"Ridiculous?!" the kerak says, shock and confusion, 'What do you mean-"
The feathered fey cuts off when Novox abruptly rose and walked away. It took a moment for the forest dweller to truly understand what Novox was doing, and then he erupted again. Novox could only hear the kerak (the wizard did not deign to glance back) but the words were vile enough.
"Stupid human! You think you can turn your back on all of us? I have seen hundreds of your kind grow old and die, before my very eyes. You and your plans are nothing, human, nothing! A wind among the leaves! We will be watching you, Novox Narsus, we will be watching!"
The voice becomes fainter quicker then it should have, after only a few paces. The kerak is soon reduced to a reedy voice in the distant wilderness, as if he was shouting across a wide field.
Hax's face is impassive but Novox thinks he detects a hint of a grin. Clearly, anything that upset all the outsiders was fine in the gladiator's book.
"He's gone." The man says, jutting with a chin, "The table and all. It all vanished after you turned around." Then the tanned man really did smile, "You know how to make friends, Novox."
'Crude....but direct.'Belle says speculatively, clearly eyeing up Hax.
An entire reality of everything bright and fantastical fading out of existence like so much morning dew at his back, the grim form of Novox stood out all the stronger, dark and foreboding. The man was less than pleased. If time was indeed a commodity, then his every second was a platinum piece and the fey had deigned to waste it with their deceit and folly. Walking away without an Everpine alliance was unfortunate, if not regrettable. Expending a precious day that could have been have been far more productive in Dekarium on merely uncovering that these outsiders were allies to nothing but madness, however, that was lamentable.
Needless to say, the mercenary's comments hardly constituted rain to arid soil.
"Making allies is not the same as making friends, Hax. An alliance is founded on mutual profit. A friendship is... well, it's not helped by opening inter-dimensional thoroughfares in your chum's outhouse."
True to the half-jocular reply though, the wizard wasn't angry. Annoyed, yes, but not truly irate. His rational mind was too preoccupied weighing those benefits this trek had resulted in, however unintentional. He had prevented a crummy fey village from metastasizing into a full-blown colony right within the nation's heartland. He had procured a powerful artifact, if one without clear purpose to him. He had gotten some minor articles of curiosity. And crucially, he had ridden himself of the traitor in their midst, sooner better than later, and a decade-long chattering migraine: the odious imp.
All in all, an acceptable result even if losing the kerak's cooperation was a blow to his final scheme for Dekarium. Still, he would manage.
"Come along," the diabolist said in turning back to the ruins. "We can rest for tonight in the gate chamber. Everything here seems to avoid the ruins - we shouldn't be disturbed."
"You don't have chums, Novox." Hax says, shrugging, "I'm surprised you even know the word. That said, I'm not going to complain that you gave them the cold shoulder. However, do we have to worry about a bloody elk sneaking up on us in the middle of the night?"
The gate chamber is an unpleasant place to get a night's sleep. Even apart from the moldering bones, the night chills creeping down the stairs and the overpowering sense of palanar weirdness....the floor was very hard stone.
Still, it isn't as if he and Hax hadn't camped for days alongside the road after the ship had sank. The gladiator quickly unrolled the various bedrolls and blankets, creating a small would-be campsite. They briefly discuss fire, but decide it is too late anyway. The atheist acts casual but Novox notes him glancing toward the black arch a few times, with unease. The wizard suppresses a smirk.
Belle, by virtue of not needing sleep, agrees to keep watch.
The night passes quietly although Novox's dreams are troubled, filled with figures just on the edge of sight and of clutching hands reaching for his robes. Never quite catching him, but just on the edge of-
"Blazing sands, that is creepy."
Novox awakes to find Hax already up and about, staring at Belle. The devil, still in the guise of a big cat, is lying at east in a nest of human bones, clearly gathered from the fallen Hellknights. The feline purrs and stretches luxuriously, even yawning. Bright green eyes fix on Hax, unblinking.
The weathered man curses again before turning away, fiddling with the blankets.
'Did you sleep well, master?' The imp says in Novox's mind, and the wizard catches a glimpse of his dreams. The bond carried his troubled rest all too clearly to his newest servant.
No. No, Novox had not slept particularly well, a fact he communicated to his oh-so-considerate familiar through a dark scowl, no telepathy necessary. The devil's civility, feigned or otherwise, was getting on his nerves. At least her predecessor (may his name never be spoken again) made no secret of his vile nature, only girding his evil with a baser layer of depravity. It had made him so much easier to dismiss. And perhaps, the wizard noted, that had been the intent. This Beloreth was in all likelihood playing a similar, if more surreptitious, game, and he was not entirely at ease with her yet.
But that wasn't why he had slept so poorly. Nor was the ungodly location, resting on the bone riddled battleground of an ancient legion gone mad, to blame although it certainly didn't help. No, Narsus Novox was nothing if not a practical man; Narsus Novox did not get the 'heebies' or indeed the 'jeebies'. Something was bothering him. Some strange inkling of a thought was thrumming away inside his magnificent mind-palace, banging on the cedar wood and demanding his attention. These errant inclinations were not common for the Egorian, but given the absolute confidence he had in his own genius, he typically heeded them. His subconscious brilliance was brewing on something, something near and present. He needed to know what.
Narrowing his terrifyingly astute eyes, his gaze somehow landed on the portal. The portal? Was there something there he'd missed? Was...? Why yes, he suddenly realized. There was something he had failed to notice in waking up: his vision was restored. Even all the way across the chamber from him as it was, the foreboding gateway stood out to the diabolist with perfect clarity, inky black void and all. The ijiraq's curse, which he had feared to be permanent, had apparently passed. Huzzah! This made consulting his pet cleric redundant, and the less he saw of that pitiful creature, the better. It would also make reexamining the portal that much simpler. And it was with this in mind that the wizard approached the bound tear in reality, ignoring the packaging Hax. He put a hand to his chin in thought. A soft scraping followed, fingers catching on stubble. Hm. Why not do a bit of multitasking?
"How are you with a straight razor?" he asked the great cat shadowing him.
A leonine grin followed. "Would you believe that I've practiced?"
Novox chose not to ruminate on what razor blade handling a devil could practice in Hell.
----------
"Could you please turn just slightly to the left...? Thank you, Master. And might I say that is a very handsome jawline."
The imp looked just slightly ridiculous standing on her master's shoulder holding a knifed implement almost as tall as herself, almost like a little grim reaper with her scythe. Nevertheless, she wielded it with uncommon grace in shearing the Egorian to picture perfection. Apparently grooming really was a skill set she had practiced in anticipation of this assignment. Not that Novox was particularly appreciative of this fact at the moment. Sitting before the portal and studying its magic, he was so engrossed that he might not have noticed the devil slitting his throat. He had figured it out. It had gone unnoticed by his conscious mind in his initial examination of the gateway, but now it was all clear to him. Hells below, the construction was even more brilliant than at first sight. In reassessing the conjuration bound to the onyx arch like so much light trapped within a prism, he had first been confounded. For what he had initially thought to be an extreme example of known arcane principles, tried & tested, was not that at all. That was what had been eating away at his genius, that the portal's construction was hiding some great leap forward in magical theory. And now he had found it. Nazrah's Fifth Theorem on Ether-bridging. It had never been proven, much less put into practice. Yet here it was, acting as the foundation of the spellwork powering the gate. Magnificent.
And now his. Soap lather was displaced beneath the smirk. Yes, of course it was magnificent. Who but a true Chelishman could have devised such a fantastic construction? The Order of the Vice really had been a credit to the nation. And now he could carry their knowledge forward, because he already saw ways to use this hitherto purely hypothetical arcane theory to modify his own conjurations. Yes, this represented a massive leap forward in his power! Tremble, all traitors, purists and freaks. Narsus Novox could not be...
"So are we married to the goatee?"
Belle's suspiciously timely interruption coincided some gentle taps with the blade against the Egorian's elegant, not to mention supremely chic, facial hair.
"Oh, don't misunderstand, Master. It is a very attractive example of its kind. It's just a bit..." A theatrical pause followed, the imp searching for the softest - most condescending - term possible. "...jejune among diabolists?"
Hax looked up and snorted, "Can't you just....magic off the beard?" Glancing more directly at belle, "He made the last one shave him too. I think it is some weird form of dominance." The man shrugged, "I'll meet you outside, away from that weird arch."
The man pads up the stairs with the natural stealth and grace of a born warrior. Or more so? Something about the atheist tugged on Novox's mind. What was it?
Shaking his head, the wizard gathered up his few items and follows. Behind him, Belle shakes her head at her master's foolish follicle follies. With a shake the sinuous cat shifts shape, effortlessly becoming a gleaming raven. The bird spirals up out of the dark cavern and into the bright morning sky with a few wing beats. Despite being the exact same type of bird, Novox thinks his newest imp has a bit more...grace and style then Bill ever did. Not a feather out of place.
The trip back to Dekarium passes without incident, at least as far as Novox can tell. The day was cloudy but pleasantly warm, and did not make the wizard sweat too much. The road was clearly marked, a narrow farmer's track that dodged the small woodlots that dotted the rolling countryside. The wizard wasn't afraid of the forest of course, but he did have healthy respect for what were likely to be fey strongholds. Late summer wildflowers danced in the day's breeze, throwing a faint scent into the air that tickled at Novox's nose. It was a good sign, pastoral 'beauty' aside, that his senses were functioning properly again.
As before the town is ringed with tents and cabins marking Decius's half siege/half protection of the town. Interestingly, Novox notes more signs of life and movement here then before. Instead of the haphazard slovenly recruits he met last time, now he spots squads of soldiers moving in formation, or practicing drills in the empty pastures. It has an active, martial feel. A dim shadow of a real military force.
No one tries to stop Novox or even speak to him, but he feels more then a few eyes on him.
Passing through the open wooden gates, Novox is once again struck with the overcrowded nature of Dekarium. Whatever rustic charm the village had once held is a mere memory with clogged, dirty alleyways filled with refugees. Children run around stacks of pitiful belongings, or up onto sloping roofs.
"You lived!" A female voice shouts down, and Novox glances up to see Eslih leaning on a second story porch, over looking the street. The tall, well-built woman is leaning on the wooden railing, apparently entirely at ease. She has an apple in her hand, and takes a solid bite.
"I had feared maybe you drowned in the river?" She adds, taking another bite. Novox notes she doesn't spit out the seeds into the street, but carefully places them into a pocket.
What a lovely sight. Overlooking Dekarium from a hillock, Novox considered the pseudo-army at exercise with the recently revivified and perfect eyesight that was his birthright, now once again as flawless as the rest of him. Amateurish as their efforts were, the soldiers were nevertheless putting in a very genuine effort and this was gratifying to see. Clearly his little talk with Decius had borne fruit. This was good. A shame then, that the traitor still had to go. Oh well. This was still a good fine step in whipping these farmhands into shape, an endeavor - he reflected with a dark gaze - that would be completed that much more efficiently once the legion was under his indirect command.
'Ooh. Ominous,' the devil cooed within her master's mind. The wizard ignored her.
These drills would also only aid his final negotiation with Jireen. And on that note, it was high time for that confrontation. Striding forward as if he owned the ground he trod upon, Novox headed into town. Happily, it was not so late that something productive couldn't be accomplished with the day. This in itself was somewhat unexpected; he had almost anticipated a fey attack or two delaying them on the way back. Not having to deal with such hassles had left him time to think on his plan. And admittedly also to grumble about the tasteless philistines that were his companions. Honestly, where did these two boors get off critiquing anyone's facial hair? As if the mercenary knew the first thing about fashion! Why, his beard had been styled by the capital's foremost barber. The imp should feel honored to simply maintain it...!
These petty thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice from on high. The emergence of the guild mistress saw the Egorian stop to greet his hated enemy, just as civilized acquaintances might upon meeting each other on the street. There was no gain in confronting her here, after all, nor in letting her in on his intentions.
"Come now, Ms Eslih." he said good-humoredly, gracing the woman with his most practiced and convivial smile. "If a sea serpent couldn't drown me, then a little boating on the river should prove manageable."
So she already knew about his river excursion, huh? Of course she did. "Though your concern is noted and appreciated."
'Do you know, Master,' Belle sounded once more, 'Now that I see her in person, I stand by my earlier assessment: very pretty.'
'Your predecessor played these games, imp. Don't think th...'
'I suspect her screams will be more beautiful still.'
1st - Grease, Heightened Awareness, Infernal Healing, Shocking Grasp, True Strike, Windy Escape + Mage Armor (x)
2nd - Bull's Strength, Create Pit, Mirror Image, Invisibility, See Invisibility + Web
3rd - Dispel Magic, Fly, Fireball + Stinking Cloud
4th - Summon Monster IV x3
Novox peers up at the rather imposing looking woman. What was her game here? Was it merely simple taunting or...ah. Of course. She wanted to know where he had been. He and Hax had been gone for nearly a day, a fact that could hardly go unnoticed in such a small town. What did the druid fear, Novox wondered. A pact with Decius? Did she guess at some fey connection? Or did she suspect he had other allies outside of town? Decius had thought so, after all. Curious.
"Of course." Eslih said, taking another bite. Novox notes a few others are watching, silent men and women with hard eyes and callused hands. Fellow fishermen? A small honor guard for the druid.
"These are dangerous times for a hiking trip into the fields, Master Novox." The woman says, "Even for such a well connected man as yourself. Next time, you should ask for a guide. There are any number of children in town who could protect you." A small ripple of laughter from the on-lookers.
The druid shrugs, adding casually, "Shame you weren't in town last night, master wizard. You missed some excitement. Maybe if you hurry, you can catch the epilogue at the Mayor's house." Without a further word she turned and vanished into the upper story of the house. The street shambles back into motion around Novox and Hax.
"Next time, you should ask for a guide. There are any number of children in town who could protect you." A small ripple of laughter from the on-lookers.
"No thank you. I would never put the nation's future at risk."
Practiced orator that he was, Novox was well aware that nothing countered irony as effectively as the earnest truth. And his swift reply was indeed delivered as nakedly as a newborn infant, as wholesome as morning milk, no pretensions attached. Eslih was gravely mistaken if she thought to shame the Egorian, as this outsider - this man who had publicly risked his life for the common people, he who had never spoken for anything but a unified, better Cheliax - let her derision run of his good intentions like water off a duck's back. You could not deride the blameless. This was all that she and her thugs saw reflected in the assured gaze: unimpeachable conviction. That, and the selfsame shame turned onto themselves.
'I'm impressed, Master,' the devil cooed into the wizard's head.
'You will speak when spoken to, imp. And talking down half-wits like this one is hardly...'
'Not that. Your blame. I languish comfortably - very comfortably at that, sir - within your mind and feel all that you feel. And it's true: you're blameless. I've been told that peace visits not the guilty mind, but you - You can look this woman in the eye and wax saccharine about the children of all things after having actually killed an adolescent here. And I feel nothing from you. Nothing but righteous conviction. You really don't feel a shred of guilt.' An intimate weight, like a cat luxuriously stretching out in one's lap, spread itself over Novox's brain matter. 'I'm in awe of you. Truly.'
Huh. So that was her game. The diabolist was starting to see it, the imp's strategy, her game-plan, her approach for his infernal downfall. It was becoming clearer. Where her predecessor had tried to tear down, she was building. Where that odious little fool had rent its claws against the iron-wrought castle that was Narsus Novox's mind, Beloreth was adding bricks onto the parapets and reinforcing the walls. Knowing where her forerunner had failed, she didn't intend to demolish the palace: she meant to have it collapse under its own weight. She was stoking his hubris, hoping for him to overreach and doom himself. Given his well established confidence, it was almost clever.
