Novox had decided he didn't like the Tomarsulk. When he wasn't getting boarded and sunk by pirates whilst traveling it, the river was making his underlings awfully sassy. He righted himself from the deck where he'd landed.
"Careful, Hax," he said in deciding to fire back at these great humorist companions of his. "If you must do theater, you should know that there are tribes of savages deep in the Mwangi jungle yet untouched by civilized man who have developed more convincing Chelish accents than you. Stick to being a helmsman. And on that note, you steered our way here admirably. Done this before?"
Yes, the diabolist was indeed prying for information into his tight-lipped bodyguard's background, but he didn't wait about for a detailed answer. Knowing whether or not the Rahadoumi had ever served on a ship was of limited use and even lesser interest. He had asked merely because it was becoming clear that if Hax's past was ever going to come to light, it would do so piecemeal, through innocuous questions such as these. Besides, the wizard has someone more important to address.
"Forge Master Undershale. I'm pleased you got my missive." The scene was worthy of a painting. The figure standing at the beached vessel's stem, one foot on the bow, was the quintessential Chelishman, dark and dignified all the while radiating cool confidence and easy superiority, the latter only magnified further by his elevation over the gathered group below who had to look up to him. Were a creative artist to replace the smithy crew with the aforementioned unwashed savages, one would have a propaganda piece to last the ages: the civilized Chelaxian dramatically landing onto foreign shores to uplift the primitives from barbarism and claim their land for the empire. Powerful stuff. "Your cargo, as promised."
Hax, still vaguely smiling says obviously without thinking, "I grew up near the shore." In an instant he catches himself and remembers who he is dealing with and his face becomes a still mask of scarred leathery skin, tanned by days under southern suns.
"It was a long time ago." He adds, shortly.
Undershale looks even shorter when gazed down from the prow of a beached ship, a mere blotch of black leather on the cream colored sand. Still his voice carries quite clearly up to Novox.
"Impressive. I was expecting a wagon or two full of wet cargo, not an entire ship floated delivered nearly to the docks." A pause and the wizard can see the bearded head scan the ship more carefully, "Well, most of a ship. The cargo was safe inside?"
He gestures to a few of his men who instantly get to work, pulling equipment out of a whole train of wagons. Crates and boxes are unloaded and emptied revealing every manner of tool. Hammers and axes, crowbars and shovels, even a small crane is efficiently assembled. Chains clank together and the sound of hammering and sawing boards drowns out the gentle swish of river water. Clearly Undershale was a man to prepare for every eventuality, regardless of what he expected.
Nets are quickly thrown up to the deck of the ship, and Undershale and Grimm climb up the impromptu ladder with ease. The dwarf is soon standing on deck, blinking slightly in the late afternoon sun.
"Any problems?" He asks mildly, eyes clearly inventorying everything he can see. "I heard Decuis was seen sailing upriver with a ship full of men and then returning shortly after."
Meanwhile, outside the ring of busy laborers, Novox can see a small crowd gathering, onlookers and gawkers from the city, drawn by the sights and sounds. All are far too distant to see any real detail, but clearly are interested in the commotion.
Light laughter escaped the Egorian as the smith declared himself impressed. "Do you know, I think I've missed your company, Mr Undershale." He was all too aware that this likely wasn't a sentiment the gruff dwarf heard often. "No, truly. I admit to being rather pleased with the outcome of this little operation of mine, and I expect you're the only man in Dekarium with the sense to appreciate it. The practical sciences go criminally unacknowledged, even in the capital."
Flattery dispensed, humbling admission of pride delivered. Novox's mouth was a never ceasing font of social manipulations. Just as with the practical sciences he admitted fondness for, every word was calculated and purpose built for maximum efficiency. That said, the patter flowed that much easier by virtue of being not entirely untrue. The wizard really did believe Undershale the only one in town capable of grasping his genius. His engineering genius, that was. The really remarkable thing about Narsus Novox's brilliance was how it extended into all subjects, all venues of learning. The dwarf could comprehend one aspect of his staggering intellect, maybe, but no more. No man could hope to fully grasp a mind as powerful as his any more than one's hand could envelop the sun. It was a burden to be sure, to be so inspired, but it was one Novox bore with dignity and responsibility, tirelessly working for the betterment of mankind.
"Any problems? I heard Decuis was seen sailing upriver with a ship full of men and then returning shortly after."
"You are well informed. No, no trouble at all. The good Mr Decius labored under some... faulty assumptions, but I was able to correct him - to steer him in the right direction." If the laden implications weren't obvious enough, the mysterious little smile made it clear that there had indeed been a confrontation of sorts. "I think you'll find Decius a closer ally to Dekarium going forward. Just as I trust to count you my ally in unifying the city. I promised you I could be persuasive. My list of obstacles here grown ever thinner."
The diabolist moved to go below deck. "But come. Inspect your cargo. Or if not that, at least allow me to show you how I raised the vessel and indulge in the mathematics behind it. After all, your ice isn't melting anyway. May I ask, what purpose do you intend to put it towards in your forge?"
The innocent question was of course not so innocent. Novox thought he already knew what the specially enchanted blocks were meant for. What he wanted to see was whether Undershale was going to feign ignorance of the ice golem in making.
Undershale looked somewhat out of place here, on the sunny deck of ship, far from the gloom of his smoky forges. His soot-stained face, charred leather apron and beard looked far more suited tot he depths of a workshop then the bright blue sky and fresh air. The Forgemaster didn't seem to notice however, and seemed quite at ease, walking about as if testing the boards with his weight.
"Magic, I presume?" he says when Novox mentions the raising of the ship. His tone is slightly annoyed, as if using arcane tools was cheating. "There is no crane in Dekarium, or within one hundred miles, that could lift this ship in one piece."
The dwarf eagerly goes belowdecks, his stature meaning he does not need to stoop to avoid the hanging beams, as the much taller Novox must.
The air is still frigid down here, and their breath forms white clouds in the chilled air. Ice blocks glitter dimly in the gloom, like half-hidden treasure.
"Many uses." Undershale says, striding forward and running his hands along the oddly gritty surface of a block. His fingers come away damp but not sodden, only wet with the mositure of condensing air, not melting ice.
"Few know it, but such ice is one of the reason the forges of my people achieve such results." Undershale says idly, still inspecting the hold, moving with ease in the dark. "Being able to instantly temper hot steel and iron, at the right time, can produce wonders. Also, it can be used to cool a master's hands, and protect him from the heat."
Then the dwarf pauses and turns, sizing Novox up in return. His face is hard to read under the thick black beard, eyes nearly just as dark. A burned and scarred hand strokes his chin for a moment before he goes on, "Of course, this ice has other purpose beyond the industrial. I assume you noted that some of it was enchanted for the making of golems? Useful creations, for both peace and war."
"A good craftsman prepares for both." Undershale says finally, shrugging slightly.
"Magic?" The noble features folded into the lightly disheartened. At the dwarf's guess, Novox looked to him with polite disappointment, as one looks to a friend one expected more of. "Really now, Mr Undershale. Do you think so little of me? No, not magic. Nothing so limited."
It was as incongruous a statement as had ever been voiced by a wizard. Magic, not just one of the fundaments of the multiverse, but also one of, if not the most versatile, practical and powerful force in existence, limiting? To whom but the gods? It was a sentiment that demanded explanation. And this was Novox's intent, building curiosity before continuing. "You are a smith, Mr Undershale. But remove yourself from your forge and what would we have? Iron and ore does not define you. Would you not still be a capable man, a strong arm, a tempered mind, even without the trappings of your chosen profession? Of course you would, because the qualities you have honed lie within yourself. But a wizard, ah. Take the greatest of my ilk - and there have been truly great ones, men and women who have shaped nations - strip away their magic, and what remains?"
The little orb of light, conjured forth as the two moved below deck, seemed to underpin the proffered conviction. "Put a sword in a wizard's hand and watch as they try to hold it like a wand, and you will see nothing more than a child. They rely on magic, depend on it, far more than they know. Magic is a resource - perhaps the greatest resource of all, yes - but like all other resources, it is limited. Far too many of my colleagues ignore the danger in defining themselves by that which is not in their own power; a mistake, just as sure as a smith defining themselves by their ore. They ignore all other knowledge, scoff at all other skills until magic is all they understand, and in doing so allow themselves to be constrained by it. It becomes a crutch. Rather than empowering them, this great tool becomes what limits them."
Just as Cheliax was limited by its infernal alliance. Just as it could now rise to greater heights than ever before.
"Do not be surprised, Mr Undershale. In many ways even your Grimm is more capable than any wizard. He could survive where arcane practitioners could not, precisely because he doesn't know magic. So come. Let me show you the hold and how I raised this ship. Critique my method, review my figures, and perhaps we might both learn something."
The dwarf is no fool and when Novox first start ladling on the flattery and anti-magic talk, he seems unmoved, clearly aware that Novox is trying to manipulate him. But this isn't all an act and Novox really does feel that most wizard's are idiot savants at best, using magic like a weak man may use a hammer, as the solution to every problem.
His sincerity breaks through the forgemaster is nodding in agreement by the end. "Well said, Master Narsus. You should be careful though, saying such things. Such common sense is dangerous in the capital, or so I'd imagine. Royalty rarely like actual advice."
Undershale quickly declares Novox method with the buoy's 'inventive' although he does remark that the wizard got lucky that many flotation devices were available. "What was your backup plan?"
Undershale quickly declares the cargo suitable and intact, adding he considers himself in Novox's debt. The promise of support is somewhat intangible but real and the wizard feels he has made another ally in Dekarium.
Soon he and Hax have left the boat to the dwarf's busy workers, who are already getting the small crane standing, looking for all the world like a gallows.
At Novox' direction they head toward the waterfront, to find Vannellus's house. Hax has returned to his normal close-mouthed self, stalking behind Novox a few steps, sword on his back.
They find 'Uncle's' house busy as usual, the porch littered with couriers, bully-boys and hangers-on. A rough table has been set up in the shade, facing the flowing river, laden with greasy soups, buttered breads and several whole cooked fish (the glassy eyes still staring). Even as Novox reaches the first stair Vannellus himself emerges from the house, flanked by a small group.
The huge man grins at Novox and waves the others to silence. Looking down from the porch at the wizard he says, "So, you raised a ship." He chuckles a bit, seemingly at himself, "I must admit, you fooled a few of us, Master Narsus. We had no idea what you were up to. I'd give a bloody flank steak to have seen Decius's face when he realized he had guessed entirely incorrect."
The ex-adventurer points to the table, "Do you want dinner? I have enough for you and your man, if you wish. I hope you like river trout, I gathered this recipe when from Varisisa, years ago. Just the right amount of garlic..." He kisses his fingers, like a parody of a fancy chef. "Marvelous. Worthy of a king. Or even a wizard."
A shrewd grin worked its way up to Novox's dark eyes upon the dwarf's query of a contingency plan.
"Magic," he simply replied. "Magic was my backup plan. As I said, dedicating yourself wholly to any one instrument merely translates to your dependence on it. But neither should you ignore a powerful tool available to you. Magic was a recourse should I require it. I am a man of means."
While the sentiment was true, this was of course a filthy lie. The Egorian's ego rarely allowed for such humbling admissions as backup plans. Planning for failure was for lesser men. Narsus Novox did not fail. If there was one thing he trusted in this world, it was his own genius. He was not, however, so mad that he didn't realize that others, the aforementioned lesser men, wouldn't see things so clearly. How could they? They weren't him. They would assume him a narcissist or worse, when in reality Novox was merely realistic. He was the greatest man to walk the earth since Aroden. How could his plans fail?
