"Bah, spare me from lilting metaphors," replied the wizard, who wasn't overly fond of what he considered empty rhetoric. And this despite freely utilizing it for his own purposes when needed. "If I was ever to ask the gods for anything, it would be for that."
From the diabolist's shoulder the raven that was not a raven was still being conspicuously quiet. Even in this discussion of Hell, pride, the afterlife, Cheliax and more, a veritable smorgasbord of targets for easy derision, Bilbastis remained quiet. The reason being that he understood Narsus Novox and he knew that there was no discussion. Firstly, the imp could vouch, as an honest-to-evilness devil, that any debate between mortals about the Great Beyond was like mole-rats squinting at frescoes: they couldn't see the big picture. No mortal could possibly understand. It was not in them. But more importantly, Narsus Novox was not speaking in good faith, ironically. He was working.
"The point remains," the diabolist continued, working on his companion. "Rahadoum's attempt at spiritual independence is admirable, but too hesitant. Cheliax is the inevitable and superior next step along the same line of thought. The Great Beyond is here and cannot be ignored; if we are to be free, we must conquer."
The thing one needed to understand about Narsus Novox was that he was always working towards one goal or another. Few words left his noble mouth without a purpose. The wizard was a patriot, but he was no fool; the grandiose yarn he was spinning about his fatherland was just that - a narrative. He was perfectly aware that the Thrunes had served themselves first, everything else a distant second. He knew that the fiends, and the church that empowered them, held far too much sway in the country. He realized that the idea of Cheliax, the country that coerced Hell itself, was a great deal more attractive than reality.
But ideas were powerful things. And it was this idea Novox wanted to realize. And it was what he was slowly working into Hax, to see whether the sellsword could be turned to his cause.
"Oof, anyone else suddenly feeling inadequate, guys?" the imp finally broke his silence. "That is one big turgid phallus."
They had arrived at the temple. And Novox wasn't overly happy about this. Even disregarding his low thoughts of priests and fiends, seeking help from anyone went against his proud nature.
"Who is it? Who in this poxed village is troubling me in the dead of night?"
"Who else but a poxed man? I am Narsus Novox, servitor to our king Majestor Quinus Thrune. I wish to buy your services in ridding myself of a magically induced illness. Vacate the doorway and let us enter."
Hax couldn't help but notice that the wizard's familiar had shed his feathery guise. Bilbastis was visible in all his impish glory. He was giving a little wave to the robed man.
The cloaked figure barks a rough laugh when Novox remarks about being a poxed man. When Novox announces who he is however, the figure's posture changes. Gone is the haughty distance, standing in the doorway, slurred speech.
The figure says, voice a mixture of surprise and wonder, "From the capital? Can it be?". They step out fully onto the small paved square around the temple, cloak hood falling back, revealing their face to Novox's dark-adjusted eyes.
It is a horror.
It is a male face, human but with leaner and sharper features then most, along with a head of short black hair and dark eyes. But that was not what made Novox's already inflamed gorge rise. The man, if indeed a man it was, had no skin.
No, he had skin, something was holding his innards in place but it was a translucent, nearly invisible barrier, hiding nothing. Novox watched, fascinated, as the figure's veins and capillaries throbbed and writhed right before his eyes. Muscles, fully visible as stretched red meat, cover the face, mixed with think white lines of tenons and nerves. The eyes are floating orbs in goo, pulled this way and that by twitching muscles, the movement looking unnatural and disquieting. Even the teeth were visible, a grin fit for a skull.
"Whoa! Talk about a face only a mother could love! Assuming that mother was blind in one eye and had that funky white film - you know the kind - over the other. Holy bum-nuggets..."
"Calm down, imp."
"Calm down?! Guy looks like his face caught fire and an entire regiment of soldiers in full plate-armor trampled it out! I mean, wow!"
To say that the robed man's appearance had stopped the trio in their tracks would be an understatement. Hemorrhaging stomach forgotten, even for Novox, all three could only stare at the translucent creature, albeit all with different reactions. Bill wore an open-mouthed grin, finding enormous amusement in this poor creature's impressively exotic disfigurement. The diabolist's gaze on the other hand was scrutinizing, narrowed eyes taking in the form before him.
"... What manner of abomination are you?"
It was a credit to his fiendish intelligence that the wizard managed to ask this without a hint of condemnation. As his critical eyes roved the man's exposed internals, they revealed nothing but scholarly curiosity.
"I can tell you what he looks to be," piped the imp, clearly eager to impress with as many hurtful remarks as possible. "He looks like he took one of your fireballs to the face at point-blank. Remember that? Remember when that happened?"
"Imp..."
"I mean, really - I thought your vomit was going to be the least appealing thing I saw today, but..."
"Imp!"
"Shutting up."
Novox gazes at the strange figure with more then a little intellectual curiosity. What was this thing? Could it be some horrible injury, like Bill was jokingly suggesting? Some cursed man, burdened with some divine malediction? Or maybe even just a simple , if ghastly, illusion for some unknown reason?
In short order Novox realizes this is a...tiefling. A human with fiendish blood in their veins, a deep connection to the very devils and demons the wizard despises and barely deigns himself to use as tools. He could only imagine what base or degraded human would consent to such a union, even if for personal gain. Disgusting.
Suddenly the priest jerks a gloved hand toward his face, covering the grotesque features. "Forgive...forgive me." Hastily he pulls a leather mask off his belt and affixes it over his hood, actions smooth from long practice. Soon the strange and repelling visage is gone, with only the dark eyes revealed.
The man glances toward Bilbastis and bows, "Greetings, spawn of the Hells, you grace us with your undying presence."
"Priests," Hax mutters, just loud enough for Novox to hear over the man's groveling.
"My name is Diseo, the only priest of our faith in this pathetic town." He bows to Novox again, and the wizard sees the man is trembling slightly like lesser men often due when faced by their betters. "You say you are unwell? Please, come inside...."
He waves them toward the yawning doorway of the temple. Hax hesitates and says bluntly, after looking over the priest, "Do you really want to put your life in this man's hands?"
Wizard and familiar were a frankly comical sight as the priest greeted Bilastis over his master and did so with no small measure of exaltation at that. The imp's grin widened in exact pace with the diabolist's mouth drawing tight in a scowl. It was like watching one balloon being blown up whilst its partner deflated, confirming all of Novox's worst fears in coming here. Damned sycophants.
Pointedly ignoring Bill, who was trying to catch his eyes with a smug look, the wizard instead turned to Hax.
"No admirer of the fiend-blooded? No, why would you be? I'm not exactly fond of them myself, as you might have guessed."
Novox made no attempt to lower his voice or in any any way hide his distaste from the robed man.
"But this creature is, for the moment, my best option. Besides, I'm not putting my life in his hands. It's the Archfiend's claws I'm entrusting it to. And while I don't trust the devils anymore than I do a hungry tiger, I do trust in their laws. The wretched things are every bit as bound to them as their servitors. Their magic is reliable enough."
This said he followed the tiefling into the temple. While Novox felt nothing but loathing for all fiends, this was not quite so for their distant thin-blooded descendants. Vice versa, the Egorian had an almost proportionate faith in humanity, or at least in the potential held in that race. He would grant the priest this one, and only one, chance to prove which blood ran stronger in his exposed veins.
"What services do you offer, Archheathen Diseo?" he asked, trying hard to keep his back straight as another pang of pain tore through him.
Novox eyes the strange, now masked man carefully although it is hard to tell much from him. Idly, the wizard wonders if lacking a skin make sit harder to lie, being so exposed, or does the sheer alien grotesqueness act as a mask of itself? In any case, he gets two emotions from the man.
One, there is a disgusting air of obsequiousness, of someone who is willing to be a toady and grovel for their ends. A dog long kicked and ignored but still comes to the dinner table, whining for scraps. A servile attitude that makes Novox's already twisted guts squirm painfully.
Second though, and more hidden, is a sense of desperation. A feeling like a man long resigned to his bitter fate spotting a sail on the horizon or an oasis in the distance. An utter determination to do anything to avoid a grim future long expected and assumed. Under the wrong circumstances, Diseo could be dangerous.
"Services? Oh, of course. Come in, come in. I have some beds upstairs..." The priest of Asmodeus leads them inside the dark archway, bowing low.
The ground floor of the temple is a wide open space, shaped like a pentagon, with short flat walls ending in stained glass (invisible in the dark). Laid out on the floor are various summoned circles and pentagrams, the simple (but effective) aids and helps when summoning and binding the beings of other planes. Banks of candles stand on iron racks along the walls, along with other incense and minor reagents.
The entire room stinks of rot and decay, of abandonment and dirt. The summoning circles are scuffed and faded, long worn and covered with dirt. The candles are dark, many stubs or broken in half, covered with dust. A old mangy dog sleeps in one corner, not even lifting a head as they walk inside.
Diseo ignores all of this and gestures to a small iron staircase leading up, "The living areas are on the second floor, I'm afraid. Can you make the climb?"