Almost. There was a major flaw with this stratagem. Namely that he was Narsus Novox and he did not fail. Overreach? Pah, there was nothing beyond his reach! He was humanity's savior, the greatest man to walk this earth since Aroden. How typical of a devil to underestimate him. But he would show them. He would show them all. Oh ye of little faith.
Because that had to be it, right? It couldn't be that the fiend was being genuine. Right?
A question for another time. For now the guild mistress's cryptic words required his immediate attention. "Thank you for informing me, Ms Eslih," he continued in the same perfectly courteous tone, countering her venom. "And if you still wish to know my whereabouts, do not hesitate to ask. As I promised, I am and remain at Dekarium's service."
The cape fluttered at the diabolist's heels as he set out for the mayoral manor.
Dekarium is not a very large town, despite how it has dominated Novox's life over the last few days. So it doesn't take long for the trio to find the Mayoral Palace. It is still the same sweeping wooden building, with wide porch bordered by blooming flowers. This time, however, there is no gardener to harass or instruct. Interestingly, the wizard notes his suggestions seem to have been followed by the staff. The Larkspur is doing quite nicely, actually.
There is no guard or other staff, so Novox and Hax climb the wooden steps and enter into the Mayor's home. The foyer room is dark and cool, the air humid with dozens of plants. But it is not empty however. Sitting, rather awkwardly, on a wooden chair is a lumpish man with the thick brow and callused hands of a farmer. He glances up at Novox, recognition flashing in his eyes.
While the husky man says nothing, the wizard reads him like a book. The man is angry, both at whatever drove him to the Mayor's office and, interestingly at Novox himself. The Chelishman didn't recognize this peasant, so why the hostilty?
Meanwhile from down the hall, where Jireen's office stood, voices float through the air. No need to send his imp spying this time.
"What if it had spread, hmm?" A woman voice says, obviously the Mayor's. "What then? Can you imagine.."
"I wouldn't let it!"/b] A younger voice says, girlish but strident. [b]"I can cast-"
The slam of a hand on a wooden table cuts her off, "Erastil's eyes, child! You think your petty little magic tricks will help? You caught a building on fire, and a temple at that! A little graffiti is one thing, but this is going too far!" A pause, and then, softer, "If this happened before the war, I'd have had to hang you."
A soft gasp and then Jireen goes on, "Yes, I am serious. Even now, It is going to be hard to protect you. Oh, do stop crying, it is very distracting."
Oh, for Hell's sake. Now what? Eavesdropping was a strong word for listening in on whatever circus was performing in the mayor's office, but Novox's brow only sank with every clown hoot and elephant toot that blared their way. Graffiti? A fire? Temple? The adroit mind immediately leapt to an hypothesis if not a conclusion, and my oh my, was it a frustrating one: some cult hooligan, no doubt cut from the same cloth as that Greentongue brat, had burnt down the local Asmodean temple.
'Master? While your ability to channel all the menace of a charging army through your mien is indeed impressive, I would be remiss in my duties if I did not remind you that going into negotiations looking ready to tear someone's head off rarely facilitates good relations. ...Even if I'd rather enjoy seeing those long fingers wrapped around a slender neck.'
The Egorian let out a sigh that could end worlds. It wasn't so much the temple. It wasn't even the potential death of that pathetic tiefling that bothered him, even if the cleric had been a nominal servant to him. Of course not - Narsus Novox had nothing but scorn for the God-Fiend and all its obsequious lackeys. No, it was the political fallout that weighed on him. And tellingly, it was the reaction from Dekarium that was the most troubling. Listening to Jireen now it was obvious that she feared the retaliation from what remained of the old guard. Which was now him in her eyes. This would likely be the default assumption of all local players, steeped in their prejudice as they were, and they would grow more wary of him still. Of course they would. Because despite the wizard offering them nothing but cooperation, no one listened to him in this damn town. More paranoid than any capital schemer, the hypocritical lot of them. Honestly, if this ended with him murdering them all, they had no one to blame but themselves.
Oh well. He'd largely given up on ending this amicably anyway. Oderint dum metuant, as that ancient emperor has said. And yet - the diabolist was not so affected as to fall on what were possibly false assumptions. He was far too clever for that. This roughshod gentleman sitting here eyeing him evilly for example, how did he fit into all of this?
Not inclined go into the mayor ignorant, not to mention blessedly indifferent to this man's opinion, he simply approached him.
"That's a wicked grievance you have glinting behind your eyes, farmer," the noble Egorian said, bearing dignifies and gaze - as Belle said - terrible as an army under banners. "But an unspoken accusation is as a boil on your foot: no one else takes notice and it merely keeps you up at night. Come now. Chelishmen are not known for holding our tongues. Timidness is never rewarded. I will hear what you have to say."
How strange a creature was man. A dog would snap and snarl yes, but it would do so regardless of its own ends and desires. Only man would seek to hide their inner hate....even if poorly.
The heavy shouldered man looks away sharply when Novox speaks to him directly, his face going white, washing out the red.
"Uh...uh, nothing, Master Wizard, sir. Nothing at all."
The man was one of the worst liars Novox had ever seen, he was practically shaking at Novox's glare. Was Novox really all that frightening? Yes, some Chelish nobles had a shudder-worthy reputation, and few withheld the whip from slaves but an average farmer or tradesman?
'He rightly fears your mere presence, master.' Belle sounded in his mind, voice as soft as clouds.
The door in the hallway creaked open, and soon a chastened looking young woman entered the waiting room, followed by a harried looking Jireen. The Mayor stopped short at seeing Novox, obviously surprised but doing her best to hide it. She nodded politely but turned to the man and woman.
"I give you back into your father's keeping, Titin. But you are not out of the woods yet, this is only putting off your punishment. What you did was very wrong, and against the spirit of peace we are trying to keep in our town. I am deeply disappointed in you." She turned to the farmer, "And also in you, Piet. I would have thought your own daughter would have known better, then to do such things. It'll be remembered in town."
With that dire warning, she gestured and both fled (the farmer sparing one hasty glance at Novox).
The Mayor of Dekarium favored Novox with a weary smile, "So, I see you did not simply vanish into the wilds without a goodbye, as some rumors had it. All is well? If you need any assistance, it is of course mine to give any agent of the crown. Shall we retire to my office? Do you, or your man, require refreshment?"
She did give Belle a longer look then Novox thought necessary, but said nothing about the bird.
So. Just the guardian of this hooligan. And the instigator, unwitting or otherwise, of her rebellious proclivities, no doubt, judging by his animosity towards a servant of the crown. Irrelevant. Just another symptom of the disease that laid at the heart of Dekarium. Novox spared no more of his valuable time on this irrelevant pair as they hastily retreated the manor - not with the chief malady in charge now before him. Lalita Jireen. This was it. This was where the good mayor's fate was decided. The doctor was in.
"None of your other headaches have been so kind as to disappear on their own, Madam Mayor. Why would I?"
It wasn't a castigation, not exactly. It was an acknowledgement. As in their previous interactions, the Egorian was defying the role forced onto him by the township, countering her polished and polite game of pretend with candor, civil but direct - a hammer draped in silk. Among Novox's many guidelines for social warfare was this: that to engage an opponent by their rules was to admit defeat before the game had started. He would not adopt the persona she demanded of him. Why shouldn't he acknowledge how she truly viewed him, what their relation amounted to? How were they to accomplish anything if they could address the proverbial elephant? They could be civil, yes, but why pretend?
This was the image bearing down on the half-elf, that of a stark mountain peak, severe and inviolate, blunt as the black rock - as impossible to adorn as it was to ignore.
"In fact, I dare say you'll find me more stubborn than your other troubles. Which is why I'm here. In defying your unspoken directive, I have found a resolution to said problems."
Eager as he was to enact his master plan, there was something he needed to hear first, however. "Yes, I think it best we retire to your office. Unless of course there is something you would like to tell me regarding your last visitors?"
Would Jireen truly be so foolish, so dead set against their cooperation, as to not tell him had the Asmodean temple really been burned down? Because if so... well, then he had no choice but to cut out this cancer.
Mayor Lalita Jireen shook her head, "You are no headache, Master Novox. I am eager to serve the crown, as I have always said. Peace, order and things have they always have been. That is my goal."
She raises an eyebrow at Novox's claim to have found a resolution. "And what problem would they be?"
When the wizard mentions the latest visitors, the Mayor become cold and reserved, as if trying to hide something. "The only thing I wish to say is that justice will be meted out, in accordance with both the law and custom, I assure you of that. There is no need for you to take an active hand, Master Novox. That and give you my full apology. It is my fault, not the girl's."
Really? Was she really trying to lie, directly to his face even after he literally just saw them leave her office? How bad was it...
Then the wizard got a better look at her face, at the tightness of her eyes. Oh. She wasn't hiding information because she wished to fool him. No, the Mayor already thought he knew what the problem was. His reputation apparently included literal omniscience. Was she worried Novox would fly into a rage and flay the young arsonist alive? Tedious perhaps, but perhaps not an obstacle to working together?
A sigh escaped the perfectly straight nose. Even so, it wasn't a huff born of frustration exactly - more so the patient lament of a tested father. And intentionally so of Novox. If his gut instinct that the mayor was not intentionally obstructing him, as had been his fear, held true, then he did not mind giving the woman another chance to see his way. Or fall into his trap, whatever the case. She was his favored choice to lead Dekarium through the war, after all. He would prefer not having to oust her, violently or otherwise. A deliberate crack emerged in the Egorian's stolid expression, something milder peeking through.
"Ms Jireen, I have been known to voice a certain admiration for our storied race," he said, addressing the issue of her visitors (even as this assertion drew a jeer from the ghost of Bilbastis the Imp, still haunting the halls of his mind palace, something his replacement took note of, damnably). "As such I am not wont to reach for that surreptitiously self-denigrating phrase, 'I am only human'. And yet." Any allusion to the object of his steady gaze being less than entirely human herself was notably absent. "I have only just returned to your fair city scant minutes ago. While the good Ms Eslih hailed me and hinted at events in my absence, she was less than forthcoming. Flattered that I am that you think me so well informed, I chose to consult you before the townspeople or indeed my own divinations. I am not threatening your citizens; I am asking you: what has happened?"
A little humility demonstrated, some furtive flattery delivered, and perhaps the planting of an idea within the half-elf, namely that of this capital agent not being entirely infallible. Her underestimating him could only be to his own benefit at any rate. Novox wanted to broach the topic he had really come here for. But knowing whatever this was they wanted hidden from him had to come first.
Jireen looks surprised for a moment, as flustered as Novox has seen the woman. "I am sorry, I just assumed, I mean..." She caught herself, took a breath and nodded. "Of course, my apologies, Master Novox."
"As you are no doubt aware, there are some tensions in our community. Between the war, the refugees and...well, long standing cultural divides, things have been difficult. Some people, doubly so are younger folk, have taken to expressing themselves in untoward ways. Poorly coping with the stress, you might say. Most of it has been trivial, graffiti and the like."
A flash of memory crosses Novox's mind, of a young lad blasted to pieces outside his tavern door. As if seeing the same sight, the Mayor nods, "I know you have had your own interaction with it."
"Anyway, things escalated last night. That young woman you just saw caught the local Asmodeon temple on fire. Nothing magical or alchemical, thank the gods, just old-fashioned pitch. Still, the temple is quite old and a good deal of it burned before we were able to get a hold of it. The priest was badly burned by Eslih saved his life. She went in, even as the building was blazing, to save him." Something passed over her face but vanished.
"Anyway, thankfully there was no loss of life. Still, I understand the context of the crime. It was an act directed, in some vague way, against the Church. I know that the throne looks poorly on such actions."
Novox knows full well that such crimes would be punished by death, no question. It isn't even really within the Mayor's power to pardon it, if one followed the law to the letter. Only a royal official, or one granted such power, could do it. Unless such a person appeared, Jireen's hands were tied, if she followed the law.
The Mayor shook her head sadly, "Regrettable. The burdens of command. But you said you had some solution? You are not here to manage my worries, I am sure."
"Still, I understand the context of the crime. It was an act directed, in some vague way, against the Church. I know that the throne looks poorly on such actions."
"It did, by necessity. Then the Archfiend whisked away all but one member of the royal family." There was a glint in the dark eyes, a subdued yet sparkling little reflection of something secretive and confidential. "You may find, Madam Mayor, that the working relationship between state and the Asmodean church has cooled significantly."
Fraught with animosity as the almost forced alliance between House Thrune and the devil worshipers had been, Novox was perfectly aware that what he was suggesting here would have been considered mutinous only some months ago - if spoken in public, that is. Backstairs whispers against the church were nothing if not common. Schemer that he was, however, he was used to choosing his words carefully, and what he wanted the half-elf to take away from them was hope; hope that the alliance with Egorian might not just maintain Dekarium's precarious position as a quiet little oasis of freedom within greater Cheliax, but even lead to something better.
"These are new times, Ms Jireen, a sentiment I haven't shied from voicing. The true tragedy in what you describe is that the 'tensions' over said 'long standing cultural divides' may be unfounded." The steady gaze never left its target's. "Still, I understand that public sentiment is rarely turned overnight. I remain hopeful nevertheless, for aide that I am I recognize that there is no counselor like time. These agitators will see their mistakes given time, just as their rebellious counterparts around the nation will do so too. I just wish they do so before it is too late."
The implication that the mayor could not hope to ride out this war, that she too would have to make a choice - for her own sake as well as the country's - was hopefully not too unclear. Issuing ultimatums without threatening their recipient could be tricky. "I am happy to hear of the priest's safety, however, wretched creature that he is; we spoke briefly. I will have to thank Ms Eslih. That said..." Here a sharper note entered the regal cadence, a thin violin underscoring the orchestra. "These 'tensions' as you call them is precisely one of the problems I speak of. Because far from being the spontaneous acts of hotheads as you wish to portray them, they are coordinated attacks, incited and directed. Your youths are being corrupted. Please," he went on before she could protest, "do not deny it. I have seen their headquarters. I have watched them. Attest ignorance now and I will be disappointed in more ways than one."
At least three, in fact. Pleading ignorance to, or even playing down, the cult when confronted directly with it like so would indicate a catastrophic unwillingness to cooperate with the crown, at any cost. More distressingly, a genuine ignorance of what was happening in her town would be more upsetting still, negating any reason for the wizard to cooperate with her in first place. He wanted her loyalty because he believed her the most capable candidate to lead Dekarium through the war, after all. If she proved him wrong now, well... Congratulations, Decius. A vacancy might have just opened.
Even so, he knew that pressuring her like this was risky. The woman hadn't responded well to his candor during their first meeting, although this might have in part been due to a certain guild mistress sitting in on that occasion. And yet he moved on, insistent and unforgiving as an encroaching glacier. If they could not address this, then all was for naught. "I don't believe you to be a fool, Madam Mayor. A radicalized populace threatens the uneasy peace you have established with the capital, everything you have worked for. It threatens to doom the entire city, now more so than ever. Like with the temple, you know that this is a fire that must be extinguished now, before it consumes all. No, I was not sent here to 'manage your worries', but I will repeat what I said last: that if you are a friend to the crown, then I am your ally. I will not beg to let me aid you, but I reiterate that I am here to bring you into the fold by whatever means necessary. My mission is to help you and your township however possible. Whatever it takes to keep you loyal would be my assignment and duty. If you will not trust Egorian, then at least trust this: that the cult does not serve either of our agendas."
The diabolist drew himself up to his full and not inconsiderable height. "If you will not trust me, then at least do as our best military commanders have in the past and pit your troubles against each other. Tell me what you know, and let me destroy this cult."