----------
"Do you want dinner? I have enough for you and your man, if you wish."
"And here I was hoping to offer you a benefaction of my own," the diabolist smiled in approaching the great, greasy heap of a man. Of course Vannellus already knew every detail of the river excursion. This was hardly surprising anymore. But the mention of a gift would surely pique his interest.
"With as many eyes and ears as you have in town, I know you can't have failed to notice the absence of a certain something. My apologies, Mr Vannellus. I know you asked for the cart you leased me to be returned, but circumstances demanded its sacrifice. I was hoping you would allow me to compensate you."
The mock apology was suitably overdone, although Novox had to make an effort of not wrinkling his nose at the excessive garlic. "56 feet long with a bream of 15 feet and a cargo capacity up to 24 tons. Lovely vessel. She has her scuff marks, I must attest, but she's in remarkably good condition. I originally suspected that one could make a pretty penny selling her for scraps; instead she proved entirely seaworthy. The good forge master is emptying her hold as we speak. And if you'll take her, she's yours."
While he was well aware that he stood to make a considerable profit should he hawk the ship for himself, the wizard considered any such gold a lesser prize than what he stood to gain in gifting it to the fixer. Staying on Vannellus's good side was infinitely more valuable. The man was worth his weight in gold in Dekarium, and this was no mean feat.
"Did I neglect to mention that she comes with 161 buoys as well? Imagine that."
Vannellus was silent for a moment, clearly surprised before breaking into a grin, "Ah, I underestimated you, Master Narsus!"
The big man turns to his crowd of helpers, relatives and runners. "All right then lads, you heard him. There is a ship on the edge of town, being given to us by an agent of the crown itself. I want a full report in an hour. The condition, the worth, everything we need to now. stay out of Undershale's way but look lively now!" he claps two meaty hands together a dozen young men speed off down the street, heading toward the north gate.
Still chuckling, Vannellus sits down at the table, wiping already greasy hands on a napkin, staring at Novox all the while, as if sizing him up. "A generous gift, I must say." he finally says, leaning back in his chair slightly, the wood creaking under his considerable bulk. "In such times a smuggling vessel, even damaged, is priceless."
He rubs his chin, clearly recovering the fingertips in grease from his beard, "So, what do you desire in return? Something now or a favor to be realized at a future date?" He shrugs, "No matter, clearly this is just a little gesture between friends, yes? Nothing as crass an exchange for influence."
He points again at the meal, where already some of the fish are congealing in halos of cold grease. 'Come, eat me with me. I insist. To celebrate this great gift!" he grabs a battered tin glass and fills it with wine, before raising it. "To the ship!"
Vannellus pauses and says, eyebrows raised, "Do she have a name? I should toast her correctly if she does."
'Oh, hold on, I had something for this,' came the cerebral croaking of the feather-guised imp at Vannellus's query. '"The Wet Dream", how about that? Or if puns are your thing, and they should be, how's about "The Naughty-cal"? Can you believe your Common is my fifth language? "Booty Plunder"? Anything with booty is good, right? "Maiden's Bane"? "Sea B*tch"? Or are those too blunt? I hear ya, chief. Not enough artistry. "Cirrhosis of the River" though! C'mon, that one's pretty great... "Something something seamen"? We must be able to workshop "Big Deck" somehow. Work with me here.'
It was a testament to Novox's mental fortitude that he merely picked up a proffered cup and spoke only after a thoughtful pause that betrayed nothing of the inane blather rumbling through his skull.
"Then, to Aspex's Favor. In preserving the nation, may my conquest of Dekarium be as bloodless as his was in shaping it."
Joining the fixer in toasting the newly named ship, he raised the wine to his lips, but did not drink. The wizard's paranoia ran deep. He was merely humoring the man, and so spent a little while pushing a greasy bit of fish about a plate and assuring him that no compensation would be necessary. None but goodwill. "As I promised, Mr Vannellus, I am merely here to win allies and bring Dekarium into the fold."
Declaring himself entirely full and tired after the river expedition, Novox thanked the fixer for his time and left. Although not before delivering a somewhat cryptic warning. "Oh, but you'll have to forgive me; I left a bit of a mess in the ship's hold. Nothing permanent, of course. Nothing you can't manage." Disposing of a gillman corpse should indeed be simple for a man of Vannellus's means. Rather than heading for the mayor's residence as planned, however, the diabolist made for the White Tree inn. Let Decius stew for another day. The deserter could clearly do with learning some patience. Novox had at least one guaranteed audience with Jireen and he wanted it to be the last; his pieces were nearly in place. With the fey alliance in his pocket as well, their final bit of negotiating would be made that much easier.
"The Even-Tounged?" Vannellus says musingly, before nodding. "An apt name, and there are worse idols. I'll drink to that." And he does, rather heavily actually and Novox isn't quite sure if the man's slow descent into drink over the course of dinner is an act or sincere, not that it mattered either way.
Novox soon begs his leave of the fixer, heading not toward the Mayor's residence but to the White Tree Inn. Hax says nothing about the change of destination, simply following the wizard in his usual loose but steady gait. The shadows are growing all around them as the sun dips behind the boughs of the distant Barrowood. Everyone is heading inside after a long day's work, either heading home to to taverns. The White Tree has their fair share of customers that night and Novox is glad he doesn't have to hold court tonight, heading up to his (still free) room. Hax of course, heads toward the bar, easily shouldering through the growing crowd.
Upstairs Novox finds his room in order and undisturbed (he checks carefully of course). Before retiring he expends a little magic and repairs his bedraggled and battered clothes. Soon the cotton is as finely knit as ever, all stains removed and even the ragged edge of normal wear vanishes.
"It is good to know you have a back-up career as a seamstress." Bill says, transforming back into his imp shape. The ugly little creature rests on a bed post, crouching like a hideous gargoyles out of sculptor's nightmare.
Novox ignores the creature, as usual and falls into bed, getting some well deserved rest. Just as his mind begins to drift off, he hears a small scraping sound, just at the edge of hearing. It is coming from the door. Another graffiti artist? The sound is softer though, more subtle then human feet.
Then, in a harsh voice Bill says, "Ooh, I like it!" he points a clawed hand at the base of the door, where a dark puddle is forming, leaking under the wood.
Blood.
Then, without warning the door bangs open, as if slammed by a mighty fist. A cold breeze sweeps through the room, as frigid as a winter's midnight storm. Novox is already rising, preparing to fight back when he sees the hallway is empty. No sign of any intruder.
However, there is a dark mass at the threshold, lying on the floor. Peering with his darkvision Novox can see the antlered head of a large elk, savagely hacked off at the neck, blood oozing from the ugly wound. Daubed in that same blood, two words.
One uses letters he doesn't know but the other is in simple common.
It reads- Don't
A displeased frown. Then: "I have no idea what this means."
The annoyed statement carried no sense of personal failing; no, this was an admonishment. What sort of buffoon left an ominous warning in a language their intended target couldn't read? An amateur, that was who. Honestly now, these cultists were just plain insulting in their incompetence now. Oh sure, it probably made every possible sense in their addled heads. 'We had to use the sacred characters to scare off the bad man! They're sacred!" Probably never even entered their minds that he couldn't understand their no doubt very dire threat. It wasn't about the message, it was about the ritual ceremony. Hell's below, he hated fanatics. Efficiency always had to make way for show with them.
And yet they weren't half as bad as that inn proprietor. The woman was getting shameless in her allegiance to the cult, letting them skulk about the place at night freely. Something would have to be done about her. "Pen and paper," he sighed to the grinning imp. He would at least copy down the unknown word.
"Any presence of magic? This isn't Abyssal, is it?" he muttered in lighting up the pen with a simple cantrip. The diabolist was well aware that Bilbastis's fiendish eyes could perceive the arcane, and that the familiar was proficient in the demons' travesty of a tongue.
"Alert the inn's night shift," Novox commanded his imp after prodding the decapitated head, then added hastily: "In your raven guise! Do not test me right now." The devil had nearly gotten away with eagerly flying out in all his devilish glory, knowing how this would annoy his master.
They'd better clean this up, the Egorian thought. I'm not sleeping to this stench. Radicalized youths whose necks snapped at the slightest breeze; giant serpent attacks; treacherous, idiot priest trying to sell you to Hell - could Novox really not get one peaceful night's rest in this blasted backwater? His stomach hurt.
"Stop the presses!" Bill crows, while he grabs a bit of parchment and ink, "Close the mines, halt the tide! There is something the great Narsus Novox doesn't know! And he admits it! Mark it on your calendar folks!"
Novox eyes the bloody letters, getting a feel for the exotic script.
එපා
The imp sniffs the air around the elk head, cleary savoring the scent of blood and musk off the mighty animal. "Magic? Maybe. Something off. That cold air wasn't natural boss, I'd bet on it." The imp flips in midair, staring at Novox with fiery eyes irreverent again, "Maybe the ice is unhappy about being moved from the bottom of the river?"
The wizard casts his eyes over the animal remains, looking closely. The neck wound is savage and raw, not the clean slash of a sword or butcher's blade. The wasteful mark of the wild, not of man's honed efficiency. It is also fresh, very fresh judging from the still oozing blood.
The writing is unknown to Novox but doesn't look like that of any human language he knows of.
At his command Bill wings off, black against the gloomy hallway.
Moment pass and then Hax appears on the hallway stair, his soft step as incongruent with his imposing size as always. His hand is one his sword, but he keeps the weapon sheathed. Spotting Novox he relaxes somewhat and says, "I overheard the night guard. They'll be up in a moment. Something about a beast?"
He looks down at the head, frowning, "You killed it already? How? Where is the rest of it?" Then realization, "Ah, a message of some kind?"
"Of some kind, yes," Novox replied, now deep in thought. Well, ankle-deep perhaps. He still found this whole stunt too garish to take entirely seriously. The method behind the elk's decapitation revealed new information about his opponents, however, and this was always of interest. The bleeding stump that had been a neck bore every sign of a savage cut, as if done by claw or something similarly animalistic. Some sort of semi-intelligent beast? Or a creature enthralled and instructed by druids? Or worse yet, an actual druid wearing the guise of some brutish monstrosity? All conceivable options.
What was a tad more inconceivable was the bloody messenger's escape. The door had blown open with no one behind it, and exiting via the hallway stairs would evidently require passing not just the night guard but Hax as well. This had been a very swift getaway indeed. The wizard had to wonder whether he would be able to detect the faint traces of teleportation magic here, if he just had that spell prepared.
"I take it you noticed nothing amiss downstairs?" he asked in lazily weaving his fingers through that particular spell's lesser version, it being available to him. While it wouldn't confirm anything with certainty, the diabolist should be able to note the aftereffects of the conjuration school given the short time frame.
Hax shakes his head, "Not before the imp flew down, squawking about trouble." The gladiator crosses the darkened hallway, looking down at the head, "Any idea who the admirer is? Doesn't seem to be Dekarium's vibe, really. Then again, maybe after the last midnight encounter, a little paint seemed weak?"
Novox, meanwhile, scans the area for hints of magic. To his satisfaction he finds them, the tiny wrinkles that are left by any spell. Peering harder, he can make out the small ripples and that distinct aura that each school leaves behind. In a moment he can tell it was conjuration, probably a teleportation spell of some type. Dimension Door, perhaps? In any case, they have left no other sign except perhaps for a chill in the air.
