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Three weeks had passed since the fall of Vorsand, time which the three adventurers had spent in catching up with their various interests in Lossal. The manor at Southwold made a good base from which to operate, although both Lynien and Eloy had other options they sometimes excercised. Gorfang and Lynien had re-established their romantic connections with Darnivarn and Serafina, but Eloy of course had terminally concluded his own liaison, and turned his attentions to the fair but independent witch Sashia, with some success.
Gorfang had also visited his growing orcish colony in Gadûhvrás, delivering supplies and checking on progress. Orcs can achieve an enormous amount of stone-work when they have to in two months, especially if deprived of females and rationed in liquor, and the section of the mighty stone city that they were living in was now well secured against possible attack.
Lynien had used her contacts in the Lossal underworld to translate her share of the gold and artworks into nice, portable, concealable gems.
Gorfang was determined to locate Eloy's developing temple. The assassin had hidden his tracks with great care, and it took even the thieves' guild a while to work out where it was, but eventually Darnivarn was able to tell Gorfang that it was sited in what had once been the house of Belarang Vulpold, otherwise known as Thykon the Blood Snake. There was an elegant symmetry to this once it became apparent, and Gorfang resolved to pay the Houses of the Unholy a bit of a visit.
The outside of the building hadn't changed very much, other than to be repaired and tidied, and the shuttered windows betrayedno sign of it's purpose. The only clue was a tiny carving of a scorpion on the door-frame. Inside, Gorfang found a large church, divided into two areas for the initiate and the lay members. Plain panelling covered the walls, with a dark crimson cloth over a plain altar on which were placed various jewelled golden vessels. Behind the altar hung a tapestry decorated with a stylized scorpion.
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A bearded, lean man - Crastinuc, the priest - in ornate robes stood in front of the altar, leading a ceremony, and Eloy himself was seated off to one side. Around two dozen people were present, seated in the body of the church, evenly distributed between the two sections. The assassin stood, and spoke clearly; "Welcome to the House of Sabath, Gorfang Deathdrinker, and welcome Hektis!" Several of the congregation blanched a little at this, but nobody made any comment. Gorfang advanced to the middle of the room and took a seat at the back of the Initiates' area, observing what was going on. The service itself was formalized but reflected Sabath's nature well, encouraging the faithful to develop their natural cunning and self-centredness to advance themselves over the less deserving. This moved on to a symbolic blessing, where a small smear of a bitter paste and a sip of sweetened wine were served to each initiate. Gorfang declined to take part in this, and noted with some satisfaction the beads of sweat on Crastinuc's face; Eloy had obviously described him to the cleric and warned him not to antagonize the orc. The ceremony proceeded to its' end, and the congregation dispersed. As they passed, some nodded to Gorfang, for like most people in Lossal they knew him as the ex-governor who had ended the short Guild Wars of the spring. Once they were gone, Gorfang too left, leaving Eloy and Crastinuc to wonder about the motivation for his visit.
Guild Venter, Lossal, Tarlanor, 1st September 1655Lynien, meanwhile, had made her way to the massive, fortress-like building that was the Lossal headquarters of the financial Guild Venter. She could see at a glance that its already impressive security had been tightened another notch, presumably in reaction to the events in the capital. She settled in to watch the place over a couple of days, and saw two heavily-guarded armoured wagons leave the premises and drive out of the city, one south, and one west. She felt slight alarm; was the Guild absconding with her money? After all, everything in there did belong to her, though other people might disagree. She entered the bank and, identifying herself as Lady Morazesh, she gained access to her private vault. Carefully she checked over the contents; all present. Carefully closing it back up, she left the bank. The wagons came back into her mind, and she could picture them rumbling along empty roads, miles from anywhere, at the mercy of any bandits who might care to intercept them. They really needed to be taken into the care of their true owners... After all, all valuables belonged to her anyway. Some people simply got upset about having to give them back.
She wasn't confident that Gorfang and Eloy's plan to blackmail Ohmdalz for their armour and magical books was going to work, so she began to enquire where else mages of such calibre could be found.