"It's only my intestines rotting away. My legs are perfectly fine. I'm not infirm yet," said the wizard with just a bit more venom than intended. He didn't like it when others showed consideration for him, proud as he was. It made him feel weak and Narsus Novox was not that. He didn't like seeing anything other than adoration or fear in others. Preferably both.
"I take it attendance is not very high here in 'this poxed village'" he changed the subject, indicating the shabby state of the temple. Whether he did this to shame the priest in turn, or if he took some pleasure in the hated God-Fiend's chapel sitting empty was unclear. Regardless, the diabolist could not rejoice in the citizens of Dekarium rejecting Asmodeus, as he knew for a fact that they had simply replaced one simpering supplication for another. It was shameful. Humanity should venerate nothing but their own power, as Aroden had taught them.
The temple's neglect aside, however, Novox's eye could not help but be drawn to the faded summoning circles. He had the means to bind additional servants from the Pit to him, but summoning circles being fragile things these required quiet and segregated accommodations. Perhaps he had just found just such a place.
"You sounded almost hopeful when you heard I was from the capital, Archheathen Diseo. Were you expecting someone else?"
"This town scorns the truth and the true faith as a matter of course and pride, I am sorry to say Master Novox. It has been thus long before my arrival."
Diseo follows Novox's eyes over the dilapidated and untidy temple room. He seems to shift uncomfortably, clearly feeling embarrassed over the sad state of his supposedly sacred charge. He does seem to notice the wizard's interest in the summoning circles, but says nothing.
As they climb the iron stairs, their boots ringing off the metal steps, the masked man replies, "Of course I was hopeful! A man from the capital, it has been so long...Someone has finally arrived to set Dekarium in order and restore the proper order of things!" A short pause and then, "You spoke of Majestor Quinus Thrune, at the door. The name is not known to me, what is afoot in the capital? It has been long since I have heard any real news of Imperial politics. Some new branch of the family has taken the throne?"
Hax stops and looks to Novox, disbelief on his face. "He can't...surely not....he does know, right?"
"Know what?" Diseo says, a quick flash of anger in his otherwise smooth and up till now servile tone. "And who are you anyway, outlander? I did not see you bow or make any sign toward the symbols below despite entering a place of power and faith."
Hax opens his mouth to speak...
"Hax!" The sharp call halted the mercenary. "Better to let me inform the good priest..."
But of course, it wasn't kindness that made Novox stop Hax in delivering some very rude news indeed, although civil war certainly wasn't a topic to be broached without some tact to the evidently completely ignorant. The wizard wondered how it could be possible that the priest didn't know. Had his condition simply left him such a recluse? Or was his mind impaired somehow? He thought back to how the priest's speech had slurred earlier. Either way it seemed certain that both the capital and the organized church had for all intents and purposes left him for dead here, like an unfortunate expedition to deepest Garund. They had probably written off Dekarium as a lost cause and him with it. The poor fool!
Sympathy was not what the diabolist had in mind, however. No, what he saw here was opportunity. It carried some risk, but the godless wizard couldn't pass up the opportunity to manipulate a servant of hated Asmodeus to his cause. It was too perfect.
"The Thrunes are gone, Archheathen Diseo," he began, voice level and steady. "We don't know how and can only guess as to why, whether through some elaborate plot or if your Dark Prince finally claimed them, but the entire royal family disappeared some months ago. All but one; Quinus Thrune somehow remains and is now rightful ruler of Cheliax. It is him we now serve."
Novox paused to let this particular lightning bolt ring its last, and to allow the intimation that 'we', this including the tiefling, had a new liege set in.
"In the absence of our beloved monarchy, the nation has shamefully devolved into the exact state they saved us from: civil war. Every man with the least bit of authority, goat herder and up, now thinks himself fit to be emperor and has taken up arms. And if that wasn't heinous enough, our enemies abroad are taking the opportunity to strike at us while we are weak, hyenas that they are. Cheliax sits on the brink of destruction. Which you have apparently failed to notice from your tower."
'No need for another pause, chief. Pretty sure the shame is setting in just fine...'
"Where did you think all the refugees filling this ridiculous town's streets were coming from?" Novox continued, an edge now slipping into his voice. "To say nothing of the literal army outside Dekarium's barricades? One speaks of clerics living sheltered lives behind temple walls, but this is frankly ludicrous. As we speak there are people dying to preserve our nation; to cower from sacrifices such as theirs is dishonorable enough, but to be oblivious of them is unforgivable! Why do you think I am here, man?! I myself was just attacked by some Dekarian rebels. I came here hoping to find allies to the Chelish way of life, as the Asmodean church has always been, but instead... Pah!"
The wizard turned from the tiefling, clearly overwrought with emotion. It was, to all eyes, the only way he could stop himself from launching at the treacherous imbecile. And few actors on the Chelish stage could have done it better.
"Rid me of this malady if you can and be done with it. If not even the Archfiend's servitors will preserve the Cheliax that was, then my companion and I will contend with Dekarium's treasonous government ourselves."
Diseo nearly falls over as Novox explains the state of affairs in the wider world. Clearly all of this is news to the cleric and he grabs the iron railing to steady himself at the top of the stairs.
"The Thrunes...gone? The Empire...civil war...." The man murmurs, head bowed in confusion.
Meanwhile Novox peers around the upper floor of the temple tower. A set of dark hallways lead off in either direction, lined with dark wood doors with heavy iron locks. Clearly the followers of Asmodeus enjoy privacy when not trying to engage the masses below. The place is dimly light, barely enough to see by. Novox heard that many tieflings could see well in the dark, so perhaps lighting was a senseless expense for the man. Still, it did not make for a very welcoming place of healing and rest.
Novox catches a strange, spicy scent on the air. He can't quite pin it down, but it seems to be coming from his left.
The wizard recognizes the smell, after a moment of thought. It was common in the worse dives and gutters of Erogian. Flayleaf. A highly addictive and destructive drug, common through the Inner Sea. A powerful relaxant it was also often mixed with other dangerous chemicals to add a hallucinogenic effect. The drug was strictly banned in Cheliax although it was widely used by the lowest classes who were often beneath the notice of the Hellknights.
Diseo interrupts his thoughts and says, "Of course, I will help. Anything for the officials of the Crown. Please, come inside one of the rooms, I can examine you."
Novox grimaced as he realized he wasn't the only one here with a devil on his shoulder. The tiefling was an drug addict. This didn't bode well for his skill as physician. And this in turn didn't bode well for the ailing wizard. Addicts could never be trusted. To be an addict meant selling your humanity, to escape the world into a bottle. How could they ever be trusted?
Much to his chagrin, however, the pit of razor blades that used to be the diabolist's stomach left such considerations null and void. He needed a cure. Novox decided that he had to at least see what the priest's means were. If he was lucky the tiefling had some curative spell bound in a scroll laying about, the veracity of which he could at least inspect. But he wasn't feeling especially lucky tonight.
Novox lifted a candle from a cold candelabrum and lit it, not with fire but with scintillating magic. He followed the priest.
Diseo leads Novox into a small dark room, unbolting the door with a ring of iron keys on his belt. Inside, it is quickly revealed to be a small bedroom complete with chest of drawers, a tiny writing desk and a heavy bed, simple but functional. Perhaps a cell for a priest or cleric in better times? The entire place smells of rot and Novox can see spots of grime and mildew on the sheets of the bed. A few mushrooms seem to sprout from the headboard but the cleric has Novox lay on it all the same. Hax makes a face and stands at the door, looking away.
The masked man proceeds to examine Novox with unsteady hands and rather unpleasant breath. He pokes and prods, searching in armpits and behind thighs for pustules or other marks. Several times he presses Novox's stomach so hard the wizard convulses in pain, and would have vomited again if he had anything left but sour bile in his gut. After this long and seemingly random search Diseo steps back and says, "Well, I am not sure what ails you, Master Novox. I can probably cure you with magic but.." he trails off, embarrassment in his voice, "That would require waiting until tomorrow so I can recover that magic."
"There are, or at least were stores of such things in the temple but they have been locked up for years, God only knows what is living in our basement. I think you are in for a long night. Shall I get you a basin?" The man winces, drawing back as if expecting this news to draw physical blow from the sick man.
In the sudden pained silence, Bill howls with laughter.
"I don't know what you're laughing about, imp," the wizard said, voice cold as a gravestone in Calistril, "You're going into the basement first."
There were exactly two options here: either Novox attended the feast tomorrow with a sickly sheen and unable to hold down any food, or he spat in the guild mistresses's face by being the perfect image of Egorian refinement with no trace of her ploy. The former was no option at all.
"Sigh... Cleaning up a literal drug-fiend's dingy basement... And to think this trip started so promising with skanky fairies to look forward to. Where did it all go so wrong? Oh, and I didn't really mean that, padre." Bilbastis looked to the tiefling with heinous disregard. "You're a quarter fiend at best."
"Hax, prepare yourself." The diabolist winced slightly in somehow retrieving an ornate book from a side pocket of his haversack that was entirely too small to house said book. "What is it you suspect the temple's basement houses, priest?" he asked in opening the tome. "Or is that something we can add to the long list of things you are ignorant of?"