"What then, one wonders, will this escalate into tomorrow night?"
The rhetorical question was not quite so rhetorical. While he wasn't concerned yet (perish the thought!), his opponents certainly were getting bolder, and Narsus Novox wasn't in the habit of fighting on anyone's terms but his own. He might have to confront the cult sooner rather than later, lest he surrender the first blow to them.
Hax shrugs, "A whole elk? So this doesn't worry you?" The big man seems to accept Novox's appraisal of the situation and adds, "I'll take care of the inn guard, and make sure a proper watch is set-up from now one. Should have done it in the first place."
Grumbling at both himself and the slapdash quality of the local help the man vanishes back into the gloom. Meanwhile, Novox returns to his room, glad that this nighttime event didn't break the door at least. Leaving Bill a bit more freedom then usual to scout the building, the wizard falls asleep, dreaming of frozen elk skulls.
Morning dawns bright and clear, and no dangers. No graffiti, no animal parts and the elk head has been removed from outside. The blood stain is still there, dark and wet looking. Inside the room Bill amuses himself in a corner by using some of it to paint rude words and symbols on the wall, cackling like a madman at his own lame jokes.
"Where to today boss? More swimming?" Bill says and Novox notes the imp seems in higher spirits then usual, which was worrying.
"Where to today boss?"
"Libeccio," Novox grumbled in rising from the bed. He'd always preferred the classical compass directions of old Azlant, to the point of spearheading a small effort of making them fashionable in the capital some years ago, to limited success. Why say southeast when one could say scirocco? Why say southwest when one could say libeccio? Merely combining the four cardinal directions to describe the ordinal ones had always sounded so crude to the Egorian's refined ear, too simple. The Azlanti had it right, as was so often the case.
Of course, simply annoying Bilbastis with an answer he couldn't understand had been the primary intent in this instance. But it was perfectly true; they were heading southwest, outside Dekarium to the ruins of the hellknight citadel. The time had come to cement this fey alliance.
"Clean that up," he barked at the imp, reaching for his spellbook. Why did the wretched creature insist on such petty vandalism during the night? Novox was equally insistent on humiliating him in turn, forcing him to scrub away his filth or even rubbing his face in it as one did with an ill-trained dog wetting the rug. No matter. The fiend could get to work as the wizard sat himself in a chair by the window, settling in for the most important morning ritual there was: preparing his spells. It was a complicated task turned routine for Novox by now. Binding reality-altering designer magic to oneself for ready employment was what wizards did daily, but the mind boggling complexity of such an art was something no one else would ever truly comprehend. And there was a slight wrinkle to Novox's routine this morning too. Finishing his preparation of one particular spell, he stopped to retrieve something from his satchel. It was the waterskin, sloshing with gillman blood.
The diabolist forewent breakfast this morning. The next hour was spent in study over the tome, draining the nearby glass of red in intermittent sips. To anyone watching he would appear nothing more than the quintessential man of leisure, enjoying the morning sun by the window with a nice wine and a good book. The coppery tang of the blood was less than pleasant, of course. Novox briefly considered flavoring it to something more palatable; he had the means. But he decided against it. He didn't want anything interfering - polluting even - with what slathered his tongue. Because this wasn't just blood; it was power. He could taste the divinity, the divine spark the cleric had erroneously been bestowed within the viscera. And thanks to his own magic, a small part of that power was now the Egorian's. Delicious.
2nd - Blood Transcription (x), Bull's Strength, Glitterdust, Mirror Image, Invisibility + Web
3rd - Fly, Fireball, Stinking Cloud + Summon Monster III
Novox finishes the blood with a final sip, holding the glass up to the morning light. There was the slighest tingle on his tongue, the faintest taste of...the sea? Of salt? A final gasp of Gozreh's power perhaps, before it is subsumed into Novox's own arcane well.
The wizard heads downstairs, Bill once again a crow on his shoulder, and finds the morning crowd. Hax is already sitting at a scrubbed wooden table, digging into a breakfast of duck eggs and toast, liberally coated in butter.
The gladiator looks up at Novox, fork in hand, "I see you survived the rest of the night. I cleaned up that head last night, and most of the blood. Is there anything we [i]won't[/]i be doing today or are we ignoring the free advice offered by your secret admirer? The atheist sips at a glass of red wine, and Novox smiles at the irony. He doubted the fighter's morning libation would provide the same potent spark as Novox's had.
The man lowered his voice and added, "How secret are we keeping our little jaunt south ways? I doubt the ruins are unknown to the locals here, even if they are dangerous. Do you want to ask around or would it tip our hand?"
Outside the sun is well above the horizon now, painting the land in a bright gold light. Dekarium is slowly waking up as shopkeepers and laborers head to work, while the refugees settle down to another day of merely surviving.
"Is there anything we won't be doing today or are we ignoring the free advice offered by your secret admirer?"
"Yes," Novox replied, sinking into an opposing chair with a face as grave as the fifth act of a tragedy. "I think it best we leave Dekarium be. The... climate is growing increasingly inhospitable. Nothing is worth our lives. I shall report to Egorian that the town is a lost cause and unsalvageable. We should leave - today."
And within the second the heavy clouds that were his features lifted to reveal the dismissive confidence, shining bright, that was the Egorian's resting expression. He looked to the mercenary with disapproval. "Did you believe my response for a moment? No? Then reflect on how foolish a question that really was. Yes, of course we're ignoring the absurd threat. No true Chelishman gives in to coercion, least of all one on the cusp of victory. Garish warnings are only indicative of their sender's fear, Hax - the more ostentatious, the greater the fear. And judging by last night's display my opponents are rightfully terrified."
"Rightfully terrified of you being a vampire," the raven croaked from his master's shoulder. "You should have seen it, Hax my man. It was all in his stubble when I shaved him. Met babaus less gory. Do you think the staff has a bib on hand they can borrow us? 'Cause this guy needs one..."
"Quiet," Novox commanded, recognizing the imp's little attempt at sowing dissent for what it was. "But yes," he went on, lowering his voice to match the Rahadoumi's, "the less attention we gather, the better. I already have a fair idea of the citadel's location. We will leave the city as quietly as we can manage. So finish your breakfast quickly. The sooner we leave the better."
He would prefer avoiding Decius this morning. No doubt the deserter would demand to know where his supposed co-conspirator was off to.
Novox is a good liar, but he isn't exactly trying his best. Hax smirks at the wizard's initial reply and shrugs when he goes on.
"Maybe." The man says, spearing the last of his eggs, "Listen, by my standards this entire nation is a pact of heretics and misguided fools. But look around. Do you really think you can turn this place into a city of happy little Chelish, eager to serve the cause?" he snorts and swallows the last of his bacon, standing up. The oiled leather sheath of his sword catches the light, glimmering like beaten metal. "I doubt it."
The pair leave the city by the south gate, taking no special precautions. Novox idly ponders using magic to prevent conversations but in the end, can see his reputation is doing that for him. Refugees move out of the way, pushing aside tattered heap of belongings and pausing their insistent prattle for donations. The townsfolk step aside, giving Hax and Novox a wide berth, many with a solemn nod. Novox has no idea if the residents like him, but he can see they respect him (or at least his power).
The south gate is open for them as they pass by, and both sets of guards (the local townsfolk and Decius pickets) simply watch them pass. Novox is sure their departure will be reporting to everyone of importance shortly but for now they have made a clean escape, unburdened by explanations. Hax finds a narrow farmer's track that leads in the right direction and they soon leave Dekarium behind.
The land here is gentle rolling hillocks, not much taller then a man. While mostly open, there are small managed woodlots here and there, the preserve of some far-sighted farmer or landowner. Most are coppiced intended for lumber, but others are small groves of apple or pears. More numerous are the open farming fields, some sectioned off by low stone walls but more often high hedges. A few lack any boundary at all, probably outlined by tradition and custom more securely then any physical border. Most look to be wheat fields, or at least they had been.
All are overgrown, with weeds covering the fallow ground. It has been months since this land has felt the tread of the harvester's boot. In a few places plows and other implements are left standing in the field, sun-bleached and forgotten but little else.
They come to the first homestead after a few miles of uneventful travel. It is a small stone building, fairly comfortable as far as such peasant homes go. A slate roof, a tiny wooden porch and a small collection of outbuildings point to a prosperous local farmer of some repute.
The entire estate is in ruins. The house is a burned out hulk, with streaks of soot and smoke staining every window and door. The porch is charred and damaged, looking to have been trampled by many feet. A small kitchen garden at the side is churned and dug up, and clearly swept clean of any signs of life. What must have been the chicken coop and small pig pen have been totally destroyed, leveled by greedy hands. Even the few fruit trees in the yard have been mangled by axe and fire, and are bare of leaves.
"There will be more of this." Hax says, eyeing the house critically. "All over your country. Might be a lean winter, when it comes."
Then without warning, Novox sees movement behind a mutilated fruit tree. A large shape, but not human. In a moment it resolves into a...deer? A tall and proud creature, with a powerful neck holding up a rack of antlers worthy of a Ulfen war lodge. It takes one step out of cover and stares at Novox. The stare is not that of a mere animal, a cold penetrating stare that makes Novox's stomach churn and his vision blurry.
Hax is shouting something next to him, drawing his sword while Bill cackles a laugh.
"Careful, Hax," the Egorian replied, narrow eyes taking in the hollowed out estate. "Your hypocrisy is showing."
There was little grievance in the voice. Novox conveyed little of anything, really, as he took in the devastation around them, the fruits of war. No judge behind his pew had ever looked more solemn than the wizard in surveying the remains of this hamlet, and when he spoke he did so without looking away from it, as if sparing himself the least detail of the unholy mess that had claimed the village would be doing it a disservice. Or perhaps even himself. "You cannot lament my people's ruination and then shame my efforts to save them in the same breath. You cannot demand reform and then turn away the reformer. Either rejoice in the demise of the nation you hate, or say nothing at all; even honest evil is preferable to false virtue."
The words were harsh, as bare as the now barren estate, but their tone was flatly factual. There was no condemnation there, no anger. It was a sermon clad in the temper of a dispassionate conclusion and accompanying recommendation of an academic, there for the Rahadoumi to heed or ignore. Any actual concern of the diabolist's was obviously with his countrymen rather than the mercenary.
And was this his design? Was Novox in truth still working at winning over his companion, now chipping away at his moral foundation, exposing Hax's apparent hypocrisy in consistently asking and hoping for more from a people he had nothing but scorn for? Of course he was. The man was as eager to exploit the self-deceit of others as he was blind to his own, grand deceiver that he was. But the grave gaze that contemplated the destruction before it was not a dishonest one, nor his words untrue. Narsus Novox was after all that most dangerous of demagogues, the one that truly believed in his own cause. Deception was one of his most potent tools, yes, but not always necessary: Novox was just as much preacher as he was manipulator. And he did not take kindly to assaults on his dogma, nor his flock.
The sudden movement finally demanded the Egorian's attention. An elk? The coincidence wasn't lost on him. Nor was the strangely intelligent glare from the black eyes, but what could...? The real alarm didn't set in until the animal's form began blurring before him. This was no chance encounter. What was this thing?
Novox had read a book once, about maladies of the mind. It had been a trivial passing fancy, and the wizard had never followed up much on the topic but one anecdote had stuck with him. It had been the account of a laborer who had been struck by the arm of some heavy machinery, mining or some such. After a short convalescence, the man had seemed to recover entirely except for one oddity that had piqued the authors interest.