Chaos and disruptions could reveal a person's character better then anything else. Keep things the same, events happening in the same old rut and people got used to it. Reacted in the same way, just rolling through the motions. But change something, alter something they thought was fundamental, their very foundations....
Some reacted with violence, raging against a system out of control. Others became terrified while others became greedy, seeking their own gain out of chaos.
Having, with a few words, thrown centuries of Chelish law onto the ashbin of history, Novox watched the Mayor's face to see how she reacted.
And he saw...hope. Surprised hope, but aspiration nonetheless. Whatever he had said, it was like water in the desert to a thirsting man. her shoulders rose slightly, her face clearing. Lalita Jireen relaxed.
She glanced around at the plant strewn waiting room and said shortly, "Let us retreat to my office. This is not talk for a foyer." She paused, glancing at Hax, "Your man, he can keep a secret?"
"I always close and lock my door before having a private meeting, if that is what you mean." Hax rumbled.
Jireen flushed but nodded, "Fair enough. Perhaps I have grown a bit too lax myself. Come."
Without a further word she leads them into her office, which is the same wood-paneled room it had been a few days ago on the wizard's last visit. Plants crowd the windows, and her desk is clean and free of papers. The Mayor busies herself in a Cabinet for a few moments, pulling out a kettle of tea.
The woman starts to pour out the cold liquid, then starts to speak.
"New times, indeed." She says, echoing Novox's statement. "I have to confess, I never thought I would hear an agent of the Crown openly suggesting, well, suggesting that."
She hands Novox a small delicate cup. "But first, we need to discuss your terminology. You say 'destroy this cult'. What does that mean, exactly? Fire and the sword, over what god to worship? Would you take the pillars of this community and scourge them?"
With her hand only slightly shaking she pours herself a cup of tea and takes her seat, across the desk. "Do you think that would bring us into the Imperial fold?"
Oh sweet human connection. No shipwrecked sailor shouting into the void had ever experienced such pleasure at hearing someone answer their call as Novox felt upon the mayor finally acknowledging his words. Up until now talking to the half-elf had been akin to addressing a wall, every polite rebuff another barrier, every mollifying gesture a fence. She had been keeping him at bay, humoring him, up until now, a position that - ironically - made claiming Dekarium through anything other than fire untenable. Which was why it was so very gratifying to see those walls sink behind the dark eyes. Progress.
'Congratulations, Master,' the imp cooed within his mind. 'Your eloquence is sharper than any blade and will surely win you more battles than a weapon ever could. Why, it almost rivals the most silver-tongued of devilkind. I assure you that Hell is proud at how you emulate our...'
'Shut up, imp,' the conjurer grumbled, wise to what she was playing at and feelining the fiendish grin with which she mocked him. Assuring the mayor that everything said was under the strictest diplomatic confidentiality, he followed her into the office.
"The capital is home to a great deal more diverse perspectives than you may suspect, Ms Jireen," the Egorian replied to the disbelief, seating himself in the most dignified chair the space had to offer. Excepting the mayoral seat, of course. "All of which are daring to be tested now in this period of unrest. I was quite serious in expressing that it is my wish to not just restore the nation, but to remake it into something greater still."
Long fingers gingerly accepted the delicate porcelain. "Given what befell House Thrune, the idea that devil worship aids that vision has - understandably - soured somewhat." Now if only this local delicacy hadn't similarly soured in its fermentation, he hoped in bringing the alien brew up to his nose.
"But first, we need to discuss your terminology. You say 'destroy this cult'. What does that mean, exactly? Fire and the sword, over what god to worship? Would you take the pillars of this community and scourge them?"
A keen gaze probed the half-elf's. "Pillar of the community? Madam Mayor, it was my hope that you hadn't let this sect grow to that extent. You know that peace can only be found through compromise -" (Or more efficiently the complete destruction of one's opponents and their progeny) "- and that extremists can never abide compromise. This cult has to go."
Interesting. Was Jireen referring less so to an institution and more so an individual, he wondered? While having no confirmation that the good Morgana Greentongue led the faith, he did know that she had some affiliation with the warehouse via learning her spellwork. This coupled with the mask found in her neglected home was undeniably damning. "That said, I am eager to end this without bloodshed if possible. Aspex the Even-Tongued won a war and founded our nation without fighting a single battle, and he is what every diplomat should aspire to. It is a far greater victory to make one's enemy see through your eyes than to close theirs forever."
'Ooh, poetic. I stand by my earlier assessment and...'
'Shut up, imp.'
"Moreover," he went on, just a bit more carefully. The mayor might not appreciate this thought, but it was a topic that needed to be broached. "A capital negotiator laying waste to this sect would only confirm your township's biases against greater Cheliax. It would not help in fostering good relations. Which is why I am considering having a third party do so." The diabolist lent forward in his seat. "Decius has expressed some interest in the task."
Yes, the traitor had hinted at burning down the cult headquarter and more in their little man-to-superior-man earlier. Would he and his band do away with the group in exchange for a more official role in Dekarium? Novox was sure he could be convincing. Of course, he also knew that the half-elf might not be overly receptive to this idea for more reason than one, her unwillingness to cooperate with the commander in the past speaking for itself. And so it was that he cut the mayor off before she could protest. "Do note that I spoke of problems in the plural earlier, Ms Jireen. The sect is not your only issue. It is imperative that we address Decius. And I may have found a way to ensure his loyalty."
Somewhere deep within the wizard's prodigious mind-palace, Beloreth the imp came upon her master's intentions for the good commander. The plan had her giddy.
"Greater still..." The woman echoes softly, doubt and a bit of confusion in her voice. This did not surprise the wizard for he had found few, if any, who were capable of seeing what he saw.
Her eyes lit up though when he mention ending this without bloodshed, although Jireen tried to hide it. She didn't have a bad card face, but the woman was worn down, tired. Part of her, despite being strong and proud, wanted to just give in and let Novox handle this entire mess. She would never surrender totally, the wizard could see that, but bending a bit?
She purses her lips when he mentions Decius. "The man is a bandit, we both know it. He can wear an old uniform if he wants, but that changes nothing. Before you came, he virtually had the town under siege even if he framed it as 'protection." Her eyes lingered on Novox, "I suppose I should thank you for that, for keeping him at bay. This very well might not be my office right now, if Decius had a free hand over the last few days."
The woman sighed and leaned back, tea forgotten. One hand rested on the wooden table, fingers ever so lightly tapping the stained wood, the hollow tattoo just on the edge of Novox's hearing. Hax stood silently in a corner, clearly understanding this wasn't his type of conversation.
"But I have a hard time seeing how to sqaure the circle of your words, Master Nasus. One on hand you offer the option of no bloodshed, which I confess I am partial to. This is my home after all. And yet on the other, you suggest using a bandit to clean house. I don't see how this are compatible, Master Agent. Please, enlighten me."
Perched on the high back of the chair, the raven leisurely stretched out its black wings, momentarily crowning its master below with a blasphemous subversion of that holiest of crests: a dark halo.
"It isn't. Compatible, that is. Allowing the bandit," - Novox had no reason or desire to correct the mayor's characterization of the man - "to raze the sect should be a last measure. What it is, however, is an engagement largely untraceable to either administration, yours or the capital's. Are you following? Decius is little more than a highwayman to you, a traitor to Egorian, and everyone knows this. Were we to utilize him like so - pitting one problem against another - few would have any reason to suspect us. You would maintain the goodwill of the people, the cult undermining your authority would be gone, and Dekarium would remain secure throughout the war. For this is what you, regrettably and seemingly without other options against the thug, will promise his band in return: to become the city's standing army in an official capacity."
The wizard's voice was remarkably level and calm in suggesting conspiracy, manslaughter and bribes. Not even the surface of the tea rippled in the firm, long-fingered grip. Truly, here was an exemplar of the Egorian schemer, the reveal of which he wondered whether the woman would sneer at, Dekarian that she was. Or if she would find shameful relief in having one such aiding her, hypocrite that all Dekarians were. Regardless, he didn't mind her seeing him like so, a man capable of such plots and yet willing to negotiate. Was the fool to be admired for his bravery in charging headfirst into danger, oblivious to consequence? No, of course not. Bravery lay in knowing and overcoming fear, just as honor was all the more admirable in the cunning.
But Novox was all too aware that what needed overcoming at the moment was the half-elf's aversion to what he had just suggested, namely in Dekarium adopting Decius's band. "You know as well as I, Ms Jireen," he went on, speaking quickly, "that the town needs these 400 men for the foreseeable future. The mayor acknowledging them as Dekarium's first line of defense, answerable to yourself, would be viewed as perfectly understandable in the wake of their destruction of the cult, an admirable attempt to reign them in. And crucially, I meant what I said earlier: I have the means to ensure the good commander's loyalty, to render him wholly committed to your cause." An assured gaze followed. "He would be little more than a puppet."
Too soft. The woman was a decent liar, but she was too soft a politician. The diabolist saw as much now, and this was presumably why she was so hesitant to accept his solution, neat and gift-wrapped as it was. No matter. This dedication to her people was also why he wanted her to lead the town through the civil war. Dekarium would fare best under her leadership. And vile as he was, Narsus Novox wanted every part of Cheliax he touched left the better - stronger - for it. And of course, that same dedication was what would allow him to enslave the good mayor just as he would enslave the traitor. "I realize all too well that this is not the most palatable of solutions, Madam Mayor. But you must recognize that is a solution. Those in positions of power must on occasion make difficult choices. We do not do so lightly. But when duty compels us, we must rise to the occasion."
He leaned back in the chair, this bit of empty sympathy delivered. A little show of compassion could go so very far. "All this said, I am - again - willing to negotiate with the sect. Whosoever controls the youth controls the future. Their corruption of Dekarium's young has to stop. The cult must go. But if I am to bargain with them, I have to know what I can offer them. I need to know everything there is to know about this group. Madam Mayor? I am offering you my help. Are you ready to tell me about them?"
Whatever route he chose - destruction or peace - knowing his enemy could only be an asset.
The Mayor picked up her tea and sipped it, very slowly. Novox got the feeling this woman was drinking his words in just as carefully. Her face revealed little but in his mind Belle whispered, 'She both fears you and is in awe of you. Like jungle primitives worshipping a strange idol they do not understand...Such power...' Her voice practically thrills with the idea of being a god among ants.
Then Jireen coughs and the spell is broken. She sets down the empty cup of tea with a soft click and says words that the wizard hates.
"You do not know of what you speak, Master Narsus."
The woman holds up a hand to forestall a reaction, going on, "I do not blame you, for why should an outsider know of Dekarium. We are a minor town, in a backwater region. It is a sign of desperation that you are even here. I did not intend it as a slight, but merely an observation."
Weariness enters her voice as she looks directly at Novox, her dark green eyes matching his black ones. "What do you know of this 'cult'? I would guess you know a few of the members, perhaps? Guess at their gathering location? I doubt any of their paranoid secrecy would defeat a agent of the Crown, not to mention how outrageous they have become the last few weeks."
"But do you actually know what it is?" Jireen asks lightly. "I suppose many in Erogian would answer, simply 'Rebellion' or 'treason'. But I view it differently."
She stands up suddenly, so sudden Hax reflexively reacts, setting his feet and a hand goes for a knife. The Mayor smiles softly at this and says, "I'm not going to attack you but I wish to move this conversation outside. I wish to show you something. A metaphor, if you will. I promise we will not be overheard."
Novox doesn't really suspect an ambush. Jireen doesn't seem the type, and even so, it would be a poor one. He is no less protected now then he would ever be, with his arcane well full and Hax (armed) at his back. No, he did not suspect knives in the back.
Jireen guides them through the Mayoral home, out a simple back door instead of the sweeping front ones. It leads them into a large garden, a wide green area filled with flower beds, manicured trees and even a small fish pond. Small stone paths lead this way and that through the plant life, elegantly curbing around bushes or trees. Despite being well maintained it has a wild edge to it, as many of the flowers are a bit too bright, the thorns a bit too sharp and the trees just slightly too un-trimmed. Tamed, but undomesticated.
Jireen walks through the garden, obviously at ease here. "What do you know of trees, Master Novox? My grandfather planted much of this garden, when he was Mayor. Long before either of us were born. he had a green thumb, as they say here. Grew the sweetest strawberries I've ever tasted. Some said he made a deal with the fey...Forgive me. I ramble."
She stops besides a gnarled old apple tree, laying a hand on it. "This tree, as you may not tell, is older then the garden. Frankly, it is probably older then the house or the town. A wild apple tree, with some official Azlanti speices name, I am sure."
The tree certainly looked old, with thick wrinkled bark that made gaps big enough to lose a hand in. Heavy roots stuck out of the ground like rippling snakes, making the ground look like an uneven rug. Branches stooped low over them, heavy with green leaves and , hidden among them, very small green apples. Still ripening in the summer sun.
"Look here." Jireen says, pointing up into the tree, where the branches started to thrust out. "See those scars?"
Indeed Novox can see heavy scars around some of the branches, not the oldest and biggest ones, but most of the rest.
"They are graft marks, where younger and sweeter types of apple have been added on, through the years. Every decade or so we add another. This ancient tree, in the fall, will have over a dozen types of apple on it. One tree, old beyond reckoning, yet still changing."
She turns to Novox, "Could you purge the old from the new? If you found the old tree undesirable or even rotten, how could you untangle it? This cult, you call it, I would call it the Old Tree of Dekarium. Centuries of tradition of culture, of belief. It is not some isolated or aberrant branch, to be trimmed off. It is part of the root, stem and branch."
She pauses and then adds quickly, "I am not suggesting we do nothing."
Ah. We. Progress.
"But I am suggesting we can guide it, trim it, perhaps even lead it to something we both want." She touches a low hanging cluster of leaves and then glances at Novox, "What would you be willing to give?"
"Malus domestica."
Neither belligerent nor confrontational, the wizard's quiet remark at Jireen's mention of official binomial nomenclature was merely an affirmation that, yes, he really was that learned. If these were the roles the mayor wanted them to play, she the rural sage, he the educated urbanite, then Novox was game. Flaunting his genius was a quaternary concern at most. And so he listened. Standing in the near-wilderness with his hands at his back and looking inordinately out of place, image of the civilized man that he was, he listened as the half-elf presented her 'metaphor' as she had put it. And though incongruous as a Corinthian column in a jungle, he thoughtfully eyed his wooden cousin throughout, both pillars silent and attentive at the homily.
Until finally:
"...And Malus sieversii. And Malus orientalis. Malus floribunda. Malus sylvestris. Malus crescimannoi. At least six different species of the same genus joined together as one." The outsider's voice, usually so forceful in its own conviction, now bore a pensive stillness. The noble face was equally inscrutable. A pause, pregnant with something heavy and unknowable - of the sort a forest predator might choose to stalk out of the foliage - passed. "Do you know," he continued, cadence now as confident as ever, "I'm not overly fond of poetry in my politics." None but his own. "Even so I see and recognize the moral of your fable, Ms Jireen, valid as it is. Thank you. I understand. But I wonder if I can present you a metaphor in return. Because where you look upon this farrago of a tree and see Dekarium, its legacy passed on from one generation to the next, I see something... more."