Hax grunts, "Prepare myself for what? Spring cleaning? I can handle whatever lives in your church's basement."
Diseo's eyes are dark behind his leather mask. "I...I have no idea what is down there. Perhaps nothing more then the grime and cobwebs of years, perhaps. However, such places tend to attract certain creatures and the magical wards would have long ago fallen into disrepair. If I recall correctly, the store was once quite impressive by local standards although I don't know how much remains, not having been maintained. Some of the reagents are bound to expired or bottles cracked..." he trails off before adding, "I really must advise against this."
The door to the basement is a trapdoor in the bottom floor, a wooden thing bound with iron. Each nail is shaped like the head of a devil, flattened into a grotesque parody.
"Am I flattered or not?" Bill says musingly.
It takes all of Hax's considerable strength to open the door, caked with grime and dust to create a nearly impenetrable seal. The open door reveals a steep set of earthen stairs leading down into utter darkness.
"We will need a light." Hax mutters, letting the door bang onto the floor.
The smell emerging from the basement is one of dust and dryrotting wood, which is probably better then slime and rot. There is a spicy unusual scent underlying it, perhaps some trace of alchemical reagents? There is no movement or sound from below.
"We will need a light."
"We will, yes. Imp."
The familiar hopped, rather than flew, down from his perch on his master's shoulder. Which was just as well seeing as his wings disappeared mid jump. Bilbastis's startling transformation could make stomachs stronger than the diabolist's turn (though this didn't mean much at the moment). It was as if the imp's skeleton gained a will of its own and went on a mad growth spurt, explosively expanding and twisting the poor creature. But instead of the bones piercing and escaping their fleshy confines, the scaled skin stretched to accommodate the new frame. It was all over in a matter of seconds. Wicked talons landed on the hard floor with a dust eruption. Bill the imp was gone; replacing him was Bill the hook-fanged horror, a lizard-like monstrosity standing almost as tall as the wizard. It turned a yellow eye towards Hax.
"What can I say? I'm a grower, not a shower."
It took all of Novox's considerable mental discipline to refrain from rolling his eyes. Instead he directed the devil to lead the way into the cellar.
"Keep within telepathy distance at all times."
"Standard procedure, chief. I hear ya," came the croaking reply.
As the beast descended the stairs, its master illuminated his staff, briefly causing its blood-red scales to shimmer in the light before it disappeared in the darkness. Hax and Novox followed. The wizard did not bother leaving any last instructions for the priest in case of his unfortunate demise. Narsus Novox was not about to die in a musty old basement.
Hax watches Bills painful looking transformation with shaded eyes and more then a usual mistrust. Clearly the fact that anyone or anything could be a devil in disguise was not something the big man liked to confront.
"All of this to help a temple. What a world." Hax mutters, pulling out his sword and weighing it in his callused hand. It glitters dully in the gloom of the room, lacking the sparkling beauty of a parade sword but all the more deadly for it.
Then the reptile vanishes as Bill becomes invisible and heads down the narrow earth steps. After a bit, Novox and Hax follow, letting the expendable devil lead the way. The air is dust-dry and stagnant with the weight of years, with a fine coating of dust on every surface. The stairway lacks any railing or guardrail, just uneven stairs hacked out of the thick brown earth. Even their careful passage sends up a thin cloud of hazing dust. They are just reaching the bottom when Bill sends back a silent thought.
'Heads up, boss. Something is alive down here, I can see it. Animal, I think.'
At the bottom of the flight they pause, raising Novox's light. All around them are rows of rickety wooden shelves, stacked with all sorts of items. Piles of moth-eaten books, rows of dusty bottles (some cracked), old holy symbols, buckets of paint and nails, all
the sorts of junk and items that gather up in places over time.
Farther over Novox can see one of the shelves has been carelessly tipped to the ground contents scattered and broken all over the packed dirt floor. There are faint prints in the dust but nothing Novox can make out clearly.
In the dark dungeon, Novox caught his companion's attention by bringing the radiant rod up to his face. The Egorian's noble features were stenciled in deep shadow. The effect was rather dramatic. 'WE'RE NOT ALONE' he mouthed. Satisfied that Hax was on guard, he ventured deeper into the basement, slowly, his only real guide forward being that nebulous link between wizard and familiar. He could feel the devil's presence.
'Describe the creature, servant. Use as precise terms as your lizard brain can manage.'
The diabolist searched his considerable mental catalog for any match to Bill's description, but knew that no matter what it was, they had scant seconds before the beast detected intruders in its lair. While Bilbastis might be able to stay hidden, Hax and Novox were standing under torchlight in the nest of something obviously able to navigate in the dark. They might as well have walked into a lion den wrapped in bacon. Assuming this was some sort of predator, of course.
Novox looked about the cluttered basement. Under normal circumstances this would be when he tossed a fireball in the imp's general direction and let the flames do what they did best. But not wanting to destroy what little might still be salvageable here, this wasn't an option. Instead he would have to rely on the prowess of his accomplices, the wizard thought with some irritation. Well, aided by his own magic. Was he not a leader of men, after all?
'Imp, we're going to approach you. Speak up if the beast stirs. I will empower you and you are to break cover and strike immediately.'
Driven by his aching guts, Novox inched nearer.
'Will do, boss. Don't see anything yet, but there is a empty nest back here of piled junk and roots. Maybe they aren't home? Lots more broken stuff back here....' A pause and then, a mental whistle. "Woah, boss. There is a huge hole in the wall over here, big enough for a horse to ride through. Something lives down here...'
At his side Hax nods, holding his sword low. Novox takes a step forward, holding his light aloft, looking for the first sign of danger....when the floor under their feet suddenly erupts in a shower of dust and dirt!
A pair of heavy digging claws emerge first, hauling a massive body of dark fur put of the rapidly growing hole in the floor. Novox glimpses a furred snout, rimmed by heavy tusk-like teeth.
The wizard recalls from some bestiary, this is a deep badger. A formidable hunter of the underground, it is a massive horse-sized version of the more familiar surface badger. They have been known to eat whole bands of hunters, picking them off one by one to drag into the suffocating earth.
The shaggy shape comes between Hax and Novox, a dirty mass of claws and teeth.
Novox manages to dodge one of the heavy claws, but another catches him on the back of the leg, leaving a ugly bloody cut. Hax receives a cut on his upper arm, which the man shakes off with a grunt.
"Get clear!" he shouts at Novox, raising his sword.
The hulking badger turns toward the gleaming sword, clearly knowing the greater danger. It lunges for the fighter, teeth bared, the lumbering body knocking over a entire shelf. The creature ignores as the collection of bottles and items smashes on the floor, sending up a flume of sparkling smoke
A splash of orange liquid flies out of the heaping pile and lands on Novox's legs. There is the familiar burst of arcane warmth and suddenly...Novox can think in Strix. The strange whistling lanagauge of the bird people that lvie off the coast of Cheliax. The potion, somehow, grantd him the abilty.
In his mind Bill is shouting, 'Boss, what in the name of the Nine Hells is going on back there? Why are tweeting like a bird? Have you finally lost it?'
Meanwhile Hax and the deep badger are locked in combat.
It tries to grapple the man, but Hax wrestles it off, pushing it back.
"You missed it, you imbecile!" Novox shouted in reply to his familiar, foregoing the telepathy. Anger was better expressed in clamor and spittle than thought. "Get back here and kill this..."
He suddenly realized that the only utterances coming from his mouth were hoots and whistles. What in the world? The wizard looked from the tower of dirt and fur in front of him, to the gash in his leg, to the orange liquid directly above that cut, to the crushed pots and bottles whose contents were now fuming and commingling on the earth floor, and back to the trashing monstrosity whose every movement sent more reagents crashing to the ground. Oh, you sh*t, his brilliant mind concluded.
'Imp. Kill. Now.'
Fury could, as it turned out, be transmitted through thought, and Bilbastis did not bother replying to his master. Instead a red blur came leaping out of the darkness, dagger-like talons first, landing and sinking into the oversized badger, rending flesh as it slid down the matted pelt only to then dig its teeth into the open wound. Bill was a perfectly civilized monster, but he was not above indulging in his devilish impulses to destroy and dominate.
Satisfied at the violence before him, Novox decided upon contributing to the animal's demise himself. With a simple wave of his hand the entire world was set in motion as, from his own perspective, earth and walls shifted themselves away, taking the trio locked in melee with them. Of course, from their perspectives the wizard knew it seemed as if he simply vanished and then reappeared some ten feet away. Either way, it was far enough for him to practice his magic without the beast swiping at him. Concentrating hard, he managed to maneuver his tongue around a familiar incantation instead of the strange squawks he had lapsed into. He had just performed one miracle of spatial magic. Why not another? That foul badger might call the earth its domain, but the diabolist very much doubted it could dig through extradimensional space.
Hax had only just delivered a blow of his own when he heard the Egorian's commanding voice shout something over the din of battle. It made just as little sense to him as the cawing the man'd done earlier, but this was clearly different, probably some spell. He had no time to make a guess as to what exactly before he felt the ground shift beneath him. More cursed badgers? No, this was not the case. Beneath the giant animal a yawning pit formed in a perfect circle had silently come out of nowhere.