He had lost the power of speech.
This was not unheard of course, Cheliax had a rich history of torture and physical abuse that led to all sort of mental aliments. What made this case unique was that the man could still talk, it was just a random assortment of words, vocabulary without syntax. It was if someone had left the tools required for language but had taken the knowledge about how to use them, and like an animal handed a hammer, could do nothing but rattle it helplessly. The author had called it aphasia, from the Azlanti for 'lost speech'.
Novox was having aphasia of sight. He could see just fine, as the blurring vision faded away returned by his usual sharp gaze. Yet, even as things came into focus, something was wrong. The things around him had names, rocks, trees, buildings and they floated in his mind's eye as always but the concepts associated with them were gone. They were like leaves in a river whirlpool, spinning without connection or purpose. The context behind each object, the linking syntax of reality was simply...gone. he could see a rock but do nothing with the knowledge, not understand if it was supposed to be there or not, or if something was wrong with it. It is as if someone had removed the index from his mind.
What in the names of all the worthless gods and forgotten hells had that elk done to him?!
Even as Novox's mind reeled, and Hax began moving forward the elk simply...vanished. The wizard's whirring brain (spinning like a waterwheel taken out of gear) shouted at him the name of the spell but it merely flickered on the edge of thought.
Soon Novox, Hax and Bill were left alone in the yard of the burned out building, the only sound the gentle sighing of a morning breeze.
Then Bill burst out laughing, a raucous crow that fitted his raven form quite well. Loud and rough, the vile imp roared so hard his small eyes buldges with delight, wings flapping. "Oh! This is too much. Not looking so good there, chief!" His own pun sets him into an actual paroxysm of croaking, avian-like laughter.
hax meanwhile was still alert, sword in his hands. His eyes swept the ruins around them, his legs tense, ready for movement.
"What in the blazing sands is he going on about? What's going on Novox? What was that deer?" For the first time in their acquaintance Hax seems nervous, clearly unsettled by Bill's choking amusement.
"Shup up, imp!" Novox roared, three words very familiar to their relationship but never before shouted in fury. Moloch's molten loin-mould, what had befallen his eyes? What had that unholy ungulate done to his eyes?! Proud as he was, the Egorian did not take well to this assault on his vision. He was Narsus Novox! Even putting aside that his vision had been perfect since boyhood, naturally enough, how dared this creature - this creature which was clearly something more than a simple elk - meddle with the greatest, most important intellect this world had ever seen?
Left unsaid, hypocrite that he was, was that the anger boiling within him now was as much due to his own failure to recognize the threat as the sheer cheek of this ambush. Few held themselves to a higher standard than Novox.
"What in the blazing sands is he going on about? What's going on Novox? What was that deer?"
"Don't look into its eyes," he growled, ignoring the mercenary's query so as to avoid admitting to himself that the nature of the deer was a mystery to him. "It'll try to confound you. And don't drop your guard. It's still here."
The latter assertion was mere conjecture, but one the momentarily confused genius clung to. He hadn't recognized the spell, but that had definitely been some magic or another the deer had used in vanishing. Invisibility? Illusion? Teleportation? No, it hadn't warped away. It couldn't have. Logic dictated that it must still be in the vicinity. This was an ambush, planned and prepared. It wouldn't simply retreat now. This elk and the garish threat last night - they could only be connected! This was an assassination attempt, some unknown conspirator's attempt at the life of his greatest adversary. It had to be. The beast would strike again. It had to!
It had to because it simply walking away scot free after humiliating him would represent such a wound to his pride, he wasn't sure he would survive it.
"Make yourself useful, imp!"
"Well, alright, but only because I have such sympathy for cripples," Bilbastis grinned, hopping off his master's shoulder and transforming in a whirl of expanding flesh and crackling bones. What landed in a little eruption of black feathers was the devil's fanged alter ego, resplendent in his scaled horror.
But the wizard's bewildered eyes understood little of this, of course. Everything before him had lost their rightful context and relation to everything else. What was space? Was the lizard-like creature immediately in front of him and no bigger than an iguana? Or was he watching something miles away, some terra-forming titan that time had forgotten, here to end the world that should have been his? What were dimensions? Was the burnt husk of the mansion to his right a tactile structure, or a two dimensional painting hovering a few feet of the ground? His mind knew what it thought to be true, but his vision could not confirm it.
Bah! He needed a moment to collect himself. He needed some protection against further assaults. And Novox had a spell he thought could accomplish both. Shutting his eyes tight to concentrate, he quickly weaved his fingers through the arcane gesture, finding his wit sharpening immediately for being free from the jumbled mess the world had turned into. The diabolist vanished from sight. The elk-thing wasn't the only one capable of invisibility. If indeed that was what it had turned to in its disappearance act.
"Confound?" Hax says, voice low and dangerous, the man clearly regaining his composure. The mercenary steps in a careful circle, sword held in a low guard, eyes on the scenery around them. "Is it a trick of the druids or some spirit of the wood?"
Bill quiets, changing back into his imp form, leaving behind a puddle of dark feathers which vanish like morning frost in the noon sun.
Hax grunts in approval as Novox's form flickers and vanishes.
Seconds pass, and Novox awaits the next attack. Would it be a blistering fireball thrown from behind a ruined wall? A lighting bolt called down out of a clear sky? Or perhaps a pelting sheet of freezing rain, to stun them? The more mundane threats of of a hail of arrows or thrown blade? What form would the ambush take?
Novox waits and...nothing happens. The gentle morning breeze continues, sighing through the ruined farmhouse, shifting a few of last autumn's leaves. A few distant clouds overhead float along, throwing moving shadows on the overgrown grass at their feet.
Nothing. No spells, no streak of steel, not even an offer of parley. Just silence, and if it wasn't for his still churning mind, the elk might have been a dream.
A moment passed. Then another, and another, with the next moment slipping into something approaching a minute. And with it Novox's state of high alert slipped into frustrated bewilderment. What was this? This wasn't right. Why wasn't the creature attacking? It had sprung its trap, it had waited to ambush him here. Its target was dazed, it would never get a better opportunity to strike him down. Why should it retreat now? Logic dictated that it should press the assault! What possible reason could it have for falling back? No reason at all unless it had simply aimed to humiliate him, to impart him this stinging jibe and then deny him any retaliation, and if so, who dared to toy with Narsus Novox?! Who had the gall?! What...
And that was when it struck him. Even in anger the sharp mind did not rest, and it had been hard at work reviewing events, facts and his own assumptions behind them, anything at all to make this outcome fit the equation that was the elk's actions. He understood.
*ECHOEY VOICE* "Anyway, I gathered that there were some in that fey town, Everpine, that might not want you to succeed, all right. That's all!" *ECHOEY VOICE FADES...*
"A fey."
Hax got a bit of a start as his ward suddenly reappeared right next to him with an almighty frown. More surprising still were the soft fricatives and harsher glottals the typically so resonant voice had adopted: the Egorian was speaking his native Osiriani. "Last night's warning was written in Sylvan. It wasn't from the cult. It came from some Everpine dissident faction that doesn't want to see us succeed in retrieving this stone of theirs. The elk is a fey. It is still watching. It won't attack again, not yet. It merely wanted to ruin my sight in the hope that this would either dissuade me or simply prevent me from finding the hellknight ruins. That is why it has retreated. It has accomplished its mission, for now."
The wizard appeared calm, but the eyes that could no longer comprehend the world around them looked ready to spew fire. He drew a deep breath. However, the tension held within was then broken by him uttering an almost cheery "Come along then," and turning to leave. Looking straight down at the trodden path beneath his feet so as not to disorient himself more than necessary, Novox resumed their hike.
"Walk in front of me, Hax. Choose as level a path as you can find, and I should manage. The fey is likely to either attack us again within the minute when it sees us resume our travel, or as soon as we come upon the ruins. Hurry along now, this will severely hamper our pace."
Stupid, stupid fey. They had one advantage at the very least: the elk-creature clearly didn't know who it was dealing with. If it thought that effectively blinding him would dissuade the diabolist, then it didn't know Narsus Novox. This insult merely spurred him on. It had only given him another reason to reach the citadel, namely to provoke the fey into attacking him. And when it did, it would die.
'Remain in your lizard form, imp, and go unseen. I want you ready to kill.'
Hax glances toward Novox and while the wizard can't exactly see it, he is sure the gladiator has a question on the tip of his tongue. Just how 'confounded' was the Chelishman? Was he leading a blind man into battle? But Novox's words brook no argument so the atheist shrugs and takes the lead, shaking his head slightly.
Bill, still chuckling agrees mentally saying 'Sure, boss. I see what you intend.' Even that weakest of puns sets him laughing, and the lithe reptile fades out of sight, pressing on ahead.
They leave the ruined homestead behind, following a simple farmer's track heading roughly int he right direction. While, Novox assumes it is the right direction, judging from Hax's confident strides.The wizard doesn't know a hawk from a handsaw at the moment.
Actually that isn't quite true. At the very least he has no problem walking on the sometimes uneven and unkempt path. Wheather his senses were sharp enough to help or a lifetime of instinct experience walking he isn't sure,but at least he isn't helpless. Even a few bushes they navigate pose no problem, and the wizard moves the branches aside with ease. And yet...he has no idea what kind of plants they are. The shape of the leaves just slides right past his mind and memory. Disturbing.
Still risking a few glances, Novox notices something as they cross through another burned orchard. Not in the world around him, which is a frustrating null of information but internally. A faint tingle at the back of his mind, a strange sense of ...something? In a moment Novox realizes what it is, although he has no idea how he knows. The scenery around them, their immediate surroundings...it is fake. Magic is in the air, in his mind.
The feel of the magic, the weird way it plays on his mind..oddly, Novox finds it easier to identity the magic, now that the rest of his senses have been stripped away. Hallucinatory Terrain. Someone is altering the landscape around them.
"Hax. Stop."
The soft commandment was heard easily enough over the flat farmland; sound had a way of traveling far over empty acres, especially sound foreign to such land. And Novox was indeed speaking a foreign language. Still rolling his tongue around as standardized Osiriani as that language came, the mere fact of him doing so told the mercenary enough. The wizard was only doing so to prevent a third party from listening in. And this in turn meant that said party was present. The fey was among them.
"The fey is watching us. We're standing within its magic. The track you're following - it is an illusion spun by it. Don't trust your eyes. Most likely it has already turned us around."
This diagnosis, while dire, was delivered with academic detachment, as if the Egorian was pontificating on an entirely different trio caught in the illusionary quagmire of a mad fey. Indeed, the furiously intelligent looking man appeared deep in thought, speculative brow furrowed and serious eyes staring into nothing at all. Vexation, not panic, was painted on his face. He was the image of the creative mind at work. And when he looked up to speak again, it was resolve, not triumph, that marked the voice. "I have a plan. Be ready."
Straightening his back and throwing his arms out, Novox intoned a short but commanding incantation. The grass swayed about him, as if a gust had sprung up, and a sickly scarlet light gathered within his hands, the hands that he abruptly closed into fists. Like a candle snuffer, this extinguished the glare, though only to the untrained eye. A faint shake in the fingers revealed the power they now held back.
"Fey!" The diabolist's voice suddenly called out loud and clear, now speaking in the common tongue. "I wish to parley!"