There it was, that fire that blazed behind the man's eyes, the fire that could only either fuel humanity into its next stage or burn away all that it was. "I see Cheliax. One great tree, its many branches touching the corners of the globe, old but not decaying. No, never decaying. Like your tree it is merely in the burgoing spring of its cycle; it will weather the storm, a fleeting thing - as all rebellions must be - to bloom once more. Like your tree it can never die so long as it is tended by its caretakers, its truest patriots. It is not immortal. But as in all great things, it carries immortality within its heart. It will never stop growing, never stop its progress, never halt - grafts and all. For much like this apple tree, our nation is composed of differing parts. Differing, but not opposed." The scorching gaze fell onto the half-elf. "Are you following my fable, Madam Mayor? Different species of the same genus coming together as one, in one purpose. Egorian, Dekarium, Everpine even... Their differences are as the differing hues of the tree's blossoms: utterly inconsequential so long as they - we - can join together in one purpose - so long as we all belong, proudly, to that same genus: Cheliax."
For a moment the garden took on that weighty stillness usually reserved for cathedrals immediately upon the preacher finishing their sermon. For what was Narsus Novox if not a priest to his own religion? But the ceremony faded from his demeanor as he went on, in a lighter tone: "What I'm saying is that I don't care about the cult, Ms Jireen. Its doctrine, its dogma, its baptism through covering oneself in tree sap and rolling around in foliage or whatever it is nature worshipers do. None of that matters to me. Nor does it matter to my superiors, 'desperate' as you characterize them. ...Even if I might have opted for 'struggling'. All that matters is whether the sect can serve the new Cheliax." Grass rustled as he took a few long steps towards the woman. "Everything I have seen up til now indicates that it cannot, that its adherents openly indoctrinate their young against the nation. Do not ask me what I will do for them when all I can contemplate is what I am forced to do to them. I fear that your imagery of 'trimming' the faith to suit our ends is where your metaphor breaks, Madam Mayor. For unless I misunderstand, what you are suggesting is an inter-generational reeducation, an effort that would require time we do not have. War is here, now. If you have a snake in your garden, it needs to be dealt with promptly."
It was true. While the wizard was more or less genuine in his sentiment of building a diverse Cheliax - so long as said Chelishmen could agree on such key points as imperialism, colonial expansionism and the occasional racial subjugation - what Jireen suggested wasn't tenable. If Egorian and Dekarium were to join forces, then having these incendiary troublemakers with a stranglehold on the latter's culture working against you throughout made any cooperation a futile effort. Dekarium had months at best, not years, before their loyalty stood to be tested at the point of some faction's sword. If any culture shift was to take place, it would be after the war and preferably at Novox's own ministration to slowly turn the backwater hamlet to his own line of thought. Besides:
"Moreover, it is self-defeating to enter any negotiation with the aim to please these people. It is to concede defeat and grant them victory before a word has been shared. No negotiation has ever been won like so. Worse still," the proud brow wrinkled, "it is unseemly. You are the supreme official of this city, a Chelish city. Never allow yourself to appear weak."
Harsh advice or chastisement? Whatever the case Novox went on with a sigh: "I am willing to grant them the freedom to practice their faith, unhindered by the crown. But you, Ms Jireen, need to convince me why they deserve such a privilege. Why does this sect deserve to be part of the tree rather than cut off like the rotten branch I think it to be?"
Novox was not a frequenter of taprooms or taverns, or even of the more elegant drawing rooms frequented by the elite. The wizard viewed them as tools, to be used only as needed. Such frivolous recreation was, quite frankly, a crime against humanity. His destiny required his full attention. None the less, Novox had once met an old rake at a bar who named himself a 'professional gamester'. While obviously a liar and reprobate, he had said something that had stuck in the young wizard mind, filed away in that vast, glittering library of knowledge and wisdom.
He said, it wasn't the first bet or bluff that told you about a man or his cards. It was the last bet that revealed all.
Jireen's mask finally, finally cracked. For the first time since Novox had met her the cold guard around her face falls away and become as easy to read as ink on parchment. Hope is mingled with fear, concern warring with trust. Over all is a thick patina of desperation, of the feeling that a wild storm is about to break out. Novox gets the sudden image of a man sitting in front of a leaking dike, busily doing minor repairs even as the tide comes in, knowing their efforts will fail.
Curiously Novox also detects another emotion. Betrayal. But not of Novox but of...something else. The wizard might not think much of the Mayor, judging her too weak and slaved to tradition (although such failures are common in hidebound Cheliax). Still, she had run Dekarium for decades well enough. How many deals, how many bargains had been struck? How much might Novox sweep away in an instant?
Finally when Jireen spoke, her voice wavered ever so slightly. "I agree with more then you might suspect. I am quite aware of the danger this radical sect poses. Even if I did agree with them wholeheartedly, which I do not, pure self preservation would counsel me against siding with them. They think the civil war, the confusion and distance will save us."
She waves at Novox (and Hax). "Your mere presence shows that for the lie and wishful thinking it is."
She takes a deep breath, "But your words give me hope for perhaps a solution....religious freedom. You would sincerely offer that?"
Behind them both Hax softly snorts.
Jireen ignores him and goes on with a sudden rush, "This conversation is quickly reaching the limits of what I can achieve. Would you...would you consent to meeting a member of the sect? I think there are some who would agree with you, and also find the radicals dangerous." She adds, "There would have to be assurances of safe conduct and such, of course. As things stands, the sect is essentially an outlaw organization, doubly so after the recent events of...unpleasantness."
"Would you...would you consent to meeting a member of the sect?"
"Arrange it." The two words were spoken with all the severity of a high judge sentencing the convicted to death, a verdict that Novox was still ready to pass if necessary. "Dekarium can still be saved."
Not an altogether undesirable resolution all in all, he considered. Memorized textbooks flew open within the library of the genius intellect; subheading: 'religion'; subject: 'Mahathallah'. While no doubt one of the most enigmatic of infernal demigods, the so-called Dowager of Illusions had still maintained a small sect within Cheliax, even before the rise of House Thrune. Secretive and exclusive, the faith had supposedly survived and prospered through drug trading, narcotic substances being endemic to the dark prophesies Mahathallah gifted upon her few chosen. But with the official endorsement of diabolism in Cheliax came a curious change in fortune for the cult. Rather than flourish in this infernal country where they were now free to practice their drivel in the open, they floundered. Because with official sanctioning came official scrutiny. Suddenly their surreptitious drug trade was subject to edicts on illegal substances, even taxes, and in scant years the faith faded into little more than an insignificant circle of drug-addled lunatics. The government's blessing was in a deliciously ironic turn their downfall.
The Egorian smirked at the memory. The oh-so great solicitors of the multiverse brought low by the law. Yes, very pleasing. And perhaps due for a repeat now; the license to practice openly could very well ruin these nature worshipers, or at least those radicalized members among them. Faiths did not exist in a vacuum after all. They served a purpose to their adherents, knowingly or not. An Iomedaean for example did not become a follower of that particular goddess spontaneously; they did so because she spoke to some already ingrained self-righteousness and sanctimony that she then enabled as holy doctrine. This was how all gods operated, the pimps. And these green extremists were no different; the faith was merely a vehicle for anti-Egorian sentiments.
Ah, but if brought into the light, into full view, and if he dissipated their very reason for being by presenting an all new and more palatable image of the capital, what then? Unless he was very much mistaken, Novox projected that doing so could severely hamper these radicals. The public supported and joined them out of local pride and an inverse and directly proportional hatred of Egorian. Dispel the perceived offense at the capital's differences and the cult was dispelled, with the official oversight from Jireen's administration acting as the death knell.
It was an attractive solution. Now if only it hadn't a million ways to go wrong.
'Wholesale slaughter is, as always, an optional resolution, Master.'
That it was.
Jireen drummed her fingers once on the hoary bark of the ancient apple tree. A dim resonant sound reverberated, like a very old drum.
"It shall be done." The woman still looks divided, but in a new way. Her shoulder's set, her face becomes stern...a woman girding herself some unpleasant task. Surely nothing as trivial as setting up a meeting. What worried the Mayor so much?
She is planning something. Belle purred in Novox's mind, interest in her voice. A double-cross, perhaps?
The woman nodded then, "I cannot say when or where, but I imagine it will be soon. How do you want me to contact you? It pains me to admit it, but there are those in town who would do their best to...sabotage such a peace. We must keep them in the dark as much as possible."
The Mayor waved back toward the house, indicating they could retire back inside. "And what of Decius? What role does he play, if we are to save Dekarium, lancing it like a boil? The man is no scalpel, on that front I believe we agree."
'Shut up, imp,' came the by now very familiar reply, almost more so a recitation than a reproach.
'Thy will be done, Master,' came the very unfamiliar response, so eager and obedient as to throw the supposed 'master'. This was of course the intent. Damn that imp.
And damn its fool notions as well. No, paranoid as he was, even Novox did not suspect treachery from the mayor at seeing her resolute expression. Not immediately, anyway. How obvious for a devil to leap at such conclusions, betrayal being so endemic to their kind, but he thought otherwise. It occurred to him that the half-elf could be considering something rather more personal. In fact, he even dared voice that thought.
"Is it Ms Eslih that so furrows your brow?" The query was neutral as death, no hint of condemnation in its tone. But neither was it encouraging. This was how the wizard wanted it. For it had not escaped him that the guild mistress and mayor had a relationship that seemed to stretch beyond the purely professional. Whatever the nature of their relation, whether friendly or romantic, this was a problem. Eslih's blatant animosity for him and what she perceived him to stand for was a problem. It had been some time since he had first postulated that even if Jireen was turned to his cause, the hateful Ms Eslih could simply turn her again. One had the other's ear. This was a troubling prospect some months from now, one with few solutions.
Few solutions beyond terminating the woman, that was. But then this ran the risk of alienating the half-elf. Ah, such tangled webs. And so it was that he asked, without condemnation, whether she so occupied the mayor's strained mind. At worst he was wrong. At best he stood to gain some information about his insistent enemy. Showcasing his great generosity in holding no grudge against the b*tch who'd tried to kill him was also only advantageous. "If you wish, I would speak to her as well, help her see reason. Or..."
The pause stretched like spider web between branches. "Is it the good guild mistress you are hoping to arrange a meeting with for me?" Astute as he was, it also hadn't escaped Novox that Eslih fit the profile of a cult member herself. "Whatever the case, you may contact me at the White Oak," he went on, breezily. "I shall check in for missives regularly."
Grass rustled beneath the Egorian's confident stride as the quartet left the garden. "As for the commander, yes, we are in agreement. The man is as irksome as he is invaluable, a troubling combination of qualities to be sure. His band is a necessary evil for the continued safety of Dekarium, and yet that same band is all but useless to us when led by a deserter, a proven traitor. He cannot be trusted." Eyes sharper than any blade turned onto the half-elf. "And I know this as fact. I alluded to it earlier, but I have spoken with the man in private. You were right to keep him at arm's length, Madam Mayor. It did not take him long to broach the subject of overthrowing you, of how the capital would be better served with him at the helm."
A disturbing admission for anyone to hear. But Novox had few qualms about adding to the woman's stresses like this now. He was confident she understood her situation. And the threat of death was a motivating factor like no other, one that would spur her to enable him to do what needed be done. "And yet I stand by my earlier claim: I can bring the army under control. I can make them loyal, not just to me but to you. To do so I need but one thing from you:" The raven looked to its master. It held its breath. "You must write an official missive declaring Decius the appointed military commander of Dekarium and his men its formal militia."
The long-fingered hand was raised before the mayor could protest. "You will hand this decree to myself, not him. He will never have it, nor be able to use it against you. This I am ready to swear on whatever cause you care to name. In fact, you may leave it unsigned if you prefer. It merely needs to act as bait. You see, I negotiated just such a deal with Decius, one I have no doubt he intends to use as a launching point to take the city for his own. Grant me this lure. The rest you may leave in my hands."
It was no small ask, he realized. At worst the commander could use such a document as a legal basis for a coup. Additionally, should... Soft laughter, smoky and fine, rang through his mind.
'Damn it, imp, what now?'
'Oh, forgive me, Master, it's just... Promising the despondent the world if she will merely trust you. And you with every intent to subvert her wishes and damn her soul. I cannot tell you how proud I am to serve you. Truly, you are the best of devilkind given mortal form.'
Damn this imp.
The staggered paving stones are quiet under Novox's boots, as they strolled back toward the Mayoral Mansion (not that it would have qualified for even a decent townhouse in the capitol, even if one set aside the rather rustic architecture). Birds sing in the trees around them, a breeze rippling the leaves of the assorted plants and trees. A fresh, green scent of growing things fills Novox nose and while not entirely to his taste, he does find it refreshing after so long in either dusty underground chambers or weird scentless planes. Nature was a tool, but one could enjoy a tool, in sensible moderation.
The bucolic atmosphere evaporated however, as soon as Novox opened his mouth. Eslih's name stopped Jireen as sure as a frozen dagger to the heart, her foot stopping mid-way to the winding pathway. Color drained from her face, her eyes tightening painfully.
Voice hoarse she said, "The Erogian diplomatic school does not value gentleness, I see. If you see an open wound you reach out and touch it." The Mayor of Dekarium shakes herself, regaining control. "But you are correct in your guess. I am sure it is not a shock to you if I say 'the good guild mistress' will not be in agreement with our proposal for compromise."
"I will handle her, Master Novox, there is no need for you to get involved." There is a distinct curtness in her voice, that Novox hasn't heard before. A firm line was drawn here and the wizard felt that if he took the matter of Eslih into his own hands, he'd be making an enemy out of the Mayor.
They are on the threshold of the house when Novox makes his next pitch. Again Jireen stops mid-stride but this time she has a wry (if wary) smile on her face.
"You are asking me to write up a letter that could slice my throat?" She asks lightly, stepping into the cool mansion. "With such a letter, I would be placing an army at your back. A wholly legal method of removing me and anyone else who opposed you. It could, if things went such a way, place me at the mercy of Decius himself." That smile quirked again, "You would trade me for a more easily controlled deserter, and I would provide the coin to bribe him. Elegant, Master Novox."
Then she laughed, a cold, brittle thing. The laugh of a woman who sees no road she wishes to travel. "But very well. I shall write up such a letter and hand it over to you. I'll have someone trusted bring it over to the White Oak, perhaps along with an appointment for the meeting."
"The Erogian diplomatic school does not value gentleness, I see. If you see an open wound you reach out and touch it."
"The physician cannot heal what he cannot touch." It wasn't a rebuttal as such, this pithy little reply spoken with softness and deliberation not normally associated with such epigrams. Novox's assured gait met solid floorboards. His calm gaze did not meet the half-elf's. "You still fear me, Madam Mayor. You still see Egorian euphemisms in my every word. Relax. I offered with speak to Ms Eslih and nothing more. I will respect your wishes. I will leave her be."
Only now did the the eyes meet hers, something pointed resting beneath the dark surface like a dagger held ready beneath a suit jacket. "Though you should know that she has made a habit of happening upon me." The look lingered. "I will do my best to avoid her." This not so veiled suggestion to rein in the guild mistress delivered, the wizard moved on to the principal matter remaining: a bait fit to catch a general. And oh my, the mayor really was desperate, wasn't she? Even fully understanding his ploy, how the document acted as a double-edged sword Novox could swing freely in whatever direction he pleased, into the neck of either Jireen or Decius as necessary, she was still willing to play. They were in the endgame and she recognized it. Extreme measures were not just warranted, they were required. The half-elf had decided to trust him.
No, that wasn't it. She had surrendered her trust to him. What a feeling. "You won't regret this." The assurance carried neither triumph nor encouragement, not a single hint. That wasn't what the woman needed to hear right now, the Egorian recognized. Such sentiments were what she would expect from someone manipulating her, using her - from the Narsus Novox she had expected to meet. Instead the few words were spoken with deadly conviction. Certainty.