Bill, now fully visible, leaps out of the stygian darkness to attack the burrowing creature with teeth and claws. The stiff fur defeats some of his efforts, but the dinosaur does some damage, ripping wounds in the side of the large beast. It roars with pain, a deep guttural sound.
Hax, taking advantage of the distraction lashes out in turn, sword working more like the arm of a machine then anything else, regular and smooth.
The tight space blunts one blow, but the other opens a small gash at the creatures meaty shoulder, the coppery scent of blood now mingling with the dry dust and arcane powders.
Then the floor starts to open under the badger, an irony considering how it surprised Hax and Novox itself. The animal flounders for a moment, obviously confused at the rapidly widening crevice under its paws.
With a startled snort it falls into the pit, momentarily out of sight. There is a loud, muffled slam as the furry beast hits the stone-like floor of the magical pit. It tries to dig heavy claws into the walls of the pit and heave itself out.
It comes very close but climbing the sheer walls is too strange, too unlike it's usual swimming action through earth and it slides back down with a sad sounding whimper of pain and confusion. It leaves a trail of dark blood on the side of the pit.
Poets would struggle to describe the pleasure Novox felt in seeing the hairy beast tumble down the pit with all the elegance of a sack of potatoes. Intellect vs instinct, man vs nature, magic vs muscle - the conflict with the badger frankly tickled many of the wizard's baser compulsions. It had been a rough day; killing something wild was just the tonic he needed. At the soft thud and the accompanying animal whines, he drew in a deep breath. The air tasted of rot, earth and alchemical fumes, with the coppery tang of blood underscoring it all, subtle but growing. But all Novox could smell was victory!
"Step away from the edge," he said. His tone was assured, even relaxed. Clearly the Egorian thought the fight already won. "lest you stumble into the tiger's cage. The beast isn't caught for good. Even if it doesn't manage the climb, the spell won't last forever. Let me handle this one."
Another incantation followed, at the conclusion of which the wizard's proud chin rose even higher. And then the rest of him followed. Novox took to the air, flying with arms at his back and chest thrust. He couldn't look any more regal if he was soaring over a crowd of adoring subjects rather than a mildewy basement. But this emperor only had eyes for one particular serf right now, and as he paused his flight directly over the pit, Novox deigned to cast his gaze down the shaft to look upon the furred frondeur below. Slowly he pointed a single pale finger at the beast. A short but forceful incantation preceded a single spark falling from the outstretched digit. Leisurely, gaily, like a lit snowflake it descended the pit, quickly disappearing from view.
Until it exploded.
Hax and Bill almost went airborne themselves as they were struck by the wall of heat that sprang out of the hole. The wizard's tiny spark had exploded into an inferno, all mercifully contained inside the shaft, along with the badger. The entire basement was lit up in glorious reds and yellows for just a moment, the hole transformed into a giant bull's-eye lantern. And in the epicenter of that light, directly over the pit, stood Narsus Navox, lit up and illuminated like a god. And yet the fire below could not compare to the fire in his eyes.
NVoxo hovers over the pit, robes flaring dramatically as hell is unleashed below him. For a moment the wizard is a dark figure, illuminated only by swirling fire and roaring flames. The basement shakes slightly with the force of the fiery explosion and if the pit had merely been a normal cavity in the earth, would surely have burst asunder, spilling fiery death over Hax and Bill both. But it was not, it was a magical space carved out of the Astral Plane itself.
Slowly the fire dies, the flames guttering low then going out, plunging the dusty basement back into darkness. A stench of burned flesh and hair wafts out of the pit, thick smoke adding to the general haze of the room. Hax steps back, waving it away from his face and coughing hoarsely, brushing dust and soot from his fighting leathers.
For a moment Novox feels like a god among insects, floating above, dealing death and judgement at his whim. Then he is inside give a savage twist that nearly takes his breath away and he feels quite human again.
Hax edges near the hole and looks down. After a moment he says dryly, "I think you killed it, Novox." Even as he speaks the pit slowly fades, the floor rising up, bringing a charred and much battered husk of badger with it. It lies unmoving on the earthen floor, still lightly smoking.
From up the stairs Diseo's thin voice calls, "Did you win? What was that noise?"
"You alright, chief?"
Bilbastis fluttered onto his master's shoulder. He had returned to his natural, diminutive state which was just as well; had he tried perching on the wizard's shoulder in his monstrous guise Novox would most certainly not be alright. And the diabolist was already feeling less than chipper.
"Hale and hearty, imp. Just hale and hearty." He spoke through clenched teeth, one hand against the wall to support himself. His stomach was acting up again. It felt like his intestines had been replaced with live snakes.
"Spare me your false platitudes, devil. Make yourself useful - tell the tiefling to get down here and help with searching the basement."
"Heh. Why false? 'Sympathy' might be a sentiment mercifully absent in my kind, but I can feel respect. That was a pretty good gambit just now. Fiery pit and all? No kill like overkill, huh? I like it."
"Shut up, imp," Novox waved away Bill's words. Narsus Novox knew better, far better, than to take compliments from devils.
"See, this is your problem, chief," said Bill, reading his master's mind even without their eerie link, "You can't separate people from populations. That's what happens when you only think in grand, nation-altering machinations. The individual gets lost in all the hub-bub. All big picture. No fine detail. And I should know: Hell is guilty of that too. But at least we acknowledge it and try to curb our own worst habits. Enslaving the multiverse and putting its teeming stupid hordes to good use is all well and fine, but we're all about efficiency. Do we really deserve to rule this dung-heap if we set the best and brightest on latrine duty? We know to stop and evaluate the masses underneath our heels every now and then. It's the only way to find those rough diamonds. Put them to good use. You think about that, chief. After all, it's how we found you."
Bilbastis took flight to find the priest, leaving the wizard behind. Novox would ordinarily never allow the imp to start, much less finish, any spiel in front of him, but he was tired. His magic was drained, his body ravaged. He couldn't muster a protest right now. Which was exactly what the devil had counted on.
Searching the basement was not easy.
For one thing Hax was virtually worthless for this type of work. While the man could certainly read and write (a good deal better then one would expect for a mere gladiator actually), that did not help him. Most of the bottles and flaskes were unlabeled and those that were marked used Chelish shorthand and crude abbreviations that would have taken days to teach the fighter.
Secondly the basement, while not large, was big enough to hold well over a dozen shelves, each full to bursting with poorly stacked items. It was decades, if not centuries worth of accumulated junk and hoarded 'treasures'. Novox guessed whoever had run this place had the greedy instinct of a pack-rat and had saved everything, even old used chamber pots and blood-spotted bandages.
Worse of all, time and the badger had destroyed much. Several of the shelves had been tipped and smashed, the various items dug through by the large creature. Others had simply degraded away, glass cracking with age or internal pressure. Novox knew from long experience that much magic had an expiration date and the shoddier the spell, the shorter the duration.
Still, he finds some things of interest.
Foremost are three vials of anti-plauge, which had been searching for most keenly.
In amongst the jars and bottles, he had also finds a dose of Oil of Silence and even more valuable Incense of Meditation..
Novox also discovers a strange purple potion of which he has no idea what it does. Everything else is either dangerous, useless or damaged.
Novox dabbed a bead of the purple potion onto a finger and touched it to his tongue. He ran it around his mouth before spitting.
No. Whether due to the foul basement air numbing his taste buds or a gut that objected to the very idea of ingesting anything, the wizard couldn't identify the bottle of lilac something. Perhaps he'd try again tomorrow. Unfortunately, the rest of the cellar's contents were similarly disappointing. While the serum vials were appreciated, Novox had hoped for some immediate solution to his woes.
"Archheathen Diseo?" he said, conceding defeat for now, "I think I'd like that basin, thank you."
The tiefling had warned him that he was in for a long night. So be it.
The night that follows is...unpleasant. Novox is trapped in a dusty mildewing room with Diseo as nurse, writhing in pain for hours on a rotten bed. There are no windows so the wizard isn't sure how long the short snatches of sleep are between the painful awakenings, when he rises in a cold sweat due to pain and stress. The only real blessing is that his stomach is so empty all that remains to retch is bile and blood, which merely cover the bottom of the basin.
The room smells like death and Novox can feel himself weakening. His muscles are cramped and sore from their painful spasms, his eyes burn from lack of sleep and his head buzzes with fatigue. On top of his suffering, it galls him that not even his magical reserves replenish.
Diseo annoyingly peppers Novox with questions about the capital and Eorgian, obviously far out of his element and trying to fill the space. All he really achieves is to reveal his shocking ignorance of the outside world and make an unbearable situation worse.
Morning seems to come when a final racking pain hits Novox.
"You're a sick man, chief. I diagnose you with inflammation of the ego, a swollen self-esteem, and Acute Status Dramaticus. You also have what I can only assume are testes severely atrophied from disuse. Just shriveled little raisins. Your condition is untreatable. I'm sorry. Well, except for the testes part. That one I can think of several cures for. Other than that you're holdin' steady, chief. You're holding steady."