While the elk creature was certainly elusive, its actions were very revealing. It had chosen to warn him, however distastefully, when it could have attacked him in his sleep. In reaching the citadel, it had decided upon sabotage and leading him astray, twice now, when it could have simply gored him. Everything pointed to this fey being reluctant to use direct force against him, or at the very least operating under some sense of 'fair play'. For whatever reason, it wanted him, or at the very least wanted him to have the opportunity, to give up. Why this was, was unclear, not to mention trivial in Novox's mind; what mattered was that this presented an opportunity. It just might be willing to barter, to speak, if nothing else than just to dismiss him and his efforts. And that was all he needed.
"You are generous, fey," he went on. "It is not often I meet an opponent so charitable as to give me three chances to surrender my endeavors. That's three chances to sink your horns into my unwitting gut you have foregone. I suppose I should be grateful." A pause. "On the other hand, you have employed threat, curse and trickery where you could have begun with civility. I am a negotiator, fey, you know this. We can negotiate. An Everpine representative entrusted me with a task. I understand you are opposed to said task. In turn, understand that my only interest is in winning Everpine's favor. You are of Everpine. It is you I seek to ally with. I would hear your grievances. Speak. I am listening."
Yes, he was indeed listening. Listening not just for the first sound of the elk creature's voice, but even the sound of its hooves in the grass, anything at all. Anything at all that could tell him where to unleash his minions to devour this miscreant's miserable flesh.
At Novox's words, Hax becomes as still and watchful as a man in a duck blind, awaiting his prey. The wizard cannot tell but he wonders if the Rahadoumi was as frustrated and annoyed with the foe they could not come to grips with as he was. Probably.
Novox's next words roll out clear and strong, bounding over the sunny landscape of field and woodland. A light breeze seems to carry them, dancing over the waving grasses.
There is a moment of silence and then the world around them shifts in an eyeblink. Where before there was the rather temperate if abandoned Chelish countryside, now Hax and Novox stood in a wintry landscape that reminded the wizard of the distant Crown of the World. The ground around them was covered in drifting snowbanks of snow and ice, piled knee deep in places. Trees are suddenly barren of leaves, empty branches creaking in the pseudo-chill air. Even the sun overhead seems to shift, moving around as well as becoming dimmer.
"Star above.." Hax swears, "It was leading us north, back to town."
A new path forms among the snow and ice, leading them in a sharp curve, leading back the way they came.
No verbal answer comes out of the obviously fake winter wonderland.
He made a striking figure, the dark and austere Narsus Novox against the wintry landscape - nothing was ever as true and tangible as when contrasted with its opposite. And the Egorian, black as a crow's gullet, was only made more arresting in the snow, more dangerous.
"... Very well," he murmured, softly as the falling snowflakes.
Which was promptly followed by three bursts of snow about him, sleet and slush sent flying, and all was not well. Novox had released his spell. Forming a perfect circle around him, three hideous red-haired spiders had clawed their way into existence, each the size of a man. These materialized mid scamper, rushing forward in a skittering sprint of sharp, darting limbs. They were born with one purpose, to hunt, and hunt they would.
So the elk wanted him to turn around, eh? It may have elected not to speak, but Novox had received its message just fine. It simply wasn't one he could accept. And that would be the fey's death, arrogant fool that it was. Too good to negotiate with Novox the genius, Novox the prodigy? A human not good enough for the otherworldly forest dweller? The miscreant would live to regret this. These were the Egorian's thoughts as his minions tore through the white field, drawing straight black lines through the landscape in doing so. Geometry was a worthwhile branch of mathematics, one Novox had not ignored, and seen from above the scene had an attractive geometric perfection to it, the spiders forming a circle, their master in the middle, the straight lines as they fanned out... This was intentional, of course. The diabolist knew the limitations of his minions. He knew that the odds were in his favor that they would sense the elk's location. And when they did, it would die.
The spiders looked very out of place, skittering across the landscape. Man-sized, the immense insects skittered over the snowy ground with nauseating speed, black hairy legs moving like a blur. They seemed untroubled by the illusory snow, although it made them very visible. Black on white.
Even as Novox watched his handiwork, he could sense something. Not from his own damaged eyes or ears, but from these minions. Novox had never found a truly accurate treaties on the link between summoner and summoned (it was on his own personal list of things to accomplish for the good of mankind), but one damnable aspect of it was how unclear it was. The wizard could tell the spiders found something, but what exactly...it was like trying to glimpse the details of a shadow. Still, he knew the direction.
Without being asked, Bill surged toward the find, like a hunting hound. Whatever else, the imp loved to rend and tear, and being asked to kill was not unwanted service.
Suddenly, from behind a iced over hillock, a shape comes darting, visable even to Novox's vision.A dark shape racing over the tundra-landscape with speed. A four-legged shape.
An elk.
Novox's quarry had been flushed as neatly as any fox.
The elk, running flat out, seemed to glance toward Novox as it darted over the snow strewn ground. It was at a distance but there was anger, confusion and....despair? Then it looked away, and the beast seemed to melt, change shape. Soon it was a humanoid shape, floating a few inches above the ground. Man sized, with clothing made of ragged furs, and long claws dangled from the powerful arms....Then the shadowy shape flared into brightness and vanished.
Around them the arctic landscape faded away, like a shimmering dream. Snow was replaced by beds of green grass, ragged frost-bitten trees with apples in full flowers and the chill wind with a warm spring's day.
The elk had used Teleportation Door to vanish out of sight (and out of range).
Curses! Novox had magic at his fingers and a spell on his tongue, both poised to lash, when the elk vanished in a flash. And he knew that this time his befuddled eyesight was not to blame. The accursed creature had escaped him once again, and nary a second before he could retaliate against it with the full force of his arcane might. How frustrating! His counter-illusion gambit had worked, but the fey was adamant in denying him a direct engagement. Ever a practical soul, the Egorian was not amused at this game of cat and mouse. He was Narsus Novox! Novox the prodigy! Novox the genius! He was not to be toyed with. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. This wasn't what was owed him. His enemies were not supposed to evade even those brilliant maneuvers of his that proved effective.
And they especially were not supposed to give him the creeping thought that his was the role of the mouse in the aforementioned game.
The momentary lapse in the otherwise unshakable confidence did not last. No, the wizard told himself, this encounter had been different. This time the creature had revealed not only its true form in retreating, but also its method of escape, both sloppy mistakes. Why? Had his foiling its deception rattled the fey? Was it possible that it was more fearful of him than previously assumed, that this was the reason behind the garish warning, the elaborate subterfuge? That it did not wish to fight him? That it did not believe it could win a direct confrontation?
Hm. Novox was arrogant, but not madly so ('oh, no, clearly,'), so while this idea appealed to him, he did not assume it to be true. The fey were not known to be particularly predictable, after all. What was sure was that the elk-man had fled a considerable distance, beyond eyesight - the diabolist knew magic, and the dissolution of the illusionary landscape confirmed that much. Maybe, just maybe, if his opponent believed him capable of repeating this trick with the giant arachnids, then it would leave them be. Perhaps it now assumed there was no way to stop him beside that hated direct engagement, and so would avoid them until absolutely necessary. Yes, maybe. But the truth was that the diabolist couldn't summon the fiendish spiders again, and he didn't like that this little journey of theirs might now hinge on a flimsy misunderstanding on the part of a fey. His arsenal was... limited against an opponent such as this.
Folding his arms, Novox did not dismiss his eight-legged minions, but allowed them to roam free for the full minute of their existence. They continued to skitter about searching for the prey they had been brought into this world to find. He reasoned that he might as well maintain them as long as he could, should the elk's retreat have been a bluff and it intended to teleport right back to harass him. And should that be the case... Well, he had caught on to its deception. He had recognize its illusions for what they were once and trusted he could do so again.
"It may have retreated for now," he muttered to his companion, "although I cannot say so for sure. Regardless, we're moving on. Try not to fall for its ruse again."
Hax gives Novox a long and steady look at this last order. Was it annoyance at the unfairness of the remark, anger at the fey's illusions, or concern at Novox's mental/physical state? The wizard had no idea and had no inclination to try and pry away the weather-beaten mask from the atheist's face. Slowly, finally, the larger man turned southwards and set off. Bill, obviously annoyed he did not get to rend anything, was an invisible vanguard.
The next few hours were...unpleasant. Even as they walked under sunny skies and the warm breeze ruffled his hair, Novox's gut churned with worry. Where was the fey? Was it watching, even now, planning more tricks? Had they driven it off? Or was this easy stroll part of some new subterfuge and they were about to end up in the river, or worse, back at Dekarium? If he could not trust his sense....data, he needed data! How could one prepare for a enemy stroke without being able to see it or to know the nature of it?
Hax, for his part, moved with determined movements, stopping at regular intervals to check the lay of the land, to squint at the sky and a few times, bend to one knee and finger the dust of the road. Once, he even brought the grit to his lips, tasting the earth under their feet. After each such stop he grunted, sourly, and pressed onward.
It was late afternoon, and the sun starting to dip in the sky, when they crested a low ridge dotted by hedges. At the crest of the rise, Novox could see..shapes ahead.
In a low bowl created by rocky hills sat a collection of tumbled stones, ruins half-covered in vines and brush. The outlines of an old curtain wall was visible, and the jagged stumps of several towers. Several wild trees stood overlooking the dark gray stones like gnarled guards. Shadows were already growing in the shallow valley, welling up like a black ooze, creeping from behind every outcropping of crumbling rock.
Just ahead of them on the dwindling path, Novox could see a large black obelisk, gleaming as if wet, in the dying light. Carved into the flat face were words, perhaps once dyed but now simple ruts in the surface. Taking a step closer to peer at it, Novox could see three languages, all of which the wizard knew well.
Infernal, Common and Azlanti. As far as he could tell,t he message was identical in each tongue.
"In the name of Her Infernal Majestrix, Queen Abrogail Thrune I, The Ascendant over all Cheliax, Founder of the City of Thorns, Master of both man and devil, Holder of the Blood Pact, Commander of the Infernal legions, and High Commander of the Order of Hellknights, in the year 4671."
"By express decree, this valley and the ruins within are considered prohibited to any and all subjects, citizens, slaves and other creatures. Trespassing, for any reason, will be punished by torture and execution. Turn back, looters and despoilers, you will find nothing but death and danger among these stones."
"Long live the Empire, and the House of Thrune!"
Even as he read that last, bold line, the light on the stone faded to dusk.
Long live the empire. Ironic, coming from the woman who sold the empire to advance no one but herself. Novox stared at the oscillating obelisk, at the engravings that to his eyes threatened to sway their way off the gleaming black surface into the darkening sky. Curse the fey and curse his sight that it had ruined! It had been hours now. Would his eyes not recover?
He sighed into the rapidly chilling air. Perhaps something he would have to consult the tiefling priest on upon returning. But nothing to fret about for now. He was Narsus Novox; he would manage. This was no disaster. Still, he hated being dependent on the freak for anything. As dependent as Abrogail Thrune had been on Hell.
The Egorian acknowledged that he was perhaps unfair in his estimation of that first Thrune, the first who'd really mattered. He had no way of knowing what her true motivation was in negotiating that fateful accord with the Pit, whether she wanted to reign no matter the cost, or if she selflessly sacrificed the souls of herself and her house to end a 30 year civil war, three bloody decades of brother fighting brother, saving the nation. And frankly, he didn't care. He had walked and lived the outcome of her deal, and knew that whether despot or savior, Abrogail had been a fool - a fool and a traitor. The only real question lay in whether she had betrayed all of humanity or merely herself. Had she sold the people for herself, or herself for the people? But even this was a moot point, entirely irrelevant in the face of what the devils had understood: that ultimately she had sold the nation's soul along with her own, and this had been the devils's true prize.