Which made the deception all the more unfortunate. Because he wholly expected for Lalita Jireen to regret this bargain she had struck before long. He had no intention of deviating from his word, but she had been right, of course. To fear him, that was. She had good instincts, which was partly why he wanted her to lead Dekarium through the war. And now he had the poor fool, bound to a pact the full ramifications of which she did not understand. The situation brought forth certain parallels that had the devil on his shoulder thrumming with delight. She said nothing, but Novox could feel the sensation radiating through his mind-palace like the heat from a furnace. He choose to ignore her.
"Well then, Ms Jireen," Novox said to a crestfallen mayor in turning to the door, "it would seem I have machinations to set in motion. I look forward to hearing from you."
A few hours found Novox at the White Oak, seated in a finely carved wooden chair. The wizard was leaning back, ignoring the steaming bowl of beef stew in front of him (ordered only to prove a point with the local, vegetarian leaning staff). An innocent observer would have been forgiven for assuming the wizard was taking in the fine craftsmanship of the exposed wooden beams above. Each of the massive oaken supports was as wide as a man, engraved with skill and care to depict intricate pastoral scenes. Most of them were faded after centuries of smoke and grime, but a few could still be picked out.
But no, Novox was not looking at the artwork. he was considering the news he had gathered since leaving Jireen. His first order of business had been to check on Diseo. The interest was not friendship but merely that of a craftsman checking on the status of a missing tool. The cleric have magical abilities that might come in handy, and besides, Novox hated loose ends. To his surprise however, he found that no one had known of the freak's whereabouts. He had been saved from the fire, that much was sure. Everyone said Eslih had saved him, bravely entered the raging inferno alone and bearing the skin-less holy man out.
Then he had vanished. No knew what happened to him after. Most were simply happy to realize this fact, the cleric had not been a popular man in town. The few who considered it assumed he had finally fled his office and headed for the hills. The civil war might cover his tracks and allow him to slip his duty, they wagered. Others thought he might just be lying low, hiding among the refugees. But how on earth could such a man hide?
His second task had been even less successful. After inquiring about magical items Novox quickly learned that all such items of worth had been confiscated 'for the war effort' either by Jireen or Decius, weeks ago. Shops plundered, refugees searched, all was under lock and key. A few said Thyste, the paladin kept the town's store while Decuis kept his share under lock and key. One old fisherman, for the right price, had remarked that Vannellus had a way of 'finding' things.
Would he really have to bring the fat man deeper into his plans?
But how on earth could such a man hide?
How indeed? Steam from the slighted meal danced before the unseeing eyes like so many fleeting thoughts, thoughts such as those Narsus Novox's fearsome intellect was now formulating on his recent foray into town. How did a skinless Asmodean, one disastrously detached from the world about him at that, manage to disappear in a city that hated him? Someone like, say, Hax could use Dekarium's current overpopulation to blend into the unwashed masses, but this was not an option for the tiefling. Not unless he possessed something akin to the very item the wizard was seeking. The noble brow furrowed just a crease. Novox did not appreciate irony when aimed at himself.
One pale hand played ponderously through the air.
Not that he thought this explanation particularly likely. No, what seemed far more probable to the diabolist, paranoid as he was, was that rather than hiding, Diseo was being hidden. The temple had been burned down by the sect, after all, only for the miserable creature to be saved by Eslih whom he suspected being tied to the same group. It was no great leap then to assume that they had completed the circle by abducting him, perhaps due to his perceived relationship with their most hated enemy, this Egorian envoy. If the junior elements of the cult could be cajoled into arson, then there was no reason to doubt the more senior members capable of such tactics. And there was no question they knew of their relation, however tenuous; they had been seen together.
The long fingers continued their lazy recital.
Of course, the other option was that they'd killed the wretch. A seemingly unprovoked chuckle escaped the Egorian at this idea. Good riddance! Whichever way the sect's reasoning went, whether to kidnap or murder, it was flawed. The cleric was nothing to him but a tool, and a dubious one at that. Hell's sake, the tiefling had been victimized by children. Novox would not go quite so far as to say that the only good Asmodean, mortal or infernal, was a dead one. No, he was too practical for that. But if they could not be utilized then better they be discarded. If this hypothesis held true, the cult had merely taken out the trash. Somewhere above on an exposed wooden beam a raven preened its midnight-black coating.
Thin and practiced, the hand still danced to a silent waltz.
Yes, the real problem occupying the wizard like a wet dog in his lap was the disguise. While Decius would have to go, he needed his face to remain and in a reliable fashion at that. But where acquiring such means would be the simplest matter in the urban convenience of a proper city, this rural backwater couldn't even provide him with a false mustache and some sovereign glue. Damn this hovel. What economy didn't allow a man to spend his gold?! Was there no other option? Loath as was to even consider it, would he have to consult the mercantile Vannellus?
Novox rose from his seat, knowing what he had to do. He left a cold lunch behind, untouched. That, and some perfectly clean engravings on the oaken beams above. Continued applications of Prestidigitation, the cantrip being so simple and endemic to the man as to require no thought at all, had carved out the grime from the etchings. Foolish Dekarians, not to safeguard and maintain their heritage. Shameful. What would they do without him?
"You want me to make what?" Undershale said, his gravelly voice rippling with surprise.
They (Novox, Hax, Undershale and his gnarled bodyguard half-orc Grim) were standing in a long low workroom, separate from the main forge room. The space was cluttered with worktables, tools of every sort and half-finished products. Everything was greasy and haphazard, nothing like the more tidy forge-room. Novox then noted steel rings sunk into the stone floor, presumably for slaves to be attached. An apprentice shop perhaps?
The scents of coal smoke and hot iron filled the air, almost but not quite covering up the reek of human sweat. Despite being blocked off by a stone wall, Novox could quite clearly hear the clanging of steel and shouting from the main foundry floor.
Despite having to look up at Novox, the dwarf seemed unbothered by the height. He ran stubby fingers through his dark beard. Slowly he said, "So. You want to kill Decius and replace him with a pet of your own? Someone who would do your bidding? Iron and ash, that is a risky move, wizard." The craftsman said bluntly, "First, you will have to kill the deserter. A task easier said then done, and you will have to kill him. He isn't the type to be bribed and retire. Second, you will have to fool all of his troopers, some of which may know him well. Unless you can encourage some of them to not notice? Hmm, maybe."
Thoughtful he took a few steps, lost in thought, "And then you must find a loyal man to take his place. Do you have someone in mind?"
Undershale turned and smiled, "Of course, I could turn around and tell Decius this. But what could he offer me, that an agent of the crown could not?" The smile faded and the dwarf said gruffly, "Or I suppose this is in exchange for the boat? Fair enough."
"I can make the mask, if the Dark Smith favors me." Undershale said finally but then went on, "But tell me true, wizard. When you first came to me, you were unsure of the town, still learning the shape of the rock. Now, how are your schemes going? is this an act of desperation or are you on the verge of victory?"
Through the wall, hot steel sizzled loud enough to drown out everything else, a slithering hiss. Then someone screamed in utter agony, a searing shriek of pain, followed by the harsh stench of burned flesh and hair.
In his mind Belle murmurs, Reminds me of home.
Odd, Bill had said the same thing of the dwarf's workshop.
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Like one of the great bellows of the forge, the perfectly straight nose drew in a deep breath. The tang of smoke, ash and sweat, peppered by cinders, assailed the nostrils and Novox smiled. Smelled like industry. It was a smell otherwise absent from Dekarium, stagnant and complacent as it was, happy to see no growth beyond the trees its people venerated. Not so here. Here every acrid fume, every pained shriek spoke to tangible progress, to products finished and released to advance a hundred other industries, bolstering an economy at its weakest. It was enterprise such as this that represented the beating heart of a nation if not its spirit, pumping tools, work and sine qua non for other ventures to its citizens. And this the townspeople scorned? Savages. Simpleminded fern fondling savages. Thirus Undershale was arguably the most admirable soul the wizard had met in this self-content backwater.
Such a shame that he was a dwarf. But then that followed. The practical vocation followed the practical mind that in turn was the outcome of the practical condition that was being a dwarf. This was very literally what the man had been born to do, the organic end result of heeding the innate dwarven potential. Eagles soared, badgers dug and dwarves produced. It was as natural as it was admirable.
Which was to say only nominally so. Did one heap praise onto the dam building beaver for following its inherent instincts? Of course not. The inevitable was not cause for commendation just as a sprocket could not be admired for its choice of track; these were external factors beyond the subject in question. And this was where humans differed. For it was humanity's lot, uniquely so, to choose its destiny. Elves, dwarves, even the half-men, these were adapted and preordained a specific purpose in life, purposes that they fulfilled well - to their credit - and with relative ease. Not so with humans. When a human devoted itself to a vocation, a craft, an art, they did so with the knowledge that they could have entered a thousand other disciplines now foregone. When a human mastered its calling they did so through self-control and force, not latent instinct; not by being a sprocket following its track. In this humanity stood alone. Humanity had infinite potential and the choice that came with it. This was why no one else compared. This was why they would conquer the multiverse. Because no one else, least of all the rigidly defined outsiders, could define their own constraints.
Fortunately Novox's Cheliax was a practical realm with room for those lesser races that could makes themselves useful. And Undershale should certainly be counted among those happy few. So it was that the diabolist looked down to the dwarf - this lesser creature that had earned his goodwill, if not his respect - with an affable little smile to reply: "Why yes." The expertly maintained eyebrows showed every sign of polite bemusement that anyone could think their owner cornered. "I am if anything spoiled for choice. I have, if you will, 'learned the shape of the rock' and found it quite adequate to smash in Dekarium's gates. The approach I have chosen, however, is more akin to smelting that rock into a key. More demanding, to be sure. But ultimately more rewarding."
No hill giant in a country fair arm wrestling competition had ever looked more confident, and this despite the fact that Undershale's begrudging aid - perhaps appropriately - rather threw a spanner into his plans; the smith's utility was greater than expected, to be point of hastening Novox's scheme. So. The time had come, eh? Today was the day he bound his first outsider. An ember lit behind the dark eyes like the glowing cinders in one of the facility's soot stained furnaces, ready to spark a bellowing fire. Despite being prepared for the occasion, Novox had not anticipated this to be the day he graduated from the theoretical to the practical, the day he finalized his training as a diabolist: the day he subjugated an immortal to his will. It was the final test for any practitioner of the school, much like craftsmen such as the dwarf had to prove their skill via a masterpiece before being accepted by a guild, and while a prodigy and genius of Narsus Novox's caliber was already acknowledged among those ranks - as he should be, far superior to many seniors as he was! - he hadn't actually finished his final exam as it were: he was yet to bind a devil.
The raven that was not a raven looked to its master, beak almost touching cheek. No, of course the imp didn't count. A diabolist's imp, 'gifted' by Hell as it was, was little more than a glorified monitoring device, a means by which the Pit could keep track of and stay in contact with those who siphoned its power, a beartrap in disguise. It bore as much resemblance to devil binding as a bank loan did a profit margin. The familiar let out a wounded coo, theatrical and sad. Novox ignored it. True diabolism lay not in accepting the Archfiend's scraps, but in raiding his pantry. This was the occasion hastened by the smith's skill - and what an impressive skill it was, to replicate arcane theory through sheer worldly craftsmanship - awaiting him now. And it was undeniably exciting.
"I wonder, Mr Undershale," he solicited, pausing patiently to let a pained scream pass, "whether you would indulge me in another little request?"
----------
The epic undertaking that was enslaving an immortal champion of the great beyond began with housework. Broom in hand, Novox was sweeping the floor and fastidiously at that. While perhaps an amusing sight to some who knew his dignified self, it was such deceptively important work for what was to come that he did not dare leave it to anyone else. And for that matter, he had not hesitated to jump into water to battle a giant sea serpent; he wasn't going to balk at wielding a broom. Narsus Novox was not afraid of getting his hands dirty.
Beyond the cleanliness, the space provided by the dwarf was nearly ideal. The storage facility with all its metal, worked ingots and raw ore both, was neither too large nor too small. It was underground which warded against errant tremors, potentially devastating no matter how small. And it was private, sturdy and lockable, all desirable features. The reason all of this mattered was because devil binding was notoriously finicky work. The summoning circle for instance was, while ideally imbued with so much power as to render even the right hand of a god helpless, so fragile that an errant gust could render it inert. A foot stepping over a sigil, a leaf falling onto a barrier, even the intervention of a mouse would set free the outsider. Or indeed the aforementioned tremor. And given that said outsider would have recently been yanked across realities to serve at the behest of a mere mortal, they would in all likelihood be - perhaps justifiably so - a mite peeved. Hence the broom. A clean canvas for the arcane etchings was imperative. On that same note:
"Imp," the supremely focused housekeeper demanded.
"Present and awaiting your orders, Master," came the dutiful chirp from the little fiend, sitting cross-legged on a shelf and looking devilishly amused. "Waiting and frankly admiring you at work. You really should consider shedding some layers more often, sir. You have an admirable physique, so slim and fit. Such a svelte middle too. Do you know, you have a touch of the maidenly over you that's quite attrac..."
"Shut up and listen." The imp did just that. "Canvas the area for pests. Rats, insects, anything at all that could disturb the ritual. Kill them."
"Oh my. Carte blanche to vanquish any poor unfortunate blight I find? This really is just like home."
"Stop saying that." The level command was delivered without looking up from his work. "Your predecessor said the same and it was as untrue then as it is now. The hells are nothing like a forge. A forge produces, a forge achieves. It builds upon successes and works towards a purpose. It elevates. That is not the Pit. You are a function without purpose, and that function is pain. You manufacture only your own intake, that being misery. Yours is a wheel spinning in place, serving no purpose beyond pain begetting pain. And of all your many sins, that is your worst: that you are useless." Now a gaze loaded with quiet loathing peered out from beneath the noble brow. "Never pretend otherwise."
If this invective had any effect on the fiend, it did not show. "How wise you are, my master!" This said, she hopped down from the shelf. What landed on soundless paws was no imp, however. "Then I shall attend my function." The midnight-purple panther slinked off to find its prey.
The wizard too continued his work. Once prepared (and liberated from any inconvenient ingots via Hax's strong shoulders), the summoning circle could be drawn. And the warding circle. And the imprisoning circle. By the diabolist's patient hand three geometric diagrams were drawn - one by chalk, the other by salt and the last by powered silver - that came together to form a staggeringly complex mural like something seen in a kaleidoscope. The process took hours, a full quadrant of a day in which he crawled - stooped, bent and furiously focused - about the floor carefully drawing and redrawing exact angles, chthonic symbols and eldritch patterns according to some impossible ideal housed within that inimitable mind. Tirelessly he worked with ruler, notes, compass and stranger instruments to ensure that his creation was perfect, a dizzyingly intricate abstract the like of which an unfamiliar viewer could only take in in pieces; to try to comprehend every corner of the multifarious circle hurt the eye of the uninitiated along with their head. And yet to Novox this effort represented the bare minimum effort required. A wise diabolist spent literal months researching their subject and the conjuration and wards necessary to call and entrap it, not to mention preparing the physical summoning space with additional fail safes such as locks, guards and more. Novox did not have that long. But then he was the smartest man in the nation. This would do.
It was evening before the craftsmen and slaves of the forge knew that something was amiss. There was a sulfuric stink in the air unlike any to have assailed a smithy. Furnaces were erratic, flaring and spewing fire and cinders at the unsuspecting. All those chained felt their iron bindings grow ever heavier. And most curious of all, there was a voice, laden and distorted, in the chimneys and on the air. It was just indecipherable enough to be dismissed as the wind. But below, only just beneath the forge, nothing could be denied.