Between the dry retching, muscle cramps and the indignities of infirmity, listening to the imp's prattle might the most unpleasant of the night's misery. Though not in this particular instance. Novox detested his familiar, everything he represented and his whole being, but he would never deny the fiend's use. For example, Bilbastis had the curious ability to accurately judge a person's vitality by sight. It had proven practical on a few occasions in the past, such as when the familiar had been able to see that a certain Nidalese diplomat had no vitality whatsoever, which in turn allowed Novox to deduce that she was in fact a vampire. So when the devil said that he wasn't deteriorating, the wizard knew that it wasn't just wishful thinking that told him he wasn't any worse off than yesterday at the very least.
But this didn't mean he was about to let Bill get away with his awful witticisms.
"You shouldn't agitate a man with a pan full of bile whilst in throwing range."
"With your aim? Please. There's a reason your ranged weapon of choice are massive explosions."
"Shut up, imp. And hand me that vial."
Wanting to at clear up one remaining mystery from the previous day in order to better plan this one, the diabolist took the plum potion to give identifying it another chance. If nothing else it would distract him from his woes for a few seconds.
Novox sits up in bed, feeling no better but also no worse. At the very least he was not dying quickly. Then again, that might not be a blessing. He could picture Eslih, after a restful night's sleep rising to a warm breakfast and laughing at his fate.
Diseo was gone, having left shortly before to pray and meditate in order to gain some divine favor. The strange cleric swore he could heal Novox's aliment then but there had been a strange look in his eye, one Novox had not enjoyed. A look of cunning and calculation.
Novox lifts the purple liquid to the light and, head feeling clearer examines it. The wizard instantly identifies it. It is a potion of Resist Energy and a potent one at that.
That instant the door slams open and Novox has one instant of confusion before Hax enters. The fighter had been irritated last night when Novox agreed to stay in the temple and had not visited throughout the whole night. The big man scowls at the dim and disgusting room.
"This place is disgusting. Damn all priests." he grimly smiles at the fitting insult. "Come, let's get you out of this dungheap. You'll never recover sitting in this filth. The sun is rising outside and a fresh breeze. It'll do more then incense and chamber pots to heal you. " He waves toward the door, real disgust at the unkempt room on his face.
"Really now?" the wizard replied, gingerly rising from the bunk and stretching.
"Is this your experience from the fighting pits speaking? Is that what healed your wounds, staved off infection and allowed you to keep all your limbs? Sunlight and fresh air? Careful, Hax. Keep talking like that and you'll find yourself head moss-beard in the local druidic circle. That or killed by the common cold. Shaving kit."
Novox barked this last part at his familiar. He might be slowly dying, but that was all the more reason to keep up appearances. This was still Cheliax.
"Why are you here, Hax?" he asked as he began mixing the shaving powder and applying it to his face. "If you want to help you should be watching the tiefling. Make sure he doesn't smoke any of that filth rotting his mind. He's supposed to be preparing his spells right now. I need him sober and present."
Finding a creaky chair, the diabolist sat back and put his hands into his lap. He never picked up the razor, however. No, ever the practical soul, Novox decided to combine his daily beard maintenance with winning over the mercenary, and it was with this in mind that he allowed Bilbastis to put the knife to his throat. The instrument looked ridiculous in the imps hands, being sized almost more like a scythe for his diminutive frame. But this was obviously not the devil's first time navigating his master's face. Bill slowly and methodically brushed away the stubble with some skill.
"Would you like to borrow him afterward?"
It was an obviously brazen, even cheeky, question and Novox made no attempt at hiding that. He knew the Rahadoumi was fastidious in his own appearance, but that he would sooner give a rabid gnoll easy access to his arteries before any divine servant. Still though. It was quite the display of the sheer confidence the wizard had in his own power over fiends, in his grand idea of subjugating all outsiders.
Hax snorts at Novox's words about druids. "You don't need to be a druid to know that bad air, grime and darkness cause illness. Everyone knows that. Besides, do you really want to stay in his pigsty?" he waves a hand at the moldy walls, moth-eaten sheets and dirty floor. "It looks to be a fair morning outside."
The fighter watches Novox shave, rubbing his own smooth chin. "He will have a hard time finding any of the flayleaf. I threw it all in the river." He barks a short laugh, obviously enjoying the memory. "Went through his room while he was in here with you. Figured you'd approve. Stuff is illegal anyway, right?" he says, adding a fake sincerity to his voice. "The least we can do."
The Rahadoumi grimaces when Novox offers him the use of Bill. He moves to spit, pauses, and then with deliberate thought, does spit on the greasy floor. "I'd rather trust a rabid monkey with the job. At least then it would be an honest slip of the knife, instead of divine intervention."
"Did you now?" Novox replied, lifting one dark eyebrow at the mercenary's assurance that he had disposed of the priest's dope. The diabolist did not disapprove, exactly; he was heavily opposed to narcotics on both philosophical and practical grounds. Hax acting on his own initiative, however - that could be both curse and blessing. He wasn't sure he trusted the man's judgement enough for that yet.
Still, denying Diseo the opportunity to blast his mind into the astral plane was to their benefit, in the short-term at very least.
"Good man. Though you should know, I don't trust the devil any more than I trust your rabid monkey. I simply have complete confidence in my own power over it."
"Guys, I'm right here, you know..." piped Bilbastis, currently finishing up the wizard's left cheek. "You can act all high and mighty, but at the end of the day, if you have to take advice in etiquette from a fiend then..."
"Shut up, imp. Finish the job. I want to check in on the tiefling. I don't trust him."
Addict and devil worshiper both. No, Novox certainly didn't trust Diseo. And as soon as Bill finished his maintenance on the very sharp goatee currently in vogue in the capital, he rose from the creaking chair, got dressed and joined Hax and Bill in finding the priest.
After fixing up Novox's facial hair the three of them leave the room and the wizard can tell the air is fresher even in the stifling temple hallway. Hax had been right, the room really had reeked.
They find Diseo's chamber rather quickly, the former gladiator leading the way. The outer door is locked shut, the iron bounded wood looking solid and immovable. Their is no response from their shouts or knocking.
Hax grunts and says, "Want me to knock it down?" The man sounds grimly amused by the challenge.
"... Imp, quick fly-by through the temple. Report back as soon as you find, or don't find, the tiefling."
Hearing the urgent tone in his master's voice, Bilbastis did not waste time with quips or false protests, instead immediately taking off like the bat out of Hell he was. The imp could be fast when ordered to and the temple wasn't especially large, both facts Novox appreciated right now because something about this situation stank worse than the mold. Locking one's private chambers was understandable enough. Not utilizing them for private prayer was odd. Not answering the wizard's call was odder still, assuming he was within the room. But Hax had stated that he had just been here himself raiding the chamber for the priest's narcotics, so why would it now be locked? This coupled with the strangely shrewd glance he had caught from Diseo last night sent alarm bells a-ringing inside the diabolist's head.
Novox did not respond to the devil's report, instead reaching out and touching the mercenary with his rod, an implement both strangely appropriate and far too ostentatious in this shabby temple, looking like it did as something broken off a grand spire from an Asmodean church. A quick incantation later Hax's normally sinewy muscles bulged outwards, transforming him from lean killing machine to farm girl's dream.
"Hax, tear it down."
Bill whizzes off down the stairs flying like a bat out of...well. He quickly surveys the other other bedrooms (mostly dusty from long disuse), the open first floor and even the savaged basement. In short order he reports on not finding the cleric, just 'Lots of trash. This place is a dump, nothing like Hell at all, boss. Say what you want for devils, we keep the streets clean.'
Hax grunts sourly when Novox enhances his muscles, biceps now worthy of an Ulfen war saga. Still, the door is formidable and he probably needs all the help he can get.
His first shoulder bash is poorly aimed and the door withstands the stroke with ease, the man's only reward is a haze of dust from the ceiling. Hax quietly swears, and resets himself and his shoulder.
Novox waits impatiently while Hax batters the door down. The man is in a full sweat, coating in dust by the time the heavy wooden door is lying on the stone flags.
Inside Diseo is kneeling on a small carpet, facing a iron shrine to Asmodeus. He looks deep in concentration, hood thrown back revealing hideous head of raw muscle and nerves, taunt due to his position. His mouth moves but the room is utterly silent. There is no reaction from the busted down door or Hax's heavy breathing as he leans against the cracked door jamb.
Well. This was awkward. Or rather, it would have been had the priest in any way acknowledged what were ostensibly guests of the temple battering his door down. Novox narrowed his eyes. What was going on here? Surely Diseo had heard the two men calling for him, and if not that then certainly the door crashing to the stone floor. The wizard knew that beseeching the gods for divine aid called for great concentration, but this couldn't possibly be normal? Then again, worship came in as many varieties as there were deities, which translated to a number that made even Novox's brilliant mind reel, so perhaps the tiefling was innocent of all wrong-doing. Which did not elicit any feelings of guilt within the diabolist whatsoever at doubting the priest. So Hax and he had knocked down a door - so what? As far as he was concerned, they had already repaid that little repair-job in ridding the temple basement of ravenous oversized vermin.