'Master of both man and devil'? 'Commander of the Infernal legions'? Hogwash, if anything more than propaganda, then simply proof of her delusion. By winning Cheliax with the aid of the fiends, Abrogail had made the new Cheliax dependent on the fiends. She had made them master, her every bluster to the contrary making this simple truth more evident. Churches to the archfiends had corrupted the Chelishman's spirit as surely as the infernal legion had atrophied the Chelishman's body; humanity's glorious soul quashed and Cheliax's standing army made redundant. And all part of the Dark Prince's design. Abrogail's pact had destroyed Cheliax, slowly broken its back over Asmodeus's knee over a hundred years. No, she had never controlled the devils.
Not like him. He, Narsus Novox, understood the fiends' nature. He understood that one did not bargain with devils, that to even entertain the thought was to fall into their trap. Devils needed to be enslaved, beaten into submission, never handed an inch. To do anything less was to surrender, for they were beings forged in hellfire and like fire they only needed the smallest spark, the tiniest of concession, to grow into an inferno. Even disregarding his ability, it was this understanding that made him the greatest diabolist who had ever lived. It was with this knowledge that he would build a new Cheliax. Sloughing off the ashes of one civil war had come one nation, false and subservient to the fiends. But out of another would rise a new nation, true and built on the bones of Hell. It was almost poetic, history repeating itself before a mirror. Like holding a bottled ship up to a galleon, it would be obvious to all that one was a pale imitation of the other, that his was the superior way, and he would be vindicated, just as he would have vindicated all of humanity. And he would do so in nominal service to another Thrune, finally absolving that house by his infinite wisdom. Perfect.
"Imp. Scout the perimeter," the wizard said, turning his noble face away from the darkening obelisk and its swimming text he could barely read. "Report back on any obvious threats."
"Now you tell me I can fly? After trudging miles on these claws? Chief, these feet were made for maimin', not for walkin'."
Even in the vapid lament, Bilbastis changed one hide for another, soon soaring invisibly through the air for the ruins. A quick fly-over could be very revealing. As for his master, he turned back to the long gone queen's warning. For as much as he disagreed with her work, he recognized that her threat could hold real consequences. Raising a slowly evoking hand, he looked not to the black stone but beyond it, his ruined eyes still capable of perceiving the arcane. There wasn't some magical trap still awaiting looters here, was there?
"So. What are your thoughts on the Hellknights, Hax?"
The question was mostly innocent, Novox simply occupying himself as he sorted through the latent magical minutia that occupied all space. But a part speculated; the Hellknights were not unknown to the Rahadoumi. Most notably, the Order of the Wall, though minuscule, had held the Rahadoumi city of Khari for 30 years during the first civil war, weathering onslaught after repeated onslaught entirely on their own before Abrogail's Cheliax could support them. It was the sort of account that made you proud to be Chelish. And demonstrated the lesser temperament of the Rahadoumi.
Novox's senses might be damaged but his ability to survey the arcane seemed unaffected. He carefully surveys the obelisk and the ground around it, looking for the tell-tale traces of magic.
And he finds it. Oh yes, hidden in the endless, interwoven threads that made up reality Novox can see a few not placed by the Gods (or nature) but by the hand of man. Actually more then a few, a great many of them and laid by a master. Illusions, enchantment, abjuration...each resonated slightly differently to Novox' prying touch. And all were exquisitely made, clearly by a highly trained mage or set of mages. A royal cabal perhaps?
But all were old, very old, the spells long worn away by time's relentless wheel. The wizard only found faint traces, like impressions left in the dust by a great beast. Nothing here was still active or a danger. Still, when this stone was raised, this place had been warded significantly against outsiders. Had the danger also faded away?
Hax watched Novox work in silence for a moment before speaking, "Misguided religious fanatics; like everyone else on this continent." A shrug and then, "I hear they are formidable fighters however."
between the dark and his bleary senses Novox can't be sure, but it seems the atheist is holding something back. He knows far more of Hellknights then he has shared.
Before Novox can act on this, Bill sounds in his mind, "Place is empty, boss. No women, no booze, no fun. Just a pile of old stones."
The wizard gazed at this supposedly empty ruins himself. In his current state an elephant could have been standing among them and he'd probably have missed it, but Novox could see nothing but quiet stones in tumbled piles. Looking closer, he puts his formidable mind to work, reconstructing the building complex that must have once stood here. It was a simple matter, of course. Merely looking at the evidence about them, and extrapolating backwards given common types of structural damage and customary Chelish architecture. It only took the wizard a few moments to mentally place what had once stood here.
And it was wrong.
At first Novox assumed it was the fey's cursed effect on him, tangling his sense but no. The ruins were simply...too small. Novox can seen, from a distance, the great bastions of the current Hellknight orders, massive fortifications built of stone and steel, capable of repelling direct assault by whole armies. Granted, they had had over one hundred years to assemble wealth to construct them, perhaps this distant order had been a poor cousin, a pauper squatting in the woods?
No, it wasn't merely a matter of size. There had been a curtain wall yes, running the permitter, and a tall lookout tower, and even a stables but...there was no storehouses, no vault, no barracks. Where had the day to day business been done? Underground? Who built barracks underground?
"Half right as always, Hax," the wizard replied absently, not turning to face his companion; he was still surveying the patchwork threads of magic spun around the obelisk, finding them reassuringly broken and frayed. The little valley had at one point been potently warded, something that spoke to the contemporary crown's own ideas as to what had happened here.
"Fanatics, yes. Religious, no. Not as a rule." He released the spell allowing his eyes to see into the mystic, returning to the significantly more muddled sight plaguing him. Damn that elk. Still not gracing the Rahadoumi with a look, he instead faced the ruins. "They emulate Hell, its cruelty, but they do not worship it. Though secretive, to my knowledge they utilize devils as they should be: as slaves and tools."
Although despite his words, the Order of the Vice had clearly delved deeper into planar dealings than their peers, and had paid for it dearly. The barren valley was as dead as the dreams of days that were. What in the world had happened here? Or was that exactly it? Had something distinctly not of this world taken place here? He finally turned to the mercenary upon the latter's sullen silence growing too loud on the quiet ridge. "Oh, don't look so glum. I am edifying you, not rebuking you. Half right is better than most. Most are just all wrong."
Any talk of theirs was interrupted, however, by the familiar weight of Bilbastis landing on his master's shoulder.
"Place is empty, boss. No women, no booze, no fun. Just a pile of old stones."
"Too empty. Not enough stones," Novox grumbled, mostly to himself. He had already noted a severe bit of trouble to their search. "These ruins do not support the basic premise of there once being a Hellknight citadel here. They are not just far too small, there are entire constructions missing. Hm."
The Egorian was silent in thought for a moment, despite the prodigious mind having already reached the only salient conclusion: if facts did not fit one's assumptions, then one of the two was faulty. And barring tampering, the ruins were what they were, so he could only surmise that his premise of what it meant to find the headquarters of the Order of the Vice was false. Was it possible that it really had been located beneath ground? Or given their extraplanar specialty, even in an adjacent reality? No, he shook his head. Even if true, this was guesswork. He had nothing to base this off, no data.
And it was with this in mind that he, carefully, began trekking down the hill. He needed to inspect these ruins, more data, something more to work with. The remains of that mighty wall was evidence of something, after all. One did not build a fortification around nothing worth protecting. There had to be some hint of the Hellknights down there. And a hint was all a genius such as he would need.
Hax gives a knowing smile, barely more then a suggestion in the growing darkness. "There is a saying in my country, Novox. A fish cannot feel the water he swims in. This whole country is so steeped in fear of the gods, even you don't notice it. All of you are cringing thralls, not even capable of feeling the chains upon you any longer, so deeply have they worn into your flesh." It is a lengthy speech from the usually taciturn fighter and Novox wonders what brought it on. Were the ruins disturbing him or was it still an after-effect of the fey attack? In any case, Novox leads the way down into the darkening hollow, careful not to trip over any loose stones.
People often said time was the great reducer, the destroyer of all things but that wasn't really true. Time, on its own, had a light touch. Seal up a box and bury in the ground, and you can dig it up a millennia later and find little altered. It was Nature, wind, rain and life that did most of the damage attributed to Time.
These ruins were no different. Decades of frost and thaw had cracked stone, torn them asunder and left them scattered across the landscape. Doors, beam and other items made of wood were visible but vanishing quickly, turning back to the dirt from which they came. Everything else was long gone, and even any bones would have been carried off by scavengers decades ago. Leaves cover the ground, settling int he uneven hollows and gaps between the rocks, covering whatever secrets may linger there. Novox in his undamaged state might have seen more, but as things stood, he found little.
Till they came to the hole.
Near the center of the small valley, in the very heart of the ruins, was a staircase leading down into the earth. It was broad, wide enough to let ten men walk abreast down the finely carved stone stairs. They had found it not by sight but by feel, the chill air from underground so different from the humid dusk around them. Around the lintel, Novox saw arcane markings.
Novox could tell little of the worn and faded marks but one things was clear. This entrance had been heavily warded against outsiders, not in the 'strangers sense' but in the 'not of this plane' sense. There were spells here to break the links between this Plane and others, to sever the bonds that held such creatures here. They seemed to have fallen long ago, but when active no fey (to name just one being) could have crossed this threshold and live.
'Kinky.' Bill said, eyeing the runes with more interest then he usually gave such things.
"Why, Hax," Novox replied, his noble face brightening in newfound esteem for the mercenary, "I should congratulate you. You have managed to succeed where a great many capital orators have failed. It's not often I must concede and take back my own words, but here I admit to having no other choice." And like a blade unto the executioner's block, here his brow fell and with it the mocking praise. "I take it back: you weren't right, not even half so."
Balderdash. He took the time to correct the Rahadoumi's misconception, and he rewarded him with trite nonsense? Very well, then the fool could languish in his ignorance. Ignorance and hypocrisy. "Fear of the gods... If that is your verdict on he who would enslave a god, pray tell me what you think of the nation that very literally outlawed them? Honestly, it's like hearing a bramble accuse a rose of having too many thorns. Medice, cura te ipsum."
"That means 'Physician, heal thyself'," the imp helpfully croaked from his master's shoulder, and then added, "I happen to be fluent in blowhard. Comes with dealing with mortals."
These petty gibes, whether well phrased or equally crude, echoed off the cracked and broken ruins as the trio searched the valley. Mercifully, the bickering proved as brief as the search. The descent into the underworld that was the massive stairs weren't difficult to find, after all, and these gave the wizard more important matters to consider. Had the citadel really been primarily subterranean then? Whatever the case, the hole required investigating and so he lit up his weapon of choice, the enchanted baroque disaster that was his rod, and held it aloft as a cave explorer would a torch. And transitioning from one spell to another, Novox proceeded into a familiar and practiced bit of protective magic, something that would shield the beneficiary from harm. Wherever this stairway led, it surely pointed to danger. He didn't aim this spell at himself, however.
"Eh?" Bilbastis looked vaguely surprised as opaque bands of force began enveloping his tiny frame like plates of armor. "Aw, chief, you do care."
"You're walking ahead of us," came the brusque reply.