Novox was standing in hellfire, shouting into a hurricane. And he'd never felt more powerful. The ritual was well underway, explosively so. The humble storage chamber was now very literally more than the sum of its own dimensions, having intersected with Hell itself. Bright red fire - some intangible, some more so - lashed out at all present with a malevolence and will not possessed by its earthly counterpart. It was all that lit up the all-encompassing darkness that now shrouded the room, a darkness so thick and heavy it was only found at the metaphysical bottom of the multiverse. And the screams. Oh, the screams. Leaking out of this intersection between worlds was the tortured wailing of an infinity in pain, the force of their verbal agony being akin to a storm. This was the pandemonium Novox bellowed into, his charge to command through word and gesture. He was succeeding.
"Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, Ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!"
The painfully rigorous language that was Infernal, all exact barks and eloquent verse and the squeal of slate & steel, rang out through his lips. Much as in that blighted space as spoken by the Hellish Dukes, the cacophonous inferno was bending to his will. He was doing it. He was compelling the raw matter of Hell. Like a predator sensing weakness he pressed on, delivering his arcane invectives in a devastating sermon the like of which shook the chamber. Only to end: "Enslaver, be chained! I call upon thee, o spirit of warfare, spirit of blood and fire: show thyself! Come forth, devil! I call to thee as thou callest thyself, by thy unholy name and in my might bind thee: BARBAZU, appear!"
It was like watching a thunder cloud swallow itself. In an instant the fire, the darkness, the pain coalesced upon itself, collapsing into a singular entity. The room was silent. Novox, Hax and Beloreth had been joined by someone.
"Do you know the first rule of summoning, Hax? the wizard suddenly queried, almost rhetorically into that silence, voice worn. "Do not call up that which you cannot put down. Keep your sword at hand."
Hax had needed no such warning. While he had spent much of the tedious ritual preparation leaning against a wall, snorting when Novox had gathered up the dust and debris, he was no longer so casual. At the first hint of real magic the fighter had become alert, eyes glinting in the dim fiery light of the incantations. His sword was naked in his hand, shoulders straight, face an unreadable mask. It was as if Novox had summoned an armed statue, as well as plumbing the depths of Hell itself.
The silence stretched for a moment and, deep down in a region of his mind that not even Belle with all of her subtly and cunning could find, Novox felt a trace of doubt. Had something gone wrong? Had he misspoken one of those foul syllables? Was a single line of the barrier out of place? This was his first time, he did not know how it should [I/]feel[/i], was it-
The indistinct shape in the midst of the circle rippled and then the silence was broken by a loud crack, like an aged tree branch splitting under a great strain. The scent of charcoal and pitch filled the air, pungent and strong enough to make the wizard's eyes water. Their was a strange sense of....negative space, the exact reverse of pressure, as if the very ether of reality was sliding away, down a deep dark hole in the floor. And then, with no further elaboration, a devil stood in the midst of Novox's ever-so carefully contrived circle.
Novox's initial impression of his first properly summoned devil was...strength. The being was nearly as tall as he was, despite being hunched over like a coal-mining slave. Short squat legs held up a powerful, muscled form that made even Hax look like a child. The face was a monstrous almost-muzzle, with large nostrils. Every inch of it was covered in a pattern of thick scales that clattered like full-plate armor, a rustling rattle with each ragged breath. In one hand was a jagged glaive, the cruel blade covered with sticky tar.
Then, with a movement so fast it quite literally blurred, the creature charged forward. Clawed feet dug into the stone of the floor with a scraping sound as the devil threw itself against the edges of the inscribed circle. With a shout Hax jumped forward, but even his quick reaction was like watching a man wade through mud after the smooth, inhuman speed of the devil. It rasied the glaive, moving forward and-
There was a flash of rich, scintillating green light as the devil hit the arcane barrier and rebounded back. A quick sizzling sound filled the chamber as the devil took a pace back, puzzled and confused, muttering curses.
The devil let out a low growl and looked around in surprise. In guttural, rasping Infernal it muttered, ”What is this stratagem?' The head swept this way and that, eyes flashing red like tiny coals in Undershale's furnaces above. ”Where am I?”
In Novox's ear Belle coos out loud, ”Oooh, Master. Well done. He is a virgin.” Then, without awaiting his order, the raven that was not a raven writhed. The back arched disgustingly, feathers splaying, the entire body uncurling like an unwholesome flower. Then it was replaced by Belle's other form, that of a red-skinned imp, her pointed tail curling and uncurling on Novox's shoulder. One clawed foot pricked, as soft as a lover's bite, the wizard's skin through his robes.
Meanwhile the bearded devil seemed to be gathering his wits. He, and surely it was a he, flared his nostrils wide and sniffed like a hunting dog.
”Human.” He said, then finally seemed to notice the others in the chamber. The red eyes narrowed, flicking between the wizard, the fighter and Belle's sinuous form.
”What is this, mortal?” The Barbazus growled, voice like glass being ground by steel teeth. ”Speak and I shall only flay the flesh from your bones, instead of your soul!” His voice was loud enough to make Novox's ears throb.
The fool! Quick as the new arrival was in his aggression and swift as Hax had been in his reprisal, no dog owner had ever been as fast in hearing their mutt start retching on the new shag carpet as Novox was here: his frantic hand was on the mercenary's strong arm in an instant. Damn the man! If as much as a toe of his had brushed the binding circle, the whole ritual could be for naught!
But it wasn't, of course. It had been a complete success and the wizard's annoyance could not endure at the sight of the newly entrapped fiend, caged and confused, a champion of Hell reduced to a dumb animal. A thrill ran through him. He'd done it. He had plucked an officer of his most hated enemies through the planar spheres, a devil, these most officious of fiends, the fiends who had turned his Cheliax into little more than a vassal state! Oh, vengeance really was sweet. No spider in the trap of a cruel child, about to have its legs pulled off, could be said to be more helpless. Why, once bound to his will, Novox could command the wretched thing to gouge out its own eyes, swallow its lying tongue, and...
"Human."
The guttural utterance brought him out of his reverie. Ah, so the outsider possessed at least some familiarity with this corner of the multiverse? Excellent. That would make the exchange to come that much simpler. The realization helped calm down the self-indulgent - almost masturbatory - visions of torture, reason winning out over base emotion within the genius intellect. Yes, he could compel the devil into his service without resorting to such crude, albeit pleasing, measures like dominating it. If anything, recruiting one of the supposed great beguilers through half-truths and deceit carried with it a delicious irony, and would only further cement his own superiority over these pompous, pretentious pan-dimensional pencil pushers. Besides, that more coldly logical side of the fearsome mind reasoned, why not keep the heavy artillery in reserve when a well aimed bolt could do?
Speaking of his own eminence, surely this planar binding accomplished in scant hours represented some sort of record among conjurers? Aye, who but Narsus Novox could manage such a feat? Truly his talent knew no bounds. It was this visage, eyes scintillating like twin black pearls with the furious confidence of an army under banners, that fixed upon the captive.
"You may address me as 'master', servant." Only Belle, sitting on his shoulder, felt the shudder that went through the diabolist at these designations. "Knowing your position within the infernal legions, you have called many so before and should have no trouble doing the same with me. As for what these circumstances are you find yourself in, well - I'm sure innumerable flies have asked themselves the same before being pounced upon by the spider. If it isn't already clear, your claws can no more flay my hide than shave my cheek. You, my scarlet skinned soldier, are trapped."
As if to demonstrate his own conviction in this fact, the devil's jailer made no effort to protect himself. Wearing an easy smile with his hands at his back and chest thrust, the Egorian appeared perfectly at ease even with the actual distance between them so short that the jagged polearm could almost plunge said breast. This was of course the intent. Negotiations would be eased considerably if the brute believed submission his only option. Which wasn't actually the case. The summoning ritual allowed for the conjurer to impose their will onto the entrapped, a necessity with those spirits too alien or mindless to be cajoled. This same quality of the magic came with a snag, however: namely that this arcane funnel of will power did not run one-way. The fiend could, in theory if unlikely, overload and break the magic powering the circle through sheer force of personality.
But it didn't need to know that. A 'virgin' as the imp had remarked; let it remain innocent. "You need not fear, however. I have brought you here from your blighted realm with a purpose, one I believe you uniquely suited for and that you may even find... palatable."
Hax stood still, Novox's hand on his forearm. He glanced from the hunched bearded devil to the human wizard, and Novox could tell he was having trouble deciding which he disliked more. Slowly, and with more dignity then Novox thought the hired sword possessed, shook off the wizard's hand and returned to his guard position along the wall. He kept his sword out however, and there was not a trace of a tremor in his rock-hard grip.
At Novox's request that the outsider call him master, the creature barked something that could only be a laugh, although it sounded more like gravel rolling down a bare hillside.
"You seek to command me? I am a Second Order Hierarch, in the Second Fist of the Harridan Legion! Right Arm of Pit Lord Thuzon, of the Dark Horns, himself! " He drew himself up with pride, an oddly human expression of martial solidarity. The devil's voice dripped with disdain, "You think I will take orders from a human? Your kind are mere currency, souls used in exchange! Shave you? I shall use your skin to-" He trails off in horrible Infernal curses too low for Novox to hear properly. Bill would habve approved.
The devil's barbed tail twitches slightly, the tip jabbing the magical circle. There is another flare of green magic, arching sparks. The tail twitches back and the bearded devil lets out a low growl of frustration.
At his shoulder Belle says, voice as rich and sweet as poisoned honey, "You know the rules, my friend." The bearded devil looks up sharply, noticing his fellow denizen of Hell, for the first time.
"Imp." He curses dismissively and yet...there is something behind the words. The sound of the confused grasping for something known, a fixed point of reference. A fellow imp was at least a known quantity.
"Indeed." Belle said, apparently unconcerned for the obvious scorn in the devil's voice. "It is simple. My Master has summoned you for a task, one which you may actually enjoy. Do what he bids, do it well, and he shall release you back home. That is the way of this Plane, have you not heard?"
"You enjoy being a human's puppet?" The newly summoned beast growled, claws digging into the stone floor.
Belle glanced at Novox with lowered, sultry eyes more befitting a Qadiran harem then an coal storage room. "It has its advantages."
"I will do this task for you, and you will release me from this accursed circle?" The devil finally asks, but he remains wary, a fox discussing terms with the hounds.
The figurative waterfall of filth spewing forth from the bestial muzzle - along with more literal spittle - did not deter Novox in the slightest. On the contrary it merely acted as kindling to his own hatred, that most warm and comforting of furnaces. Contempt was the great exception to that most basic principle of mathematics, that two negatives made a positive, he'd found, trained as he was in the philosophies, natural and otherwise. Hatred only grew at meeting its like, and so the smirking Egorian was happy to let the fiend's invectives rain over him.
The intervention of the imp's; that on the other hand was not welcomed. Sharp eyes narrowed further onto the tiny devil. For her to speak at her own accord was galling and doubly so, indicating at best an independent spirit and at worst - Heaven forefend - the erroneous perception that her master needed her help. The nerve! He was Narsus Novox, the most capable man in the nation! He needed the aid of an odious imp like a fire giant needed a comb! Reminding himself to discipline - nay, humble - his familiar, the wizard returned his fearsome focus to securing the aid of the entrapped fiend. And it was a testament to the ego so dense it could have substituted the solar system's star in its gravitational pull that this bit of irony escaped him.
Not so with the imp, of course, whose sharp little teeth bit her own grinning lip. "Ah, but you see?" her master taunted the captive on the topic of release. "Already you relent to the position of servant, as I said you would. Do not turn your anger on me," he went on at this bit of deliberate provocation. "This is how your infernal lords designed you and your ilk. Hell needed an infantry to strike fear in any other, and that is what you are: a soldier. And a soldier needs a commander. Such is the natural order. Deny it and deny the axiom around which your entire realm revolves: that the strong should rule the weak."
Far from merely provoking the barbazu, Novox's approach was in fact calculated and deliberate. A devil, a militant minded one at that, would never accept a gregarious master. These were beings trained and bred to respond to authority and cruelty, so it was no accident that the diabolist presented himself as just that, vindictive and heedless of his subject's plight. The extra bit of lip service to the infernal idea of might making right was just an added flourish to the gambit. "Now here you stand, a fly caught in my web - a soldier lost and without a master. And I in need of a soldier. How curious are the vagaries that rule our universe." Right. Time to lay into it. "Yes, I have summoned you here with a task in mind, devil," he went on in a more business-like acumen. "You are now on the Prime Material Plane as you have no doubt already surmised, on the world of Golarion in the nation Cheliax. A nation at war as it happens. Civil war. In this ongoing conflict the settlement we currently stand beneath has a problem: its militia is led by a known traitor. To solve this problem I am in need of a loyal soldier. Are you following? I have made arrangements for yourself to impersonate the commander in question. Together we shall slay the deserter and replace him with yourself, after which you shall dutifully and efficiently protect the community as its supreme military leader throughout the course of the war, a period of no more than a few scant years. A blink of an eye to an immortal, I'm sure."
Ah, to finally lay out the scheme in words, to transform calculated ideas into concrete action. The plot sounded every bit as daring when spoken as when he had first envisioned it. "Leading a battalion of humans in war against other humans; am I wrong to suspect this idea at least somewhat agreeable to you, devil? How was it you described my kind? 'Mere currency'?"
The devil hunched silently for a moment, the only sound being the soft scraping of its endlessly undulating beard, which looked like a tangle of razor-sharp wires. The sharp squeal made Novox's teeth ache, and it seemed very loud in the silence of the underground storage room. The only other sound was his own breathing (Belle, and presumably the bearded devil, did not need to breathe of course).
"Cheliax." The solider of Hell said finally, the word grating out, "I have heard of this place. A grand empire, yes? Grand because they use devils in their wars, or so rumor has it." Another pause and then, "A traitor is a dangerous thing, but your plan is flawed." Then the devil grinned, revealing many rows of barbed teeth, which seemed to arrange in ranks endlessly down his throat.
"You wish me to lead human troops? No human could survive my leadership. My daily training alone would break them." The barded devil chortled, the otherworldly sound sending a prickle down Novox's spine. "Although it would be amusing to see them try. To see them scamper and flee before my whip as I educate them. Would any of them even last the day under my tutelage?"
Then he looked at Novox slyly, "Would I also rule this settlement you speak of? As lord and master of their lives and possessions, as is my right? Under your rule, of course."
"Critiquing another's stratagem as flawed only to clarify that flaw as one own's lack of restraint is an admirable, if rather roundabout, expression of self-reflection, devil."
The easy jibe was endemic of the wizard's assuredness, confident as he was in his own magic. Let the fiend say what it wanted. He had nothing to fear from it and its compliance was already guaranteed, no matter how reluctant. If anything he only drew further delight in hearing his nation recognized, even over many-rowed jagged teeth. The barbazu having some knowledge of Cheliax would, again, make its task that much simpler. "Come now, devil," he went on to taunt it. "I'm sure you can exercise some of that discipline your Hells are so renowned for. In fact," - an edge slipped into the voice - "I demand it."
While Undershale's disguise and Novox's own extracurricular measures would go a long way in making the transition of the militia's leadership seamless and invisible, this effort would be for naught if that replacement couldn't muster the bare minimum of caution. It didn't matter how brilliant his machinations if the new Decius suddenly began slaughtering his own men or, say, taking his midday nap in an open pyre or whatever it was devils did for relaxation. The people of Dekarium might have proven themselves a bunch of fern fondling ninnies, but they weren't quite that senseless. Someone would notice. Fortunately this was a behavioral correction the diabolist still had the option of enforcing onto his subject. An option he wouldn't hesitate to use if necessary.