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The next day, all three visited the governor's palace, and once again they were weclomed in accordance with their status. Linril was still hard at work on preparations for defence of the city - and the Region - as well as laying plans for Pepterus Region to operate independently if no central control was re-established and Tarlanor disintegrated, as seemed all too likely. Several members of the Guilds Council were present, including the lizardman Velg'nin, Guildmaster of the Mercenaries, and Pokkyr, Guildmaster of the Mageguild. Gorfang waved a hand at Pokkyr. "No point having mages in your defence," he said derisively, "they only abandon the city when things start going badly." The wizard, ever a political creature, glared at the orc but made no comment. Linril glanced from one to the other. "My comments from last time apply here. I need all of you. This city is our home, and all of us will suffer to some extent if it falls. Each of you can contribute your different abilities to its' defence, and I expect you to work together." Both Gorfang and Pokkyr seemed to accept the validity of this, and the point was dropped as Lynien spoke up, changing the subject.
"Did you know that Guild Venter are moving out?" she asked Linril bluntly. He smiled slightly. "Yes, I'm aware of their activites," he said calmly. "I have spoken with them. They are dispersing their assets to other branches of the guild in less hazardous places." Lynien scoffed. "And you believe them?" she cried. "They're looting the bank!" Linril shook his head. "No," he said, "merely securing their business. If the city stands and we remain in charge, they will be doing good business here. Someone has to finance our defences."
"Have you heard from Skufruss?" asked Gorfang. Linril shook his head again. "Not a word," he said, "I somehow don't expect we'll be seeing him again." Gorfang looked at the maps, and the shapes and numbers shifted into place in his mind. "So where's the danger?" he said quietly. Linril followed his gaze. "Could be anywhere," he said frankly, "but the most likely is the Kordasa. We fought them to a standstill after several defeats twenty years ago, when we had Skufruss, the Academy, and dragons. Now we have none of those, and they have had twenty years to re-arm. New Tellare is famously hungry for land and legendary for its fighting men, but Cuitech is a reasonable man - and Tower-trained too - so I'm less worried about him. Dalaghendor - who knows? Depends what Shushkrah says, I suppose."
"Do we have ambassadors in these places?" asked Eloy. "Everywhere except the Kordasa," said Linril. "Maybe we could take the job, go and talk to them?" said Sabath's Regaila Bearer. Linril looked at him sadly. "Representing whom?" he asked, "I can't claim to speak for Tarlanor and I don't think anyone else can either." Lynien waved a hand dismissively. "Why should we care?" she muttered, for her companions' ears only.
Gorfang turned to Pokkyr. "Have you had an influx of wizards lately?" he asked. Pokkyr brightened. "Yes," he said, "three survivors of the last battle Teleported in; Bancya, Gazbûl and Annanar." Gorfang didn't recognize the names, but he caught the glances Lynien and Eloy threw him; if these had fought on the walls they were possible witnesses to which side they themselves had fought on. "Are you caring for them?" asked Gorfang, projecting concern for them while fishing for something else. "Yes," said Pokkyr, "they're recovering nicely." Eloy slathered artificial sincerity over his face and voice as only he could. "I am somewhat of a healer," he said earnestly. "Maybe I can help them." Pokkyr bowed slightly. "I'll bear it in mind." he said.
Gorfang and Lynien were still determined to try and retrieve their armour and tomes, last seen in the possession of the alleged lich Lashasvow-Movamo Ohmdalz, High Arcanist of the Dark Tower. Assuming that worthy had survived, the simplest method of trying to retrieve them was to contact him with a Scrying. Lynien suggested they take possession of some abandoned house or other, but Eloy preferred the idea of using his temple, so after the evening ceremony all three met up there.
This was Lynien's first visit, and she wandered around eying up the golden vessels and rich tapestry with interest. Eloy sighed. "I know everything in the world belongs to you," he said resignedly, "but I'd be grateful if you'd leave this stuff alone. I'm using it." Lynien smiled sweetly at him, and they walked over to join Gorfang at the large bowl of water Eloy had set ready. Carefully, he read the scroll, and felt the aura of Sabath's power provided by the church strengthen his magic. An image, sharp, clear and quite large, formed in the water, and they leaned over to look in.