"Oh. Send the fiend to get killed by the traps, huh? Sigh. I like the initiative, I just hate being the patsy..."
Within the second the fiend has assumed his horrid lizard form, and with that they began their descent into the belly of the beast.
Hax lets the wizard's cutting remarks roll off his back without any visible sign of distress. Clearly the fighter hadn't expected to convince Novox but, well, the wizard had asked.
The pair of them follows the magically enhanced reptile down into the depths of the earth, boots sounding oddly muted on the dirty stone steps. The stairs are full of natural detritus, leaves and twigs washed down through the years. Shadows dance and flicker as Novox's magnificent, glowing rod bobs with his steps. The wizard can see degraded artwork along the walls, both carved and much-faded paint. His still poor sight offers little information but they seem to be sweeping scenes of other planes.
It isn't very long before the stairs stop, emptying them onto a dark landing, paved with heavy stones. The air is chilly, cold enough that Novox wished he had a heavier cloak. Bill goes in ahead, quiet as a creeping mouse. When the reptile gives the all clear, Novox follows, spreading the light farther.
What is revealed is a stasis of horror.
The room is large and round, sweeping curving walls covered in cracked painted mosaics. The damage down here is not as severe, and even Novox can see unmistakable depictions of the burning inferno of the Plane of Fire, the floating clouds of the Plane of Air, glittering gems of the Plane of Earth and raging whirlpools of the Plane of Water. Even Novox has no time to appreciate the artwork however, as a battle rages around him.
A long-finished one, however. Broken bits of furniture, moth-eaten and dry-rotted, litter the floor as well, much of it damaged. Rusting suits of armor lie everywhere, scattered over the floor, lying on the bottom of the stairs, or slumped against the curving walls. Many of them are still clutching weapons, notched swords and axes gleam dully in Novox's light lying atop shattered shields. More then one are still locked in combat, arms grappling each other in dusty embraces, helmets smashed together. Hax eyes a massive helm pinned to the stony wall by a huge broadsword jammed through the eye slit.
On the far wall, there is an arch built into the rocky wall but made of a dark, glossy stone. The gap under the arch is not merely dark, not merely a lack of light. It is pure abyss, as if someone has created pure...nothing and placed it there. Even looking at it made Novox's head hurt, as his eyes seemed to slip off the perfect lack of sensory information.
The thin shell of rust that had once been a sword ruptured into grainy particles beneath the wicked talons of the lizard-beast. The sound, like a sigh born of a sand dune, was so very fine yet perfectly clear in the deathly quiet of this buried graveyard. "You know..." the fiend started, raspy voice made raspier still from the scaled and toothy maw this form provided him. "You mortals will sometimes say something about there being 'a special place in Hell for your kind' or the like as a dressing down for each other. Total misnomer, of course. Hell has a special place for all of your kind. We're real welcoming like that. That said - traitors? Yeah, gotta admit... We're very fond of those. We have a real special place for them. Heh."
His master looked about the chamber and wished such a special place onto the fey who had ruined his eyes; it was difficult enough to discern every particular of the scene before them even with perfect eyesight. Could the imp be right, he wondered? Had the Order of the Vice fallen not to an external enemy but internal dissent? Novox lifted his torch high and surveyed the remains. It certainly appeared as if these Hellknights had fallen in combat against one another. And yet it seemed so very unlikely for the law bringers in particular, for what was among perhaps the most disciplined military units in human history, to succumb to mutiny. What possible cause could turn such men, ironclad in mind even more so than body, against one another?
Only something very important indeed, was all he could conclude for now. And then again, the wizard noted, perhaps this fight had not been their choice at all. There existed magic powerful enough to compel men to drive daggers into their own hearts, never mind their neighbors'. The Vice could very well have crossed a singularly strong manipulator of minds. After all, the planes were home to a great many strange, strange beings. And on the subject of the planes...
"Hax. Imp. Inspect the remains; my eyes can't manage minor details for now. See if you find anything noteworthy. Be thorough. Take your time." He then turned to the most prominent feature of the room, something so conspicuous and demanding of one's attention that it wouldn't matter if he was as blind as a bat in a pillow fort. "The little curiosity at the far wall should entertain me."
What manner of anchored anomaly was this, Novox speculated in approaching the arch of pure black nothingness? A inter-dimensional portal? That was possible, even to be expected from the Order of the Vice, what with their planar interests. Even so, the Egorian felt a tinge of genuine curiosity rise up beneath his cool exterior of (well earned) academic confidence. The multiverse was a subject of great interest to him, and yet one he had little practical experience with. If there was something to be learned here, then he relished the opportunity.
Hax grunts and soon both man and lizard are examining the fallen Hellknights and the littered debris. Their searches send up small clouds of dust which hang in the still, chill air, scenting the room with rust and rot. Neither seem to care much for disturbing the bones of the dead.
Novox concerns himself with the strange onyx arch. A spectator would have considered the wizard's survey unusual in some respects. Yes the Chelishman gazed closely at the stone, but he also moved his hands just over the surface, plucking at unseen strings, manipulating invisible threads of magic.
Here, unlike the wards both at the roadside and the entrance to the chamber, the magic was quite active. Conjuration magic was built into the very rock here, subtly aligned with the crystalline structure, rather cleverly using the stone's natural proprieties to enhance the spell. Still, Novox also got the sense the spell was damaged in some way beyond his ken, a knot, if you will, in the flexible arcane weaving (to stretch an analogy to an absurd degree). The spell was still working but it was fixed in a way the creator had not intended.
It was teleportation, of that much Novox was sure and it was on. Like all the gates in tavern tales, this was a door to another realm entirely. Novox wasn't sure where it led, but it wasn't the Material Plane.
Soon Hax joins him, wiping grime and dust off his leather coat. "Don't tell me we have to go through that?" He gestures tot he rather forbidding looking archway, the pure black still tickling Novox's senses.
"I found this on what I think was the commander." He holds up a small damaged key. Looking closer Novox sees it is not damaged but merely half a key, cunningly cut to allow the head to be removed or attached at will. Magic is nearly palpable off of it, related to the door but how the wizard is not quite sure. He doesn't need it to pass through, that much seems clear, the door stands as open as a traveler would wish. Did the key, if whole, perhaps control the destination?
It was a very unusual Novox the mercenary approached upon finishing his search of the chamber turned graveyard. Haughty that he was, Hax had become acclimated to the Egorian's resting expression of superiority and disinterest. And despite having seen rarer glimpses of anger, zeal and humor from the man, what he thought he spied now still seemed altogether foreign to him. What was this, he wondered, looking at the diabolist examining the crystalline structure? Was that anticipation, even awe smoothing the stern features? Something akin to it, surely, and while he had no doubt that the wizard saw something more in the unsettling arched void than his benighted eyes could, he had to take this for another sign of that singular Chelish madness.
It was true, of course: Novox was very literally seeing things the Rahadoumi could not, admiring beams of pure arcane power instilled into the onyx arch like rays of light caught in crystal. It was what all this magic represented that had him in an almost reverent stupor, however. A permanent fixture between realities, one that allowed its wielder to pick and choose between realms? Could it be? He could hardly believe what his double and triple checked study of the gate was telling him. Such an artifact represented untold years of research, skill and resources! It would be the envy of entire nations, and the Order of the Vice had hidden it away here? The potential for knowledge, trade, conquests, and riches such an artifact held was near limitless, it boggled the mind! Though not his mind. Oh, no no no, the genius intellect of Narsus Novox saw great uses for such a gate. Very great uses indeed.
So much so that he had to wonder whether it was all too good to be true. Something had gone wrong here after all. The portal was corrupted. The gears were revolving, but the wheels they powered were spinning in place as Undershale might have put it. Something had gone so wrong as to wipe out the entire order of planar delvers. Caution was warranted.
"Don't tell me we have to go through that?"
"Not in the least curious, Hax?" he replied offhandedly, still deep in thought. "It's a gate between worlds, between entirely different realities. It might even lead to a god's doorstep. I realize you've turned your back on the divine, but doesn't that appeal to some sliver of Rahadoumi insurrection? To vandalize a god's lawn, perhaps take off with his door chime?"
The Egorian smirked, something settling behind the devious gaze. "No, you are right to be wary of course. While in effectively working order, I don't know where this portal leads. It could transport a user to the Elemental Plane of Fire, or any number of other locations that would spell instant death for you or I." He turned towards the taloned terror that was his familiar. "Which is why..."
"Yeah yeah, just going to stop you before you get too excited and embarrass both of us, Chief," Bilbastis interrupted him and sighed. "Send the fiend ahead to get killed again, right? Sure, I'll go."
"... You are moderately more accepting of gambling with your life than I anticipated, imp."
"Eh. It's literally in my contract. Also, unlike you, I've actually done some plane-hopping in my time. Yeah, there's roughly a one in three chance of instant to slow death in stepping through that portal. But on the other hand, there's a two in three chance of it just leading somewhere inane and dull or even nice. The multiverse is an orderly place like that. Hell, it might lead to the Semi-Elemental Plane of T*ts and Wine."
Hax grunts sourly, looking at the arch and pure ebony veil under it. "Not even a little. A man should know his limitations." Then he glances at Novox and chuckles, clearly realizing those particular words of wisdom do not apply to his current employer.
"But if you judge it safe enough, I'll follow you." The man adds, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Sending the imp first is wise. Either he declares the way safe or is destroyed. We cannot lose."
"Yeah well, aren't you a ray of sunshine." Bill gripes, but Novox notes the imp doesn't seem too concerned. Then, without any further remarks, the demon steps into the inky blackness. In an instant he is swallowed up, vanishing from all sight.
A long moment passes.
And another.
"I hope you don't expect me to go in and save him, if he doesn't return." Hax says mildly. "Although I am intrigued buy what would happen if this leads to Heaven, and you pushed an imp there." The big fighter grins toward Novox, "You do not fear divine retribution for trespassing?"
Then, without a sound, Bill's reptile head pops through the arch, detached from the presumably hidden body.
"All clear, boss. Although....it is weird." And then vanishes again, back into the ether.
"Divine retribution?" Novox repeated in polite puzzlement, half-turning from inspecting the mural of the elemental planes in waiting for the fiend. "I can't imagine why, no. After all, should any member of the heavenly host come upon us we are but a novice planes walker and companion. Any such celestial might even receive us kindly when we aid them in dispatching their infernal intruder. Terrible thing for a lone imp to infiltrate so far to spy on the forces of good."
Terrible thing indeed. Of course, the loss of Bilbastis in such a gambit would be an inconvenience, but no more than that. He could be replaced. Honestly, the wizard found himself almost wishing for said scenario; in entering the portal, the devil's presence within his own mind had lifted, and he had been surprised at just how keenly an effect this had. For years now the hallowed halls of the castle-fortress that was his genius had been roamed by a crass shadow cast by the imp. He had convinced himself that his intellect, unassailable as it was, could never be won over by any devil, even one very literally living on his shoulder. He was not the common man, won over by their empty promises and sweet assurances. He was not even haughty House Thrune. He was Narsus Novox. His will was supreme. But now - free from the infernal whispers for the first time since entering his contract - the Egorian had to admit the fiend's influence. It wasn't that he felt an evil being dispelled. Hells below, no. He was not so spinless as to ever allow the abomination any such foothold onto his person. There was, however, a recess in his mind, an empty nest in a quiet corner of the aforementioned halls, where Bill's presence had been. It was enough for him to almost... not recognize his own mind without him. And this was a worrying thought.
