.
As each of you congregate to this side of the cube the haze around the beings begins to dissipate and they beging to look clearer. One appears to be winged and quite brilliant looking while one appears to look far less human than you'd like to think about. The one in the middle however looks like an elf of some form but you have not gotten close enough nor has the haze lifted enough for you to get a clear view.
When the last of you gathers on the side of the cube where the three figures sit in anticipation they readily become clear to you.
They sit at a large high quality table with four chairs before them. On is a being clad in ornate golden armor with large mettallic wings sticking from his back. His skin is jet black and hard like onyx. The face is otherworldly and absolutely beautiful witha serene countenance that is marred by a practical river of golden tears flowing freely down his cheeks from milky white eyes.
The second figure appears to be a perfectly formed elf. No features are out of place and you can see no flawed features upon him. He is wearing the robes of a cholar perectly. Occasionally bits of his skin discoprporate into a golden sand that wafts briefly from his body to form complex mathematical equations in the air before returning to him and reforming the flesh. He seems to be concentrating hard on a long piece of papyrus that trails away from him and is covered in countless tiny lines. To this beings left is a red skinned devilish creature with large horns protruding from the sides his head and furling forward like those of a bull. Draped over him are dozens of complicated looking documents and contracts that hurt the eyes to look at for too long.
The reddish being appears impatient and taps his claws on the table. The elf looks up at you appearing slightly impatient himself.
"Please have a seat." The elf says in a voice edged with mild irritation. "There is much to go over and it is only natural of this particular client that he has written his will in a way that would twist the foundations of language to confound even the greatest minds in all of Axis."
The reddish creature smiles at this and speaks in a deep voice that is smooth and basslike. You can imagine him being quite the remarkable opera singer. That is if any of you like the opera. "If you prefer I can translate?"
"Unnecessary." The elf says in a clipped harsh tone that does not hide his frustration.
The angelic being stil looking serene responds to your questions somewhat less cryptically. "I am afraid you have been designated as beneficiaries to the now deceased Prince of Darkness. I am sorry."
Oterisk remains standing for the time being, just be be obstinate. "Beneficiaries? Sorry? What did we inherit, his debts?" The orc looked annoyed and was pretty glad he didn't snort at his passing now.
"No." The elf says. "One hundred percent of Lord Asmodeus's debt appears to have gone to a Mr. Anthony on 101st Wyvern St. in Absalom. Won't he have a colorful afterlife..."
A shiver running down his spine colder then a glaciers overflow Kranocs frown deepens. The Dark Prince, Lord of Contracts and Keeper of All Keys has designated us to be his inheritors? Shaking his large bearded head Kranoc appears nonplused I know a thing or two about the gods, and the one thing I do know is that the Hoofed One does not give boons for free. What are the terms of his will? Gorum guide me! This place is more dangerous then any battlefield or seige.
Tak looks somewhat confused. "We inherited something from the Prince of Darkness? As in a gift?"
Lilia nods at the words and questions from the human male. "Let's be honest here, we all know this 'inheritance' is likely to be a problem. Come out with it please, and let us figure out how to deal with the problem.". The sorcerer's lack of patience was evident as her temper was beginning to bubble to the surface.
Pacience... The brutish man diplomatically rumbles at the wheat haired woman, his voice at odds with his massive form. If these beings are as powerful as I suspect it would not be wise to force the issue. Following the elven-like creatures instruction Kranoc draws out a seat from the table and sits down facing the triptych of powerful beings arrayed in front of him. Forgive me, but I do not wish to offend any of you, is there a title or moniker you wish for me to address you as? Begins the Ulfen warrior-priest. Now, I do not know much of wills and inheritance and as the will you speak of was penned by the Horned God, I worry that I will not be able to understand its scope. Gesturing to the Orc, Woman and Elf, Kranoc continues. I would appreciated if you would please explain the nature of this will to us, both its terms, limitations and any relevant observations you all might have, if that is acceptable. The large man politely intones.
"Yes, please be patient." The elf retorts impatiently.
"Legal matters of such cosmic delicacy cannot simply be "outted" and the deceased has seen fit to invent three different legal languages in the span of four hundred pages just to define terms."
The bemused red skinned creature peers over with a small smirk and begins "I Asmodeus, Keeper of All KEys, Lord of the Ninth, Warden of the Rough Beast, of sound mind and body hereby bequeath upon the event of my demise..."
Rolling his eyes in a brilliant display of complicated root equations the elf passes the overly complex document to the devil while he spends a moment rubbing his temples. Clearing his throat the fiend continues...for four hours.
Urges to get on with it or to clarify are responded to by assurances of patience from the angelic entity who continues to softly cry through the whole proceeding and through harsh shushes from the elf.
Eventually you get the gist of it: You are now the inheritors of Asmodeus's divine power. All of it. Split among you. The will does not say why. However the catch to this is you are now responsible for securing Rovagug's cage. That is ensuring he does not escape since certain locks and wards will no doubt have come loose since Asmodeus's demise.
In order to accomplish this a few things need to happen.
1. You are to judge the four souls who were responsible for killing Asmodeus.
2. You are to retrieve Asmodeus's wings. One is kept in Heaven. The other is kept by Urgathoa in her realm upon Abaddon.
3. Once the above two are complete you are to take the wings to Asmodeus's grave and take up his crown to recieve the fullness of his grand dominion and given all his secrets.
After the fiend is done. He clears his throat once more and with a broad and fang filled smile he asks "Any questions?"
Oterisk, still standing, looks a bit confused but is willing to proceed. He was glad his training with the Pathfinders and their boring lectures had prepared him for this else he would have likely attacked the reader a few years ago just for being long winded after about a half hour. He actually raises his hand and waits to be acknowledged before he asks his question.
"The rest of it seems straight forward, but when it says we are to 'judge' those responsible, does that mean we determine who they are and send them to Pharisma to be judged? Or do we have to do her job too? And which law should we judge them by?"
"How do we find the four responsible? And how are we to get to Heaven and Abaddon?"
"Lord Asmodeus made a pact with the Lady of Graves to abstain from judging those responsible for his death." The angel explains.
The fiend lauhs. "You are not expected to go forth and slay them. A leion of devils already tore them limb from limb. I hear that Mammon had the paladins skin cured and stretched and now uses the drum in his entertainment halls."
The elf clears his throat. "Judge in this case is not entirely clear. I suppose since they have already been killed you will have to go to the Boneyard and find the souls. There you will judge them as you will. We are professionally obligated to advise you in this of course but there are limitations. The will specifies the exact amount of aid we are allowed to provide which I am afraid to say is quite limited. As to what law is specified I believe you are to use your own interpretations on what law is. Whatever you judge determines what afterlife the soul is destined for...though there will no doubt be opposition no matter how you proceed. The door leads to the boneyard but you will be responsible for finding the souls in question once in that realm."
In a matter of fact tone, Tak says "So, if I slay these others, will my power increase?"
"Yes." The fiend says flatly.
"There will be a significant increase in concentration of divine power. Though as your legal adviser I would suggest you take into account the numerous antagonistic entities you have gathered due to the consequences of your inheritance. There are also cosmic consequences to such an act, certainly corruption of some form may be a concern."
The angel looks genuinely shocked. "Why would you even consider getting more of the dark one's power? It is not something a mortal soul is even prepared to understand even with the little that you have!"
Hrm, well this changes things Mutters Kranoc under his breath, while suddenly wondering how far he can trust the other "chosen". Should one of us die, will the power be split equally among all remaining "vessels", or just to whom ever is the nearest at the time of death?