They were seeing a room, of an unfamiliar style, wherein Ohmdalz was seated at a table with his back to them reading a book. As the image cleared, his head lifted and he looked around, spotting the spell's point of view immediately. His hands moved as he cast a spell, and Eloy felt a back-Scry cast over his own spell. Ohmdalz looked at them. "Oh, it's you three," he said, "so you survived?"
Gorfang cleared his throat. "We left not long after you did," he said, "we were the last to escape alive. We fled as you did." Ohmdalz looked levelly back at him. "We saved the faculty, the students, the library and the resources of the Tower," he said with satisfaction, "and dispersed them safely to places of refuge. The Tower will rise again. Those who stayed to buy us time to escape were brave and will be remembered." Eloy chipped in, "There are three more survivors in the Lossal Mageguild." he said. "Good," said Ohmdalz.
"Some warning before the rain of fire was dropped would have been nice," complained Lynien. Ohmdalz lifted an eyebrow. "Did you not speak with your fellow defenders on the walls?" he asked suspiciously. "We didn't arrive until the end," bluffed Lynien, "the defenders were too busy dying to have any time to talk to us." Gorfang opened his bag, lifted out the largest piece of Yadaran Heartmaster's head, and held it up. "We had been busy sorting this out for you," he said, and stuffed it away again. "The battle was already lost when we arrived," said Eloy smoothly, using a true statement to convey an erroneous impression in the true spirit of his deceitful deity.
Lynien changed the subject. "Did you complete our enchantments?" she asked. Ohmdalz looked slightly disparaging. "We have had more important things to do than create toys for warriors," he said. "Nonetheless, they were already finished when we left. They are ready." Gorfang grunted in satisfaction. "Good, we'll come and collect them." Ohmdalz shook his head. "No." he said flatly, "You won't. I shall not be telling you my location. I am aware you have interests in Lossal; I shall arrange for the items to be Apported to the Mageguild there." Gorfang nodded. "Fine," he said, "we'll get up there and collect them."
Eloy prepared to end his spell. "We wish you well," he said unctuously, "think of us in a good way." Ohmdalz bowed his head slightly. "I will make sure Lord Skufruss knows you are alive, and that you are available should he wish such a service again." The double meanings in his words were plain to the ear... for those aware of the implications. Eloy smiled, and ended his spell. He was just about to say something when Lynien spoke loudly and clearly. "I'm glad they all got away safely," she said pointedly.
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This was so out of character that the others all looked at her in surprise - and then the copper dropped. Ohmdalz hadn't dropped his back-Scry, and was still watching them; but his sensor had not escaped Lynien's superhuman perception. Rising to the occasion, all three conversed earnestly about how good it was that the Tower would rise again, and how they'd fought in vain to throw back the dragons. After a few minutes, Lynien felt the spell end, and muttered "At last - the bastard's gone! Now... about those wagon trains....?"
The next morning, while Crastinuc the priest prepared all the cursebreaking magic he knew, the three went across town to the Mageguild to collect Ohmdalz's shipment. All three had been there before, so it was no surprise when the rubies studding the gateway lit up as they passed undeneath. What was a little startling was the degree to which the magical indicators responded; rather than the patches previously displayed opposite the various magical items the group carried, the whole arch lit up in a crimson blaze as they passed underneath.
Once into the pleasant interior of the guild campus, they did not have to walk far before they were met by a well-spoken young wizard, who appeared to have been sent out with a description to find them, and greeted them by name. He guided them to a meeting room, where they were presented with a heavy bag and a note from Ohmdalz.
It read as follows:
Your works as commissioned. If you wish to do any further business of this nature, please await the rising of the new Tower.
Lashasvow-Movamo Ohmdalz
High Arcanist
All three were quite convinced that the armours would be cursed. Eloy looked at the others with a grin. "Let's go to church," he suggested.