Still, the passivity on display was strange enough for Novox to stay on guard. Was this simply a religious trance? And another thing - was Diseo really Asmodean? This was a thought triggered by Bilbastis. Because the imp was right; the temple showcased none of the virtues of the Hells and neither had the priest for that matter. Mayhap there was an entirely different reason for the tiefling losing touch with the organized church. Novox looked about the room and scoured his memory for religious practices and iconography.
Likewise, he tried to read Diseo's fleshless face for any hint of what he was thinking - anything that would explain his strange behavior.
Novox looks around the room, and sees the usual religious ornamentation. The pentagrams on the wall, the artwork showing humans forcing devils to do their will (and a few failures being dragged down the depths), black-red snakes intertwining. One one wall is an engraved contract, one of the famed 'Pacts of Night', those binding contracts that have famously captured even the mightiest devils and made them slaves to human wills. This copy is rather poor actually and needs a good scrubbing.
Novox's still churning stomach reels at scanning the tielfing's disturbing visage. The writhing muscles, coursing blood, even the hairs are somehow disturbing with no skin. Still, a few things become obvious.
Diseo is talking very quickly and very hurriedly with...someone. Their is no noise, no other person but he is clearly engaging in heated conversation, including pauses to wait for another. The man is stressed, sweat pouring down his face, a nervous twitch visible. Not just stressed....terrified.
Then, without warning there is a tiny flare of flame in front of the kneeling priest. With a scramble the man grabs...something off the carpet and stuffs it in a pocket. Again, this is all done perfectly soundlessly...so soundless Novox begins to suspect quieting magic is involved.
Novox raised one well maintained eyebrow at the sight inside the chamber. What in the nine Hells was going on? As far as he could ascertain, the priest was less so engaged in esoteric prayer to an enigmatic god as occupied with very direct conversation with something far more present and palpable. Or so it would appear if the priest clearly wasn't alone in his quarters. Some sort of long-distance communication via divination magic, perhaps? Surely there wasn't simply an invisible person sitting there with Diseo? And whatever the topic of discussion, was the tiefling really so paranoid as to - the wizard snapped his fingers a few times to confirm - yes, as to cover the room with sound dampening magic?
Well, no, not the entire room. The priest was speaking to someone, after all, whether godly or mortal. It was a fair assumption that he wasn't just flapping his transparent lips for fun. Hax, Bill and himself were most likely standing within the silencing area while the tiefling was sitting within a little zone free of the magic, free to speak without being overheard. Novox tested these arcane hypotheses within his own quiet mind.
Whatever the case, the sound cancelling magic had turned to their advantage for now. Diseo had yet to notice the trio's presence, even with the smashed door, although it was only a matter of time before he did so. The intrusion was done and couldn't be taken back. In the interest of both gaining leverage over the priest and figuring out just what was going on, the wizard decided upon a plan of action. Of course, coordinating any plan without speech wasn't easy. Or rather it wouldn't have been without the imp's telepathy.
'Did you see it, imp?'
'See what? The little... thing? That just flickered into existence and the freak pocketed? What about it?'
'Take it.'
'Uh, okay. I guess I can do that. ... Oh, you mean right now? Playing for high stakes, are we now? Alright, fine.'
Even if sound hadn't effectively ceased to exist, Bilbastis approached the tiefling on wings that wouldn't disturb even the most skittish of mice. He circled the priest to fly in from behind, and then lightly, very lightly, snuck one scaled arm into Diseo's pocket.
Novox narrows his eyes and waves Hax to stand still, taking in the strange silent tableau of the kneeling priest. The wizard has a good eye and long experience with detecting magical effects. For one thing it become obvious a Silence spell has been put in place around the room in a ring, leaving a small space centered around Diseo free.
More worryingly however is the cleric seems to be engaging in some sort of communication with....another plane? Some sort of divination spell, perhaps Not quite Commune, but something like it. Novox can't tell to who or where this communication is being sent but he can make several dark guesses.
Bill shrugs at the order and glides into the silent ring like a vulture sneaking into a funeral. With a tiny flap he hovers near the man's pocket and carefully extends a clawed hand, avaricious flaring in the little imp's eyes. Novox watches carefully ready for the first sign of failure. There is a moment when one claw catches the inner lining and Novox is sure the game is up....but Diseo does not stir and in a moment Bill has nicked a small scroll. He flaps out of the silent ring with speed and drops it into Novox's hand.
Just at that moment Diseo makes a dismissive gesture and both spells seem to end, the silence and whatever strange communication spell. The damped sounds spring to life and Novox is stunned at how he did not notice. The small creaking of floorboards, the sound of their breathing, the rustle of Diseo's cloak. Then Hax coughs slightly, not on purpose but just a clearing of a dry throat.
Instantly Diseo turns around, and gasps at finding them standing in his ruined doorway. He jerkily stands up, skin-less mouth opening and closing before he manages to says, "You? How...how dare you! This is a sacred room! Disturbing a priest's meditation is a deadly sin..." As he stammers, he fumbles for the leather mask, re-affixing it in place.
"What are you doing here?" he finally says, rudely, giving them both a glare mixed with fear.
For a brief instant it was as if the deafening spell hadn't lifted. Novox did not respond to the priest's outrage. Instead he let the moment sit - allowed the tension and unease of everyone present to bleed into the silence until the moment bloated into something larger and obviously deliberate. It was oppressive. It was the silence before the storm. It was the space between two opposing armies - the quiet every man knew would be replaced with death once broken.
Novox broke the silence.
"How right you are, archheathen." Spitting up bile for hours on end had added some rust onto the edge in the wizard's voice. "This is a place of worship. A temple dedicated to the God-Fiend and all he stands for. Power..."
The diabolist traced a single finger along the wall until it met an ornamental pentagram. Then he tipped it onto the floor.
"... deceit..."
A painting came crashing down.
"... and domination." He stopped at a framed contract. "Allow me to rectify my behavior in these hallowed halls, not with obsequious grovelling, but as your Dark Prince would prefer it: through practice rather than piety. Let's get fiendish. Why have you been lying to me?"
The question was calm and measured. However, as is so often the case, it was the eyes that spoke loudest and one could be forgiven for believing they had been replaced with two pieces of flint for all the mercy that was reflected in them.
"What am I to think, Diseo? You swear to prepare the necessary curative magic at the earliest opportunity, and I find you not only clearly with magic to spare, but also consorting with outsiders. What am I to think? Did you ever intend to heal me? No, don't bother answering just yet. For you see, I realize the great irony in asking whether a follower of the Prince of Lies is lying. Which is why I say that I will adopt your Asmodean ways in this instance, and fight fire with fire. Do you see Hax over there?"
Novox indicated towards the mercenary without taking his weighty gaze off the tiefling.
"Now, Hax is not the most pious of men. In fact, he has a violent dislike of the gods and their representatives. And yet I can tell you with absolute certainty that he is the greatest Asmodean here. Why? Because he's strong. He is the most physically capable person present. And as the Archfiend teaches us: 'might makes right'. Water flows downhill, fire burns, and the strong dominate the weak. That is the natural order. Hax, whether he wants it or not, has Asmodeus's favor. Do you understand? Do you understand that I intend to order him to use that might to hurt you? That unless you start giving me some answers, I intend to watch your translucent skin to see your lungs collapse, your stomach rupture, and your shattered teeth travel down your esophagus?"
At no point did Novox raise his voice. At no point at all did he ever sound anything other than weary, vaguely disappointed even, that it had come to this.
"Who were you speaking to? What did you tell them? What was the item they sent you? Speak now or I promise you that you will die. Not here and now, but weeks from now, in the temple's basement after your mind and body are wracked by withdrawal symptoms from lack of your precious drug. Only then, just as your addiction begins to subside and there seems to be a light at the end of the tunnel, will I personally send you to the Hells you venerate. Speak."
Hax's expression doesn't change when Novox involves him in the interrogation, that same bored stare. His still rippling, enhanced muscles gleam with sweat in the dim lamp light, skin grimed with dust from the broken door. A careful eye would note however, a tightening of the eyes, a slight twitch to the tough fingers that implies Hax would greatly enjoy hurting the priest.
Novox's words, while not angry or loud (in fact the opposite) fill the dingy air of the room with obvious menace. At a few of the phrases Diseo actually recoils as if struck by a stinging whip, the priest taking a step back. Several times his eyes linger on Bill who, although silent, is a sign of Novox's power. After the wizard finishes the man's strange eyes roam the room as if looking for an escape, both physical and metaphorical. But he finds neither, not in the windowless room or in Novox's pitiless eyes.
He wilts, a man crushed.
"I..." The cleric starts and falters, voice quiet. "I was not acting against you, I swear by the Prince of Darkness himself. You must believe that, first of all. I would never betray or harm against someone from the capital. Why would I? You, or someone like you, is what I have been praying and hoping for for years, someone to take me away from this polluted backwater."