Concern was replaced by hatred as soon as Bilbastis stuck his head through the veil between worlds and immediately filled that absence with their unholy bond. Damn this loathsome creature forced upon him like a pus-weeping tumor on the fairest elf. How dared it intrude upon him, Narsus Novox, the greatest man to walk this earth since the Last Azlanti himself? How had he allowed this filth to stain him?
This brief bout of self-doubt was only momentary. No, it would all work out in the end. How could it not? It was all part of the plan. He was Narsus Novox. He could not fail. As Hax had just put it, a man should know his limitations. This was a truth he agreed with. The plebeians should know their limits. He himself had burnt away his own along with his childhood home upon seizing his destiny. He had no limitations. And it was with this in mind that he stepped into the great unknown.
"Pity," Hax says when the reptilian head vanished back into interdimensional space. "I had hoped something would go wrong." Even the fighter has to laugh at Novox's blatant disregard to lying to the divine and waves, "Lead on."
As Novox moves to pass through the arch, he wonders where the door leads. Bill's prompt return and words ruled out (he hoped) the most hostile planar locations. The Positive and Negative Energy Plans can safely be discounted, along with the more..intense regions of the Plane of Fire or the Maelstrom. Novox wondered what the imp would say if this lead to Hell? A quick trip home may not pose any danger to him but to the wizard.....
Passing through the pitch-black gate was a very disconcerting experience. There was no tunnel of darkness, no floating through a vast, formless void. You simply entered one side and instantly emerged on the other, with no break that Novox's (admittedly damaged) senses could detect. Indeed, the wizard's eyes didn't even need to adjust as his new location seemed just as dim as the gloomy depths of the Hellknight ruins.
Looking around Novox frowned. What had Bill said, 'weird'? If anything this seemed disappointingly mundane.
In all directions spread a forest of temperate trees, dark trunks marching into green twilight. There was no undergrowth, just seemingly endless columns of wood, sunk into dark earth. They grow close enough that their branches joined together and knitted a tight canopy overhead, although Novox could see a sun was low in the sky, like late afternoon.
Closer at hand, he could see several stone buildings built under the tree. Their architecture instantly informed the wizard these were Chelish buildings, squat, ugly and strong. None of them were very large, perhaps the size of a prosperous townhouse in most cases. Unusually they seemed to have been built around the trees, instead of forest being cleared for them. They had an old, disused look, although Novox wasn't sure how he knew that. The wizard saw no signs of plant growth or frost cracks in the stone. They just looked...profoundly empty. Most stood with doors hanging open.
Looking up, Novox could see a clearing in the forest a few hundred yards ahead. There stood a much larger Chelish building, looking dour in the direct sunlight. The front gates, for gates there were, were tightly closed.
The only odd thing was an odd, subtle chill in the air. It wasn't like the cool clammy feel of the Hellknight ruins, damp air trapped under the earth and it certainly was the brisk coolness of a winter morning. No, it was a penetrating chill, that somehow sunk right into the very bones, resting deep in the marrow.
But nothing else seemed extraordinary and certainly not worthy of an interplanar journey. Perhaps he had been wrong? Was this merely some isolated area of Cheliax, a long-forgotten stronghold? Disappointment rose up in Novox's mind.
At his side Hax mutters roughly, obviously on edge "Blazing sands, this is worse then I thought. What is this place, Novox?"
What was Hax talking about? Novox turned to face him, and pushed a low-hanging bough out of his way. Or at least the wizard tried to. He found the thin branch entirely unyielding, and when he pulled back his hand in confusion, saw his fingers red with blood. The green leaves had been as hard as stone and sharp as razors.
"Don't you sense it?" Hax whispered, "It looks like a forest but is all wrong. There is no sound, utterly silent. No bird calls, no insects. Sands below, there isn't even a breeze!"
Reflecting the place did seem oddly...sterile, even to an inexperienced woodsman as Novox. It was as if someone had sought to create a forest but simply failed to add any sensations. How odd.
"Shhh..."
The drawn-out shush, gentle as it was, traveled far in the utter silence of the strange forest. Following this call for quiet from his companion, Novox turned in place slowly with his hideous torch held high, dark eyes deep in concentration clearly trying to take in their new surroundings, to learn from them. But it was no use. Shapes, a world in outlines was all his sight could parse, still refusing to take in any real detail. The smooth brow creased in frustration, though when he spoke his voice was calm.
"How do you feel?"
Already on edge at the situation, the mercenary no doubt found this empty piece of courteous platitude coming from Novox proof positive that something was well and truly wrong. "Be still and listen," the Egorian went on, noting his companion's reaction. "There are realities out there deeply aligned with such metaphysical concepts as order and chaos, good and evil. In such places mortals may be differently affected depending on their own character, their own sense of right and wrong. A Galtan revolutionary might feel ill at ease on the lawful plane of Axis, for example, yet intuitively confident in the bedlam of the Maelstrom. Minor suggestions such as these can help us ascertain where we are. Which is why I ask: how do you feel?"
Even as he asked, the diabolist was of course scouring his own feelings, consulting his gut instinct (so often disregarded in favor of pure logic) for any hint of unusual disquiet or daring. That said, he knew that determining any potential ethos rooted within this space would be less than telling; the multiverse was a big place, to say the least. Beyond the morally aligned outer planes, there could be any number of obscure, even totally unknown, demi-planes with similar properties. Nevertheless, figuring out these properties, with their disadvantages and benefits, could spell the difference between success and death out on the planes. And on that note, Novox dabbed at those fingers red with blood and twisted them through a brief evocation. Magic too could be affected, empowered even, by otherworldly energies, and it was imperative that his was in working order here.
"As to our exact location," he went on with Hax, "I would have thought that obvious. This is - or rather was - the true homestead of the Order of the Vice."
This was not the answer the Rahadoumi was looking for, he knew. But Novox knew it to be true, limited as it was.
"How do I feel?" Hax repeats sounding surprised at the words, although his eyebrows lower when Novox explains his reasoning. A few moment of silence passes as the atheist seemingly inspects his internal soul. Novox wonders how often the man has undertaken that consideration.
After a pause he says, "I feel the same as usual, that you have bit off more then we can chew. No more or less confident then that."
Meanwhile Novox investigates his own inner being and finds things...the same. No unusual bubble of elation and no unexpected pits of despair. Apart from that damnable cold, nothing extraordinary seems to be effect the wizard.
[Detect Magic seemed to function normally, indicating the constant magic on both him and Bill. It also revealed, very faintly some other type of magic, the aura too vague and indistinct to ascertain fully. Whatever it was it was either very faint or very old.
Hax looks unimpressed by Novox's answer. "Well, your comrades seem to have had bad taste in real estate. Any idea what drove the Hellknights we saw mad?"
"Any guess as to the reason behind their mutiny at this point would be just that: guesswork," Novox replied and began walking to the smaller buildings. "And you really should make some attempt to correct your blanket perception of the Chelish, Hax; it's as bigoted as it is boorish."
"Aaand we just passed some sort of irony event horizon," the lizard-fiend laughed. "The avowed racial supremacist chiding others for bigotry."
"Shut up, imp," the wizard replied, his attention still on the surroundings over the other two members of the trio. "I mean to say that the Hellknights have not always been friends to the crown. You assume too much."
The words were distant and absent-minded. He was more concerned with the trees whose branches were so solid, their leaves so sharp. Did they resemble anything known to him?
"Do you carry any blunt weaponry?" he suddenly asked the mercenary. "Any being native to such surroundings could very well have developed some repellent to blades."
Hax merely rolls his eyes at Novox's chiding, clearly unconcerned at hurting the wizard's feelings. But he does reply to the Hellknights, "I am not surprised that a Chelish group would betray another. You are all as trustworthy as the fiends you ally with." Again, more talk then usual from the mercenary. Clearly being on another plane has the big man on edge.
Novox examines the trees but gains little from them. They are like no tree he has ever seen before, frankly not like trees at all. The trunks are solid as diamonds, with no visible roots or other growth. There is none of the moss, mushrooms or other incidental plant growth one usually finds. It feels unsettling, even to Novox.
"Blunt?" Hax says, and pulls out a small mace that sits easily in his hand. "Blunt as Bill's wit."
In short order they stand in the doorway of one of the smaller buildings. Peering in Novox can see what appears to be a storehouse. Crates and boxes are stacked along the walls in neat piles, clearly labeled. Everything from food to paper to lumber, everything one would need to upkeep a sizable garrison. Everything is quiet and cold, but undisturbed. There is no dust, no cobwebs, no musty scent to the air. The location lacks any of the typical signs of abandonment and yet it feels...very empty. Novox sees no corpses or bodies.
Then Hax whispers, from outside, "Novox. We aren't alone."
Turning Novox peers out into the weird forest surrounding them.
It looks empty to the wizard.
"Then you understand neither the Chelish nor the fiends."
And one or the other will be the death of you.
The reproach could hardly even be called so, dispassionate as it was. Novox's attention was still on the bizarre environment, trying to garner some small clue as to where they were and what they should expect. Nothing was speaking to him so far. He drew his cloak closer about himself as they approached the deserted garrison in an attempt to ward of the insistent cold. Such cold, and yet no ice. It was but one of the minor curiosities that painted a larger picture to the Egorian; the lack of decay, nature's failure to encroach on what was long abandoned - everything seemed strangely frozen in time, he reflected in looking over the crates.
And knowing what he did, this could very well be the case. Time, as some notable natural philosophers had postulated, was merely one dimension of many that made up the multiverse, and the planes could twist, bend and shatter it as well as they could any other dimension. Such metaphysical thoughts were what occupied Novox when the mercenary whispered.
"Novox. We aren't alone."
"Excellent," he smiled, not bothering to lower his voice. "Then we have someone we may learn from."
Sweeping out his hand as others would draw a weapon, he flourished his long fingers through an evocation. "Imp." Like a faithful hound the lizard-beast was at its master's side, ready for the wizard to impart his spell onto it. The briefest touch followed. Immediately, Bilbastis's lean musculature ballooned outwards to something savage and vulgar, powerful limbs ready to rip and tear. Novox wasn't taking any chances. After all, there was plenty to be learned from a corpse, should it come to that.
Novox, looking over the assembled goods wonders if Time itself is altered or simply the lack of nature is the culprit. Without insects, water, or even wind, how did time pass? Could one mark the passage of it without any change? A philosophical question, true, but one of practical relevance right now.
The wizard imbues Bill with arcane power, enhancing the already sizable lizard with considerable strength. In their mental link Novox can feel the always present urge to destroy, to desecrate sharpen and grow. With greater power, the imp's primordial desires always grew as well. Novox's iron will was enough to keep the devil in check, of course, but it was never a...pleasant experience.
Novox, subtly, moves behind Hax, placing the imposing fighter between himself and the endless rows of tree trunks. A few moments of silence pass, long enough that Novox glances toward the fighter. He hoped the atheist was not jumping at shadows, wasting a spell on nerves would be quite irritating.
Obviously feeling this glare Hax whispers, voice barely audible, "Look, there! between the trees" The fighter raises a thick arm, pointing into the emerald murk.
Then, finally, Novox sees it. It is a humanoid figure walking slowly between the tree trunks. Its gait is unsteady and uneven, with hands stretched out before it like a blind man. It is difficult to tell at this distance, but the figure seems to be dressed in rags, torn and stained. The figure is not making for Novox and Hax, but instead seemingly merely circling the old Chelish buildings.