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With enormous caution, the bag was unpacked and the contents laid out on the floor of the Temple of Sabath. Two mailshirts, forged of pure shining mithril, and two fresh-written and bound books, glittering with magic. The mailshirts were different from each other; one was very female in its' shape, elegantly made and low-necked to allow inconspicuous wear beneath outer clothes. It had many gems studding its' surface, and several empty gemstone settings as requested. The other was plainer, with larger, heavier rings and only a few gemstones as decoration.
Eloy looked to Crastinuc, who rolled his shoulders in preparation before casting several Detection and Identification spells. Gorfang and Lynien looked at him expectantly, fully prepared to hear that the armours were trapped and cursed to the nth degree - but the priest shook his head. Gripping Bereloth, Eloy cast an Identify for the final test, and to his amazement the spell revealed the enchantments to be exactly what had been asked for.
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Eagerly, Gorfang and Lynien lifted their prizes, and the sound of the shifting mithril rings was like the music of water. Stripping to the waist, Gorfang lifted the shirt over his head and lowered it into place, shrugging his shoulders to settle it. It needed testing; he looked at Eloy. "Punch me?" he offered. Eloy, never one to refuse the chance of a free low blow, swung two heavy blows at the orc, but the armour kept them off. Gorfang grinned. "My turn," he said, and launched a sledgehammer punch at Eloy. The assassin was ready for this, though. One of Sabath's characteristic moves was to be nowhere to be found when the trouble started, and his Belt made this power available to his Bearer. Somehow, with no transition or movement, Gorfang found his fist hurtling at Lynien. The slender tiefling swayed sinuously sideways out of the way, raising an eyebrow at the orc, who shrugged.
Both Gorfang and Eloy looked at Lynien. "You going to try yours on?" asked Eloy hopefully; he'd seen Lynien dressed in this shirt before but he'd never got to watch her put it on before. Lynien smiled thinly, and dropped her shirt into her shoulder Bag of Holding for later attention.
The two tomes of magic took six days for Gorfang and Lynien to read, during which time Eloy was very busy among his god's followers and also out all night on several occasions - after which he was a bit dreamy and unresponsive the following mornings. Finally, they were done, and the three decided to risk a trip back to Vorsand to have a better look at the state of the fallen city.
Using Gorfang's Slow Teleport ring, the three plus Shamlakh the warg and - bizarrely - a cat Lynien had acquired from somewhere, faded out of the dining room at Southwold and appeared on the road outside the front gate of Vorsand. The city was as they had left it, rubble enmeshed in the iron jungle, and they examined the metal growths carefully.
The stems twisted and wove in amongst each other, ending in sharp, jagged spikes, while the 'leaves' were saw-edged blades, curved in multiple planes. The ground beneath was covereded with thick black ash, and once again the similarity betwen that and the surface of the Desolation struck all three observers.
Lynien stroked the cat, and then gently urged it into the jungle in order to see what would happen. The animal wormed its way throught the growths, finding it hard to fit; a 'leaf' cut it at one point, drawing a little blood. A moment later, the whole area around it convulsed, driving multiple stems and leaves through and through the unfortunate animal's body. Every drop of blood in the cat's frame gushed out in one gout, spattering into the ash and being absorbed effortlessly by it. The cat itself didn't even have time to twitch or cry; its' spindled corpse hung motionless in the mesh, unable to fall. All three adventurers stepped back involuntarily.
As they stood there, the tiny shape of a high-flying dragon caught their eyes, circling over the valley a couple of times and disappearing northwards. In the courtyard of the Dark Tower, the vast shape of the Elf Hammer, still trapped knee-deep in the stone, turned to watch the dragon pass by, eternally obeying its' last commands to assault any dragon approaching the tower.
As he watched the dragon vanished, Gorfang noticed the bronze-domed shape of Gozan Vraspan's tomb, still perched inviolate up on the crag above the city. A strange desire to walk inside it, to see the resting place of the greatest military mind Alair had ever produced, rose up in him. When he suggested this to his friends, they likewise felt a desire to see it, so they used their respective flying magics to lift them up towards it - keeping a very safe distance from the Iron Jungle.
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