A deep shuddering breath and then, "I only sought my own ends as well. Like you said, is that not our way? Self-interest above all? I was speaking to....a devil. A devil in the Fallen Fastness."
Novox knows the Fallen Fastness, indeed knows it far better then he would like. A great library in Hell itself, it houses all the infernal contracts and agreements between devils and their human interlocutors. Somewhere among those endless shelves and rows, guarded by hideous and unnamed things, Novox's own contract sits, his soul mortgaged for power.
"I sought a deal." Diseo says, going on weakly, "One that would bind us together, for mutual advantage, that is all. The contract was only a last resort, in case we disagreed over terms....besides, is not a written contract preferable?"
Hax, now unable to contain his disgust, spits on the shattered door at his feet.
A long silence fills the room, and Novox can seem a slender trail of incense swirl into the air, creating strange hypnotic patterns.
Some argued in the contest between demon and devil, a meaningless competition if ever there was one, that the Abyss spawn were the greater evil. Devils could at least be reasoned with, these simpletons would assert. Cruel and oppressive as they might be, the Princes of Hell were at the very least rational, even cultured. Theirs was among the oldest and most successful civilizations in existence, one mortal-kind could learn much from, and the devils' famed pacts with mortals spoke to the possibility, however tenuous, of gainful coexistence with these fiends. Demons, on the other hand, were too consumed with hate and rage to tolerate any relation. To reason with a demon was to reason with a hungry tiger. Thusly, demons were the greater evil.
What philosophers and any one of the uncounted billions ensnared by the Hell spawn, by legal loopholes and metal manacles alike, would refute this assertion with was that there was no evil greater than apathy. Hate? Rage? These were luxuries any victim of a devil would be thankful for. There was validation in these emotions. To suffer and perish at the fury of a demon was to die with purpose. Demons would maim you, yes. Demons would murder you, yes, but they did so out of burning, overwhelming hatred. At least they spared you a thought. At least one was validated in the knowledge that you could inspire such emotion. At least they cared. Really, there was an argument to be made that no being in the multiverse had such high regard for mortal-kind as the Abyss spawn.
But the devils? They thought nothing of you. There were people being born into slavery to a devil at this very instance, who would never meet their master even once. They would die of exhaustion years from now without the faintest idea who their tyrant was. And the devil in turn would never spare them a single thought. Hatred was preferable to this. There was no evil more terrible than a devil's apathy.
Novox put this assertion to the test right now. For although he had threatened the tiefling with torment and death with all the cold certainty and detachment of a devil, it was demoniac fury that nakedly rose in him as Diseo explained his actions. The verdict was still out on which of these two was more terrifying.
"You damned fool. How dare you, you damned fiend-addled fool! You weak, grovelling *HARK COUGH COUGH HACK*!"
So angry was the wizard that the bile literally rose to his throat, although admittedly most likely assisted by his condition. He spat a blood-tinged wad to the floor with no regard for the surroundings. How dared the priest? Bind the two of them into an infernal contract without his consent?! The lunacy! The hubris! How dared he?! He was Narsus Novox! He was the greatest mind of his generation, and even then it had taken him years to plot out the exact wording and circumstances behind his own pact. Infernal contracts were a fool's game; Hell always won out - always. The devils never agreed to any compact without including some hidden stipulation that ultimately benefited only themselves. Only a genius of the diabolist's caliber could hope to outsmart them. And this freak, this half-blooded abomination had thought to chance not only his own soul, but Novox's too? On a whim? The nerve of this cretin! And worse still - even if the priest hadn't damned them both with his impromptu ploy, he had the gall to shackle the paragon of humanity, the future of Cheliax, to himself? HOW DARED HE!
"What were the terms?" Novox finally said. The words oscillated with barely contained fury. "What was the agreement you asked those manipulative miscreants to write?"
----------
Diseo was due another shock still as Novox, instead of questioning his explanation of the pact, revealed the pact itself held within his own hand. The wizard unfurled the scroll to verify the priest's words.
Novox's stern words flow over Diseo's feeble objections and protestations like a mudslide over a village, unstoppable and implacable. The only pause is to spit up a bit of bloody bile.
Bill, while not changing expressions mentally chimes in, 'Oh, good one boss. Imagine if you die while vomiting on his shoes.'
Diseo stammers a few times before saying, "The terms were simple....A fair exchange. I would heal you and aid you in whatever way I could here in Dekarium and in exchange you would take me with you when you left and find me a place of honor and privilege in the church. "
"Is it really so great a crime to wish to be free of this pestilential and druid-filled backwater? I only created the document to have a firm pillar to tying our fortunes together..."
The words trails off as Novox wordlessly pulls out the scroll Bills tole. The skin-less man actually staggers back, clutching at the wall for support. He gropes in his pocket, finding it empty, slides to the ground, crushed beyond measure.
Novox unrolls the scroll, feeling the strange texture. To his disgust, he realizes it is printed on human skin and used blood for ink. The usual Hell overblown sense of style. Surely real paper was cheaper, even there?
The contract was generally what Diseo had said, with the usual convoluted wording and double meanings that devils so enjoyed using to entrap and confuse the issue. More then one legalistic phrase in this document would have doomed them both, had they actually agreed to it.
What Diseo had only implied, and what the contract made explicit however, was the punishment. It was the usual of course, a forfeit of soul and probably endless age of torment and agony. Idly Novox wondered what would happen to his soul in such a case, as it was already claimed by another. How would a diabolic judge rule?
Meanwhile, Diseo simply sits on the floor, looking numb and overwhelmed.
The last few minutes had been nothing but a series of soul-crushing defeats for the tiefling, and they weren't about to let up yet. The wizard opened his palm to reveal that he was still at least one step ahead of Diseo, having somehow already gotten hold of the priest's pact. Crushed as he was, Diseo sank to the floor to lie amidst the broken shards of all his best laid plans. But the blows didn't stop coming: after scrutinizing the contract, brow heavy in concentration and mouth curled in disgust, Novox stepped over to the prostrate priest. Diseo looked up at the sound of parchment tearing. The shredded vellum snowed down upon him, the shattered plans now literal rather than metaphorical. It was difficult to see how this could get any worse.
"Get me paper and pen."
What? What was this? The Egorian still appeared furious, but the cunning had returned to his eyes, caging and tempering the anger. He looked at the tiefling.
"Damned fool," he repeated himself. "That contract would have doomed us both. And for what? If you wish to enter an accord with me, then by fire and fury, you speak to me. Appealing to the Pit... By what right? By what right should their laws bind us? The Hell spawn have no authority here, do you hear?! This is not their world and any time we so much as agree to play by their rules, we lose. There is no higher court here than that humanity builds. I am Narsus Novox, I am master of my own destiny, and this is my world. This is our world."
In truth, Novox wasn't entirely convinced Hell could make any claim on his soul through the contract of a stranger - not that they didn't already have a conditioned ownership on him already - but Diseo's rash brokering still infuriated him. Infernal bargains were not to be trifled with. That said, the wizard saw some opportunity here.
"Archheathen Diseo, if you are ready to swear your aid to me and my mission here in Dekarium, then I avow under all the laws of the Cheliax that was and the Cheliax that is to be, that I shall assist in your own rise within your church. It is more than you deserve. I should kill you for your treachery, but I am willing to put this into writing. Do you accept?"
Securing a loyal servant in town, one with divine capabilities at that, would be of great value to Novox right now. And who knew? If he could turn the tiefling to his own brand of diabolism, then this might turn into a solid investment into the future, as a like-minded agent infiltrated the hated Asmodean church. And if not? Well, the wizard was hardly averse to treachery.
Diseo sits, shattered as Novox looms over him, dictating the future. Alone and broken he simply nods as Novox lays out the real relationship going forward, and how they shall be bonded. When the wizard declares he will help the teifling re-join the main body of the Church he looks up with unvarnished hope and surprise. Novox is somewhat disgusted as the man shuffles over to him on hands and knees, pathetic appreciation in his eyes.
"Oh, thank you! Thank you! I am not worthy.." And he actually starts to kiss the hems of Nvoxo's (rather grimy by now) robes. "Anything you need, I am yours, Narsus Novox, I am yours. A humble servant, whatever you wish..."
Hax's lip curls slightly, although he tries to hide it. Bill meanwhile grins and says, "It is interesting, and refreshing, to see a human acting as they should. A groveling, blubbering servant."
Diseo ignores both of them, still kneeling at Novox's feet. The air of the room is heavy with rot and mildew, and there is no window. The incense has faded away, and the dust from the shattered door has finally settled leaving a thin film on everyone and everything.
"It is interesting, and refreshing, to see a human acting as they should. A groveling, blubbering servant."
"More interesting still to hear this from an indentured slave to a human, servant," Novox bit right back. The imp's grin did not falter.
Turning from the fiend to the fiend-blooded, the wizard looked at the pitiful creature at his feet with obvious revulsion. It should be a grand moment. A devil worshiper prostrating himself and swearing his loyalty to Novox over Hell? The diabolist was not given to daydreaming; he considered it a self-indulgent defect of lesser men. But should he partake in such inanity, circumstances like these would be the stuff of his dreams.