But for now Novox merely let out a mocking laugh at the captive's inquiry on whether he would rule Dekarium, complete with slyly simpering deference for himself. As if he would ever allow such a thing in his Cheliax. "No, servant," he said, taking some pleasure in quashing this ambition. "You will labor beneath the town's supreme authority, its mayor. Moreover, you will follow her every command to the extent that they do not conflict with my own. Make no mistake, fiend: it is not I who am in need of you. I would never sink so low as to require the aid of a miscreation as wretched as yourself. No, your strength is only needed due to the comparative weakness of Dekarium and its leadership. That is where your... qualities will be employed." Demeanor lightening only as dark night lightened into a misty winter morning he went on: "Though if it brings you any consolation, know that you will enjoy power in the community, second only to the mayor. It will rely on you more than even her, and you can be allowed some measured indiscretions from time to time."
A spot of torture here, a bit of tyranny there - this the Egorian could tolerate the fiend venting onto the township from time to time. Why, it might even do the soft Dekarians some good! It was about time they learned to respect the law in this backwater. A nation could not thrive without authority. And besides, Novox returning to the settlement upon the war's fruitful completion to depose its unpopular commander would only be another feather in his cap. Sometimes his genius staggered even himself.
On the topic of his conditions for the barbazu's service, however, he had more still. And it was these that the two discussed - perhaps argued - over the next good while. Specifically, these were the points he insisted upon:
- That the fiend recognize the rule of Dekarium's mayor, even should that position be passed onto another than Jireen, only second to his own.
- That the fiend never reveal who called it into this world.
- That in the role as commander of its militia, the fiend would dutifully protect Dekarium and its citizens as a part of Majestor Thrune's Cheliax against any who would harm or take it.
- That the fiend take on the life of Decius the traitor to the best of its ability.
Novox had never considered teaching as a possible career path, it always seemed a waste for the savoir of Cheliax. But the next hour or so with the barded devil reminded the wizard of dealing with a very recalcitrant and stubborn student. Repetition, followed by willful bouts of anger and rejection, with more patient but stern education following. Novox had always dreamed about summoning outsiders, proud beings of power and might, and breaking them to his will, subjecting the very stuff of the Planes to do his bidding.
He never thought it would be so tiresome.
Eventually though, he got his point across and seemed to get the foul creature onboard. It seemed the idea of being a military commander over humans appealed to the devil on some deep level. Perhaps even the most beaten down solider still wished to be in charge?
Be it as it may finally the bearded devil grunted approval, "Very well then. I shall do these things. How do we remove this Decius? I assume he is still alive?"
From his wall, Hax shakes his head in firm disapproval but say nothing. On the other hand, from his shoulder, Belle virtually thrums with energy and passion. The approval seeps through their mental link like water through a sieve. After so long with the reluctant and bitter Bill, it makes quite a change of pace.
Ah, there really was no feeling quite like that of a plan coming together. With the begrudging - but inevitable - submission of the devil, all the pieces to Novox's scheme were in place. A body double, the means of disguise, a guardian to Dekarium, a lure, and even an insurance to Jireen's loyalty; all cogs in the grand machinery envisioned by his genius slotting into one another perfectly. Only one thing remained now: to trigger it. The Egorian allowed himself a moment's basking in his own brilliance. What alchemist transforming lead to gold could compare, what saint raising the dead to life? How could they compare to this plot of his, this engine that consumed a traitor's death and spat out Dekarium's salvation? Gods, he was clever.
Sadly there was little time for revel, however well deserved. Although completed in what had to be some sort of record, the binding had taken the better part of a day; evening was falling outside. This brought on a new consideration: how had the mayor fared in her own mission? Had his meeting with the cult been arranged? And if so, would it interfere with the good Decius's... resignation? Once prepared, there was little chance of the wizard being able to simply reschedule the negotiations, after all. While temptingly patronizing, such a snub would likely offend the group. Not the best introduction to their talk. No, it would be best to check in on Jireen's progress before he moved on the commander. While it was a testament to his multi-talented genius that his noble hand could bear the ink stain of a peace treaty as easily as the blood of murder, it was best to keep the two separate.
"All things in their own time, servant," the diabolist - as he could now call himself proper - replied, self-satisfaction sparkling in his eyes like twin black pearls. "For now I have matters to attend, matters that may impact your purpose in this world. But you shall accompany me. And together we will slay the traitor." This verdict of execution delivered with all due conviction, he half-turned to the only person in the room more contrary about the day's labor than the enslaved fiend, namely the mercenary. "Hax, go see how our host fares with his little 'project'. If he began it immediately, he may already have finished it. After all," he went on, looking to the devil's salivating muzzle, feeding into the forest of spit-soaked tentacles, barbed and glistening and writhing, "we can't let out guest go out undressed."
The grin on the imp's face, she looking to the atheist where his master did not deign to, only added insult to injury for the aggrieved man. Novox paid it no mind, of course. He was occupied by what came next, the final step to the ritual. A lion tamer's training was not complete, after all, when his beast merely obeyed his whip. The final test always lay in opening the monster's cage. Only then, only when it could walk free chained solely by his instruction could his work said to be done. This was the step still waiting the Egorian. And strolling forward after a moment's reflection, chest thrust and head held high, he made it a literal step, crossing the boundary of the magic circle and entering the lion's den. Slowly, deliberately, his leather clad foot trod onto the arcane pattern. Powdered silver crunched beneath the sole.
The effect was immediate. A thrum of power so pervasive as to have imperceptibly supplanted the sound of silence stopped, lifting with it a charge in the air. Novox's shoulders lightened, so oppressive had the magic infusing the room been. But it was gone now. The intricate patterns on the floor now held no more power than an afternoon's art project. The fiend was no longer restrained. Its chains were broken. And Narsus Novox now stood before it, all soft flesh, warm blood and iron-wrought pride. To any observer there was nothing to guard him from the monstrosity before him, this amalgamation of sin - born, bred and designed to kill - whose very breath was an offense to the ground it stood upon. And yet. It could not harm him, not with anything other than the sourness of said breath. The shackles had been dispelled, but the devil remained bound, by word and magic. The ritual was complete.
"Congratulations, Master," Beloreth whispered simply into his ear. It was telling that the wizard for once did not tell his familiar to shut up.
"So," he said, vanity dripping off every syllable like so much honey, "I can't very well refer to you as 'fiend' or the like in a public space. You need a moniker. What do I call you?"
Hax snorted and glanced at the slavering, hunch-backed beast Novox had summoned out of Hell. "It will have to be a hell of a mask to hide this one." he said and left before Novox had time to remark on that awful pun.
Which left Novox with a room filled with enslaved devils. There were worse things.
The bearded devil considered Novox's question for a long moment, eyes narrow. Slowly he said, "Call me... Mur'onaz. Yes, that will do."
At his shoulder Beloreth said, "Ooh...Scourger of Backs. Not bad." She nodded in apparent approval, 'I've heard worse master."
Mur'onaz shrugged, clearly happy to have not given Novox his real name, not that the wizard really needed it. Real names had power, but the human already had his soul impaled on a hook of his own cruel will. What more did he need?
In a moment the steel door to the storage room creaked open and Hax stepped back in, his stride as fluid and cat-like as ever. In his hand the atheist held a small mask. He handed it to Novox with a grunt, "The dwarf said it is finished and also added you two are even. I get the feeling he wants us out of his beard." He eyed Mur'onaz carefully, "Do you have it under control?" A trace of...fear edged his words. Clearly the outsider worried the usually unflappable Rhaoumdi. Good.
Novox grabbed the magical object and glanced at it. It was a simple enough object to look at, to the casual eye. A simple mask, complete with straps that would fit most faces. Two things were odd about it though, that stood out from the usual masquerade props. One was the unusual soft, rubbery texture. Something like flesh but most assuredly not. Second...it had no eye holes.
"'Murray' it is then."
There was no cruelty like casual cruelty, Novox had found, and his easy dismantling of the fiend's chosen moniker was indeed delivered with all the blasé of a drowsy housecat. Which was of course the intent. One had to keep these officious outsiders in line, after all. Denying them even their own name was part of that effort. A name implied an identity, a personhood, a unique and determinative character. As if he would ever allow his slaves such autonomy. No, like a cowed schoolboy their only handle would be that jeering epithet their bully gave them. Just as the imp was and would forever remain merely 'the imp'. She was not a person. She was not an individual. She was nothing but the mold in which Hell had cast her and he would never allow her to forget it. And so it was that he - offhandedly, not even gracing the devil with the implied validity that came with willful cruelty - designated his new servant with the appellation he would be known as henceforth, vaguely denigrating in its mundanity: Murray.
"Thank you, Hax." Not gifting the fiend any lingering amusement, the wizard instead turned to his other not quite servant. The apprehension he met there, however, was, while basely gratifying, somewhat unexpected. Was this what lay behind the Rahadoumi's dislike of the infernal? Not some deep-seated bias, not even a rationale or another, but simple fear? If so, this was almost disappointing. "Do you know, I should be insulted," he replied, lightly, to the fretful query. "Do you ask Undershale whether he has his fires under control? No, you trust the master smith with his tools. Trust the master conjurer with his. While I admit that I cannot order Murray here to tie his impressive beard into decorative bows -"
"Ooh! May I help?" Beloreth tittered girlishly.
"- as this would rather go against the convivial agreement between us, he is my minion in every way that counts. He will kill my enemies. He will protect my interests. He will follow orders. And he will do so knowing it is in his own interest. So yes. 'It' is under control."
This assurance delivered, partly just because he liked hearing himself say it - that he had bound a true outsider - Novox focused his considerable attention to the object very literally at hand, held in his long-fingered grasp as it was: the mask. The rubbery mass shifted and writhed at his touch. Undershale had worked quickly. Good. He hadn't expected anything less from the assiduous dwarf. The question on the Egorian's mind lay more so in the workmanship which he now inspected, and, crucially, the intent of the craft. While he did not expect any foul play, he knew as fact the smith to be underhanded. Their own dealings together had confirmed as much. Was there any unanticipated feature to the mask?
As Novox looked over the mask Hax snorted, "A craftsman and his tools?" The lean fighting man looked at 'Murray' and then said quietly, "So Bill was just a bent nail? Sure, Novox sure."
He went back to his usual, fake-casual lean, but his eyes kept a close watch on the devil.
The devil, who it should be noted, didn't much care for the new moniker bestowed on him by the wizard.
"Murray? What does this mean?" He rasped but the anger in his voice obviously indicated he got the gist.
No one bothered to answer him.
The mask seemed nothing more then it should, at least under Novox's pericing gaze. Threads of arcane power thrummed throughout the simple seeming object and it reminded Novox more of a waiting trap then a mask. An object designed to affix and transform.
Without further ado he tossed the item to Murray, who caught it out of mid-air with a deft skill that belied his hulking shape. The devil, oddly, sniffed it before putting it on.
There was no flash, no ripple of arcane energy, no cloud of shimmering dust. Just one moment he was a slavering devil of Hell and the next he was transformed into Decius. Or at least an image so close that even Novox's gaze could not seen a single flaw. There was no sign of the scaled beast beneath the all-too real seeming flesh.
And there was a lot of it, for Murray hadn't ben wearing any clothes. Being naked apparently didn't bother the devil for he twisted to get a better look at his new shape.
"So strange." Murray grunted, his voice still husky if not the murderous, otherworldly rasp it had been. "You humans, you have hair in strange places."
On his shoulder Belle grinned at the masculine display in front of them as Murrary contorted his nude fame. 'Oh my..'
Novox however, noticed something odd. Most of the form was perfect, totally realistic. Even parts of Decius the wizard had never seen (or wanted to see) seemed in perfect detail, every hair or wart. Yet his hands...from his forearms down the skin was flat and matte, a shade too dark. They looked blank and lifeless, even though Murray could obviously use them. As if the rest of his was a perfect statue by an expert craftsman but the arms had been crudely added later by a half-trained apprentice.
Curious.
Hax threw Murray a robe and some clothes. The atheist added, "How are we going to hide his face? I doubt we want to parade Decius around town, just yet?"
'Behave, imp.'
Loath as he was to acknowledge his familiar's antics, deliberate provocations as they so often were, Novox nevertheless saw fit to grumble into the mighty mind-palace he shared with the tiny devil, the grouse echoing off vaulted ceilings and marble halls. While her needlings were annoying, this... voyeurism at the naturalist display before them was entirely unacceptable. He would not allow such filth to pollute his genius.
"Oh, do forgive me," she spoke - aloud whereas his command had been mental and no doubt intentionally so - her smile lifting her otherwise deceptively husky voice higher, and coquettishly lifted a hand to her face so that she might protect her innocent eyes from the strapping spectacle. "Merely admiring the, ah... fruits of your labor, Master."
The fruits in question wiggled about as an oblivious Murray continued his inspection of his new form. Damn this imp. And damn her contextualizing of the situation, as the wizard did in fact feel it necessary to scrutinize the bearded devil's appearance. Although not for any thrill, of course. Or rather, none beyond that any protentional discovery evoked in the inquisitive mind. It were the arms, you see. While Undershale's disguise was as near perfect as even Novox could wish for, the forearms of this newly minted imposter were flawed, strangely and obviously so. Without hesitation, nor indeed the least sign of modesty, he walked up to the polymorphed devil and reached for one arm. Any consideration for propriety - as if this was warranted with a fiend - had to make way for the furiously intellectual glare in the eyes that now investigated the limb.
"Do your arms feel abnormal somehow? Impaired in any way?" he queried in looking over the bizarrely dull flesh, more so the painted porcelain of a doll than true skin. How very peculiar. Novox wasn't troubled exactly. No, this cosmetic defect could be hidden with relative ease, and did not pose a problem to his plans. It was the cause of said defect that had him curious. Was the dwarf's workmanship simply shoddy, resulting in an imperfect disguise? Perhaps, but he hadn't detected any such deficiency in his own inspection of the mask. Was the base image Undershale designed into it somehow faulty? This was possible. But then why? Why should the smith's idea of Decius's image be faulty? Somehow the Egorian suspected that there was something else at work here, some variable hitherto unknown to him. And voraciously inquisitive and very careful as he was, he wanted to know what.
"Hm." This pondering was interrupted by the significantly more grounded consideration of the mercenary's. "Hmph. If Murray can simply keep his head down, then the dark and the hooded cloak should do the rest." Must his genius be insulted with such trifles? Could these halfwits really not figure anything out on their own. Sigh. Then again, he considered, best to not leave his minions to their own devices, limited as they were. "A scrap of the mantle can serve as a mask if necessary."
Right. Whatever the explanation behind the matte arms, it was time to check in with Jireen back at the White Tree. The timing of her proposed meeting with the cult could impact his plans going forward. At this thought, Beloreth tittered:
"Master, might I be allowed to order something edible back at the inn? I'm afraid I still have fruit on the mind. Specifically, I have the most devilish craving for biting into a pair of plums."
All three men cringed despite themselves.
Magical disguises were surprisingly complex and subtle. Novox had read many treatises about them, even if most of it was drivel. He had gathered far more accurate information through his own experience and trials.
One key fact however, was that despite many layman's preconceived notions, disguises did not project a physical version of a mental image onto the world. It was not like making a painting or a sculpture, despite how often such similes were used by the untrained and unlettered. This became obvious upoen reflection for, to use this example, it was unlikely Undershale had ever seen Decius fully naked.
'You'd be surprised.' Belorath chimed in, menially. 'I once served a dwarf and he had a yen for female half-orcs. Once, he made one dress up as-'[/i] Novox cut off the mental connection with as much force as a jailer slamming shut a troublesome inmate's cell door.