And yet Diseo's surrender gave him no pleasure. Why should it? Where was the prestige in this small victory? A weak-minded tiefling addled by drug use - should the lion be proud of snaring a hen?
"Get up, priest," he said with some irritation. "I spoke of practice over piety earlier and I meant it. Prepare your magic. I'm leaving the temple at the earliest. I expect to see the results promised before I go. I will pen our agreement whilst you meditate."
Novox had no illusions that a written pact would ensure the tiefling's loyalty the way Hell's could. But he did know that contracts held great significance within the Asmodean faith, and that it might do some good in retaining Diseo should he waver in the future. All this said, it was difficult to even imagine such a scenario now with the priest very literally kissing his feet.
Novox and Hax leaved Diseo alone in his room, allowing the priest to concentrate and gather his divine powers. While this does leave the chance of treachery, the broken man seems incapable of doing anything remotely approaching that level of independent thought, but just to be sure, Novox has him leave the door open.
Out in the dark hallway, out of earshot, Hax suddenly turns to Novox voice hard. "I will play my part in your schemes, Narsus Novox. I can be a tool for you to use, to be your anvil upon which you break lesser men. In fact I quite enjoyed it and it is a shame we did not need to kill the priest." Then his face darkens, "But if you ever say I am an Asmodean again, you will be meeting your holy devils far sooner then you might think."
His voice is calm, controlled but there is a flicker of real anger there the man is trying to cover. A hand tightens ever so slightly on the pommel of his well-worn sword.
"Am I clear, wizard?"
Novox passes the rest of the time writing up a contract, spelling out the deal between himself and Diseo. While probably not strictly required, Novox feels a paper contract would not only put the legally minded cleric at ease, it would be part of his general philosophy of out-doing devils at their own game. Besides, if Hell could write up a binding agreement, could not he, the finest mind in Cheliax, do even better?
When he finishes, the contract is fairly impressive. His penmanship is good, elegant even, and the wording complex yet readable. Unlike the verbose and complicated morass of the Hell document, whose only purpose was to ensnare and entrap, this is clear, direct and just as binding. If anything,t he lack of loopholes makes it far better at it's intended purpose.
Verbally Bill says, "Not bad boss. Maybe there will be work for you after you get tossed into Hell. I'll put in a good word for you. I know a few Phistophilus devils from way back."
Shortly Diseo enters the room, looking shaken but not longer a quivering mass of pathetic jelly. "I am ready to heal you, Master Novox. Are you prepared?"
"But if you ever say I am an Asmodean again, you will be meeting your holy devils far sooner then you might think."
"You're an Asmodean."
The challenge was boldfaced and immediate. Before the mercenary's gauntlet had even hit the ground, Novox had grasped it out of mid-air to smack it across his face. The wizard looked up into Hax's hard stare with immovable defiance, two brick walls searching the other for cracks. He was a patient man; one had to be when your vocation was crafting continent-spanning plots. But the last hours had been rough on the diabolist. He was quite done being pushed around, not even for something as trivial as humoring the sellsword.
"Shall I clarify?" he asked across humorless lips. "You have no qualms using violence to reach your goals. That's Asmodean. And Gorumite. And Lamashtan and more. Yes, I only said this earlier as to break the priest, but I spoke no falsity. Just as we reach to the gods, they impose upon the mortal world. The gods look upon us all, every one of us, every second of every day of every year, to find devotees and heretics, who to favor and who to smite. When you were a slave in the fighting pits, you'd better believe Gorum watched every one of your battles and was pleased by what he saw. Every demon lord in the Abyss cackles with glee whenever your anger gets the better of you. Even when you stopped to enjoy that inane melody by the busker, beautiful Shelyn paused and saw some hope for you. You think I myself haven't been approached by every deity of magic there is, all vying to recruit Novox the prodigy? Do you understand? It doesn't matter how you denounce them, Rahadoumi. Our souls are their currency and though you might scorn them, they will never give up on you. They are always there, watching and judging and arbitrating and condemning. And if they see enough potential in you they will all be waiting for you on the Grey Lady's spire, dissecting your entire life to argue why your soul belongs to their respective cause."
The wizard's voice was dripping with spite. He was tired. Disease, exhaustion and frustration were all plaguing him. But, not for the first time, Novox clearly had something to say.
"All of existence is their playground because we allowed it to be. Because weaklings like the tiefling allowed it to be. Well, no more. Fu*k the gods. For all of eternity mortal-kind has been subservient to the gods, their best attempt at rebellion being that of Rahadoum: closing their eyes and shoving their fingers into their ears to ignore the storm outside even as their houses collapse. Until finally, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, out of civil war comes Cheliax. The first nation to ever tell the gods: 'No. This is our home, our world, and we rule here.' The first, the only nation to make the divine serve them. I... Words fail me, Hax. The vision. The courage. Cheliax is the most beautiful idea ever conceived. It is the idea that humanity is worthy. That we do not derive greatness from deities, but are born with an unalienable potential for glory. That it is our ideals that should shape the world, no outsiders'. That we should not surrender the very plane we walk upon, our birthright, to anyone else. That dividing into a thousand different tribes for as many gods makes us lesser, whereas we should be united in one religion: humanity. That's what I want, Hax. That's what I'm striving for. Emancipation. The freedom to be great."
None could deny that he had a way about him. The run-down temple hadn't seen a preacher like Narsus Novox for a long, long time.
"Now that idea is under threat as Cheliax tears itself apart once again. And I will say and do whatever the Hell I think necessary in order to save it." The wizard leaned in to deepen his scowl at Hax here. "I am Chelaxian. Now show me what you are, sellsword. You promised to kill me if I called you Asmodean again. Well, let's see it! Strike me! Words matter! You know who has nothing but scorn for words? Who twist and turn them to suit their own ends? Devils! So if you want to spite Asmodeus right now, you show that your words matter and hit me right now!"
At Novox's first words, Hax's hand moves with a sudden blur that dazzle the eye and speaks of years of sudden violence.
The fist huts Novox squarely in the jaw, twisting his head and making the room spin. The wizard sees flickering stars in his vision as a bolt of pain lances from his injured chin through his face. Blood spills into and from his mouth, lips split from the sheer impact.
Even as Novox is reeling (and Bill cackling), the former gladiator steps in, foot sweeping out. An iron-hard hand stabs him in the shoulder, unbalancing the magic user and he trips over the sweeping foot. It is all done so smoothly, so practiced Bill barely has time to yelp and fly free before Novox hits the grimy floor of the temple hallway.
Hax stands over the fallen wizard, fists clenched. There is a light in his eyes that seems to flare, a veins pulsing on the side of his head. Still, bloodied and fallen, Novox is not broken. Looking up, he 'explains' himself, talking in his usual grand, eloquent tones, his words ringing off the dark stones. When Novox finally finishes there is a long moment of silence.
For a moment his face is full of warring emotions. There is anger there but mixed with something else....what was it? Almost as if the big man is reminding himself of something. Slowly, ever so slowly, the rage fades away, replaced by a chilly reserve.
Slowly the man says, "You are letting your mouth run away with you, Novox. It'll get you killed if you don't learn to handle it. Next time I may not stop to hear the rest of your speech." His face twists in a foul smile, "I am, after all, only human."
Novox smirked right back at his assailant. Human indeed. He didn't ask for Hax's hand in getting back on his feet. That would have gone rather against the spirit of their little talk.
"Congrats, boys," Bill's rasping voice smiled from above. "After a whole bunch of self-aggrandizing nonsense all you've managed to prove is what the big man downstairs realized back at the beginning of time: you're all crazy and need to be reined in."
"Shut up, imp" the wizard said, somewhat muffled as he rubbed his jaw.
'Or rather,' the voice continued inside Novox's mind, 'you utilize your crazy in a calculated effort to appeal to the mercenary. Congrats again, chief. You're chipping away at him.'
Novox did not respond, verbally or in thought. But the smirk did not subside.
Novox nods shortly to the cleric who shuffles over without a word. He stands in front of the wizard, leather mask firmly affixed, looking quite small and feeble. The priest raises a hand and speaks a single divine word of power, gesturing in short jerking motions. Then he touches Novox in the center of the chest with a single finger, pressing hard.
A fire seems to start there, invisible but searing his flesh. With a speed that takes Novox's breath away the intense heat spreads out from the cleric's jabbing digit, burning through his torso, up his shoulders, down into his gut. Ripples of pain lash him as the hot sensation rushes down his extremities, and even his fingers and toes experience jolts of scalding pain. Then, so quick Novox barely has time to take a breath, it is over. The pain vanishes, leaving only a slightly dizzy feeling.
After a moment the wizard also realizes his guts are not longer in agony, no longer churning like a demonic stew. His muscles were still sore and weak, yes, but no longer actively disintegrating into bile and blood. A step forward.
Diseo bows low and says, "All is well? Do you require anything else today?"
Hax watches stonily, face set.