Enthroned, alone, in his mental palace again, the wizard continued his train of thought, barely disturbed.
No, it was obvious that the magical spells actually added new information unknown tot he caster and sometimes even tot he subject. There were studies showing that a good disguising spell could faithfully reproduce warts and blemishes that even the original model did not know existed.
Of course, disguises had their limits. There were any number of exotic or rare materials that could not be replicated with even the best spell. Sky metals was one such limitation Novox knew of. Most illusion spells could not even create the façade of such strange minerals. In addtion some high-level magical items were simply too volatile, too filled with magical energy to be replicated.
Novox doubted Decius had adamantium arms however. No, more likely it was the other, more singular limitation. Studies, and Novox's own research, had shown that the subject's own self-image could effect magical disguises and illusions. In periods just after significant physical change, say a brutal accident, an illusion might still show the subject as whole and unharmed, as if by pure force of will altered the arcane energies involved. It was rare, and usually faded quickly, in a matter of hours, as the subject's mind adjusted to t e new reality. Was that the source of the problem?
Curious.
Novox leads the way out of the subterranean vault, through the still busy forge, and outside. From across the sooty, spark-filled room, Undershale curtly waves them along.
While it had been just before noon when they descended, dusk is quickly fading outside now. The sun is nothing more then a lingering light reflecting off distant low clouds in the west, and the air is cool on Novox's skin. Shadows have enveloped the world around, wreathed every tree and building in a thickening mantle of blackness. Birdsong fades away, to be replaced by the whine of insects and the soft gurgle of the river.
With Murrary suitably dressed and covered up, they quickly make their way through the darkened streets to the White tree Inn. The Inn itself is lively, with the usual evening crowd squeezing in for food and entertainment. The owner meets Novox at the door and says, [b]"Ah, Master Novox. Shall I have the chef prepare your usual steak?" This last word is said with the thrill of the taboo.
At the same time, she goes on, "And this note appeared for you at the front desk. I am sorry to say no one saw anyone drop it off." She handed the wizard a closed envelope sealed with a drop of plain wax.
'I prepared explosive runes today'
Inside, on rough, plain parchment is written a very simple message in black ink.
'Tonight. Alone. Follow the thrush.'
"Darker."
It had been only scant days since a Narsus Novox had tormented the kitchen staff at the White Tree with food wastage and increasingly bloodier steaks - partly in an act of pettiness against the nature-lovers, partly to prove a point to them, but mostly out of boredom. That much badgered staff suffered a similar scenario this evening, albeit in reverse: while the honored diplomat was behaving himself, his cloaked companion had now dismissed his own slab of beef three times. 'Undercooked', he called it. The waitress was despondent. The Thrunes had burned people on the stake who could be called less cooked. "Darker."
Only when she returned with a plate of something resembling the spent cinders from the bottom of a fireplace did the bizarre man nod his approval - and this only begrudgingly - and set to eating. As for Novox, he could only look on in bemusement. It would seem that his newest agent preferred his meals charred in hellfire. A ridiculous affectation, but largely harmless. If anything the fiend's table manners were the worse offender. He looked on as the man that was not a man maneuvered his utensils with all the grace of a geriatric giraffe. More specifically, the devil appeared to be familiar with the idea of tableware as a distant notion relegated his superiors while never having held any in his life. This wouldn't do. Not if he was to impersonate the deserter. Novox sighed. Adopting his most perfectly rank posture he harrumphed and motioned for his companion to look to himself. Teaching an infernal soldier dining etiquette was not what he had anticipated today. What he wouldn't do for his nation.
"Here," he said in passing the mercenary a certain slip of paper before demonstrating how stemmed glasses were to be held. "We have our reply."
'Tonight. Alone. Follow the thrush.' My, but the ludicrous theatrics of cults. How he despised them. "Before you protest, I won't be going alone. The imp can accompany me undetected." To hell with the cult's demands. To hell with any that made demands before negotiations were even opened. To do so was hardly in the best spirit of good diplomacy. The tree huggers were as ill mannered as the fiend, and this without the excuse of being a literal embodiment of evil born and bred in an even more literal hellhole for the sole purpose of war. Though on the subject of the devil, going at it alone was not the most daunting of prospects. The Egorian smirked. The true devils' ability to teleport across vast distances in puffs of sulfur was a very convenient one indeed. If the cult hoped to entrap him on his own, they were due a surprise.
But then the wise man knew prudence, and Narsus Novox was, while perhaps not the wisest, certainly among the most paranoid. Who had written this letter, he wondered? It hadn't come from the mayor's pen, surely. Was the author perhaps closer at hand? He had long suspected the White Tree, its patrons and staff, to harbor sympathies for the aforementioned cult, and idly speculated on whether they had spies here. It was with this in mind that he looked about the dining area for anyone watching, anyone that mayhap showed familiarity with the scrap of paper.
Or if not that, then a thrush.
Hax shrugged and looked away from his ongoing study of the cremated remains of Murray's dinner. "Protest?" The lean man said, picking up a sliver of cheese with his fingers. Novox had noted that man's diet was far closer to that of the tree-huggers then he would have expected. Not a vegetarian but not far away either. Didn't fighters love raw steaks?
"I think you overestimate how much I care, boss." Hax said, his words carrying just a hint of Bill's old diffidence. Then he sobered, "I don't like the idea of fighting my way out of this town alone, however. So fair enough, stay alive. For both our sakes." The unbeliever turned back to his cheese.
Novox meanwhile scanned the room, looking for any sign of watchfulness. He focused mainly on the Inn's staff, trying to pick out a cultist (or three). Surely they riddled the place, judging from the temperament. That said, even his most careful gaze turned up nothing. Maybe that meant that was nothing to see....but it could also have meant he missed the clues.
Either way, time passed. Finally, just as Novox considered asking for another bottle of wine, he saw it. A rather striking orange and black bird flitted out from the trees and landed on the rough stone wall that surrounded the eating terrace. It hopped, looking like any other avian, pecking about looking for insects or seeds.
On his shoulder Belle leaned forward, claws digging into Novox's skin with that same pain-pleasure. Mentally she said, It is just a bird. Disappointing. I was hoping for a shape-shifting druid.
Then, with a mental shrug, They are barely worth your time, even as foes, Master.'
The bird hopped closer, paused, and then looked Novox straight in the eye. The wizard looked down into that glassy orb and saw....nothing. Not a gleam of intelligence or arcane power. Just animal instinct. The imp was right. Dissapointing.
Still the bird hopped once, twice, and then fluttered away from the Tavern, alighting on a roof across the street. There it waited, still as stone.
"You humans allow animals too much freedom." Murrary growled in dissatisfaction from across the tale, "Wandering amongst you, in your very dining halls. Disorderly."
"No, I shouldn't expect you to be familiar with the fable of the sour grapes, should I?" Novox sniped leisurely, sharp eyes never leaving the bird across the street. "Don't begrudge my world its fertility, as if any common animal could survive the blasted hellscape you call home. Your reality can only be called orderly in the sense that a wreckage may be called still."
The barb, all the sharper for its offhandedness, was somewhat undercut by Beloreth following it with an adoring mental missive. 'Charming, isn't he? Has such a way with words.' The black raven eyes, shiny with irony, looked to her peer, he of course sharing her capability for telepathy. Their master, au courant with his servants' clairvoyance, heard ever word as well. No doubt this was the intent. And unsurprisingly, he was not amused. Narsus Novox did not appreciate being spoken of in the third person in his own presence, least of all between two members of the staff.
"Well, it's hardly a chariot," he went on, squashing his own annoyance into that ever expanding black ball of fury roiling about the pit of his stomach, "but it would seem my escort has arrived." Nodding to the awaiting thrush, the Egorian rose from the table. Though not before lifting his wineglass. "Before I leave you, however, a toast. To my new servant."
They were typically happy affairs, such salutes. Weddings, birthdays, commemorations of any milestone one cared to mention delivered with smile and pride. This was not the case here. Novox looked down to the disguised devil with the same laissez-faire dignity he had prodded at him on every occasion so far, a reminder that he was above his servants and that every allowance he gave them - such as even sitting at the table - was to be appreciated. For the only milestone to celebrate here was his own as master diabolist. "To Murray. Welcome to the winning team."
And with this bit of dual belittlement and self-aggrandizing completed, along with his glass, the wizard set out. "Imp, with me."
"A pleasure and a privilege, Master."
He paid her no mind. "I'm off to save the city. Don't kill each other while I'm gone."
2nd - Bull's Strength, Create Pit, Mirror Image, Invisibility, See Invisibility + Web
3rd - Dispel Magic, Fireball, Magic Circle (x) + Stinking Cloud
4th - Dimensional Anchor (x), Summon Monster IV x2
Murray tries to follow the toast along but his mastery of a wine glass is still coming along, but he only spills some of it. Hax however stands up and leans over to Novox, whispering, "Where do we meet if something goes wrong? Do we rendezvous someplace or should I just flee town and wait out in the woods for you?"
"I won't forgive you if you die and leave me alone with the devil." Then a curious gleam passes over his face, "Actually...what happens to Murray if something happens to you?"
Novox leaves the eating terrace casually, as if he was merely going for a quick stroll and take in some night air. It is a pleasant evening for a walk at least. The early summer air is warm and fragrant, with a clear sky glittering with a thousand, thousand stars. Apparently alone, Novox strides down the street toward the thrush.
As expected, as he draws near, it flutters down the road to a new perch and waits. This game goes on for awhile as the wizard is led down the dark and quiet streets of Dekarium. Most of the citizens are asleep, or at least indoors, which leaves the dark alleyways and thoroughfares to the summoner.
The thrush leads him through a residential district, heading west, away from the river and the docks. The houses are packed tightly together here, leaning on each other for support like so many drunk or blind men. Cobbles give way to dirt as soon as Novox leaves the main street, but that is no surprise. There are plenty of dirt streets even in the capital, once one leaves the main districts. Still, he is curious. Where are they going?
Suddenly, a vast dark shape looms out of the shadowed darkness ahead. The outer wall of Dekarium, a timber construction fifteen feet high with a ramshackle parapet on the inside. As they draw closer, Novox gets a better look at it, and is not surprised to see it needs some work. A few of the massive timbers have slipped, allowing dirt to gather in ledges or cracks. In a few, plants are even growing, trailing down green vines over the weathered wood. He hoped they at least had sense to scrape the other side or any invader could climb up it. Were they meeting atop the wall?
No. The thrush stopped in a oblong patch of grass that abutted the sweeping barricade. It was an open area with no buildings or even shacks. Peering closer Novox can see it was once flagged with great stones, but dirt and leaves had long since covered it. A parade ground, perhaps?
The thrush is sitting on the only object of note, a black obelisk sitting in the middle of the overgrown space. Novox sees no one else but walks over, his eyes automatically peering at the black surface. The only thing carven into the rock is a date, some twenty years ago. Nothing else.
"I was there." A female voice says from the shadows and Novox casually turns. A woman steps out from the base of the wall and slowly resolves in the dim starlight. It is the hard drinking woman Novox first met during that night the Greentounge boy died. The woman whose hand had glowed with arcane magic when danger erupted. He had seen her again at the Revel, but they had not spoken. Had he even gotten her name?
"You came." The stocky heavyset woman says, voice not unfriendly. "And mostly alone, at least." She jerks a chin toward him, "How many invisible creatures do you have draped over your shoulders? I hope my ears are not too old to have missed your fighter skulking about, but devils...well....they can be elusive."
Somewhere over the wall an owl hoots mournfully and the woman smirks slightly, although Novox has no idea why.
O, to hear others speak of contingency plans. The look Hax's rightful caution won him from his ward wasn't patronizing, not exactly. Rather, the man just looked a bit surprised, as if asked how they might ensure an enigma did not paint the treehouse in silence. For the seemingly legitimate query really was more than a little nonsensical to the wizard. It wasn't that planning for emergencies was foreign to him. Not at all. Plotting and scheming practically made up his vocation, mission and leisure all, with plans of measures being no exception. It was just that such contingencies did not apply to him. After all, a contingency implied failure. And Narsus Novox did not fail.
Ah, but then this certainty wasn't yet clear to all, he reminded himself, least of all the - unduly - proud Rahadoumi. Hax did not understand that he might as well have asked for an emergency plan for the event that the sun should extinguish itself: both so unlikely and catastrophic as to be useless. Good then that there was nothing to worry about. Flowers bloomed in spring, the sun rose in the east, and Narsus Novox trampled any opposition. "Watch the night sky," he finally said, humoring the mercenary. "Should the worst happen, you may assume that any great big fiery explosion is either a call for help, or my enemies being reduced to a state quite beyond help."
Birds weren't usually capable of smiling. But Beloreth's beak managed a reasonable approximation at this mental image. "That said, it is more likely that I will send the imp to fetch you in any such crisis. Given her more elusive capabilities, she can escape nearly any given situation." He looked to Decius's duplicate. "And with directions from her, our Murray could cross the entire town to reach me in an instant. So don't fret. What you confuse for overconfidence is my knowledge that our opponents cannot compare. But very well. Should the impossible occur we rendezvous... at the remains of the God-Fiend's church."
As appropriate a location as any given their mutual dislike of the divine. Burnt out husks additionally weren't known to invite many bystanders, especially by the arsonists returning to the scene of the crime. "As for the fiend's status should something happen to me," the Egorian added, almost as an afterthought in turning to leave, "in such an unhappy circumstance Golarion would have yet another devil on the loose. And in terms of tragic consequences to this world in the event of my death, even that would rank very lowly indeed."
For such was the truth of the matter, the truth that simpletons such as Hax could not understand: it wasn't simply that Novox was infallible. In the grander picture Novox couldn't allow himself to die. He was too precious for that. His people - his world - needed him.
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It wasn't an entirely unpleasant walk that finally led the savior of mankind to the near vacant lot. While he undeniably held a greater regard for grand architecture than dirt roads and ramshackle huts, he was not so insensate that he couldn't appreciate a night stroll in fresh air fragrant with the heat of the soil. The perfectly straight nose drew in a deep breath. Yes, pleasant enough. And for that pleasantry the Dekarians would sacrifice everything else. How selfish. How monstrously, monstrously selfish wasn't it to choose some pretty shrubs over the industry they could support, the progress? Novox looked to the fertile earth and saw the rows of crops with farmsteads it could be, an engine behind an army. He looked to the trees and saw the timber that could float an armada. He looked and saw so many component to his empire, unfulfilled. Selfish. The Dekarians were so very selfish.
The rowing eye stopped the obelisk, however, his curiosity compelling him to. A memorial? Curious. An empty lot with a purpose then. More curious still to have a memorial commemoration nothing but a date, though. These monuments typically exhibited some aggrandizing text or another. Did said date mean anything to him?
That speculation was cut short by the arrival - or was it the unveiling? - of a stocky woman. A stocky woman he recognized. The diabolist had only truly noted her on the second occasion of seeing her, when she sat at the high table during the Revel alongside both Greentongue and the mayor. This had marked her as a person of some importance and therefore interest to his mission. He had hoped to learn more of her then, but giant sea serpent attacks had a way of throwing plans awry.
"As alone as any of us who choose to retain a familiar can be. Good evening, Ms...?"
His address was casual and polite in kind, not addressing the strangeness of the circumstances that had led them both here, nor indeed her remark on devils. While her ability to somehow penetrate the imp's invisibility marked her as capable, Novox very deliberately declined to comment on this point. It was, after all, entirely possible that she merely detected an invisible bird and guessed at its true nature, attempting to cheat him into confirming such a suspicion. A cheap ploy that he would never allow himself to fall far.