Snugged up in Gorfang's comfortable manor house, the three made use of the healing periapt Corelia had been carrying and slabs of bed-rest to recover from the wounds they'd suffered breaking the Fae Mhor trap. Once healed, they turned their attention to other interests.
The study of the books gained from the late Lylnor's library occupied much of their time. Much was to be learned from their pages, and they were passed around as the days rolled by. Gorfang and Lynien seemed quite relaxed during this time, but Eloy was strangely stressed and agitated.
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Once mobile again, the three split up and went to work. Eloy visited the bank at Guild Venter, where he moved half his monetary assets into one account and another third into a different one. Then he visited his temple, where he entrusted the details of the smaller fund to the priest Crastinuc, and his wife Sashia, with whom he left the access details for the larger one. Crastinuc merely seemed pleased, but Sashia gave Eloy a long, sad look as she recognized the signs of a man making provision for his own death.
She was unusually tender and affectionate for the remainder of his visit, and even more passionate than her usual wont that night. Eloy was very thankful he had waited until he was fully healed before returning to the city!
Gorfang sent notice to Typril that he was changing suppliers for his prodigous alcohol requirement. He transferred his business to Typril's rival Bangith, whose wares were nearly as good - but not quite.
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Lynien sought out her own followers, the Balancers. She, however, was not there to hand out gifts; she had stern words to say. With her own still-bleeding face as a potent visual emphasis, she delivered a stern lecture on the consequences of deviating from the Way. Two of her followers had been killed engaging Currund the assassin, and she stressed the mistake they had made. "We leave the fighting to the idiots," she said sharply, "it's no good to you if you're dead!"
Krissa was mortified to be criticised so, and all the Balancers vowed not to make the same mistakes again. Satisfied, Lynien unbent a little and spent some time teaching and training her proteges, passing on some of the lore from the books on Shadow Magic she'd acquired in Lylnor's tower. That done, she added a black hooded over-tunic to her wardrobe to hide her distinctive hair; she was getting too well-known here for her liking.
As he slept, Eloy Brackensen dreamed of his God. Sabath came to him in his scorpion form across a plain of blowing sand; sand that signified the ephemeral nature of mortal life.
You are running out of time, said the Dark God's voice from all sides at once. Your bargain with My demon must be fulfilled; even I cannot alter that. Nor can I simply tell you where to find this dragon; his own Goddess protects him.
Sabath saw Eloy slump, and smiled; it didn't occur to Eloy at the time to wonder how a scorpion can smile. There is a way in which I can arrange your meeting - though you may not necessarily like it. You have no choice, however. Shall I make it so, or are you prepared to give up and accept damnation?
The dream faded as Eloy agreed, leaving him charged with new purpose and hope.
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On the morning of the 20th, Eloy gathered his friends at the kitchen table in Gorfang's manor. Speaking plainly - which emphasised how serious this was - he explained his situation and the reason why he sought Setram's end so keenly. The demon with whom Sabath had allowed him to bargain for rescue when at the point of death demanded a price and bound him to deliver that price by an unbreakable oath. The time allowed for honouring that deal was expiring, and Eloy had not so much as located Setram, much less any hope of engineering his death.
His dreams had left him with the vague idea that Sabath might teleport him to Setram's location in a manner similar to the Fae Mhor trap, and he cautiously sounded the other two out on the subject of any assistance they might be prepared to offer. Gorfang seemed rather up for a fight with Setram, although he also liked the idea of watching as Eloy tried to fight the monster dragon alone. Deep inside, both Eloy and Gorfang knew that, antithetical as their deities were, if the followers and cult one or the other were obliterated, the other would be largely bereft of purpose. Lynien also said she'd go along if the situation arose; in the back of her mind she was tallying up the loot she could acquire from Eloy and Gorfang's bodies in the not unlikely event that the dragon killed them both.
"After all," said Eloy, smiling with some relief as he invoked the standing joke, "how many times have I saved your lives?"
In the next few days, the companions made their preparations for what was to come. Lynien and Gorfang picked through their possessions, separating those that had come from Setram's hoard and stashing them either in the vaults at Venter or Southwold, or in Bags of Holding where not even a dragon could scent them.
Gorfang set to work, gathering everything he'd learned about poisons and all the ingredients he'd gathered from places like the Dark Tower's garden of death, to brew the most virulent poison he could possibly create. Lynien, using Gozan's helmet with some reluctance, travelled back to the Academy at Coronos, in the region now coming to be known as Minensal, to collect the magical items she and Gorfang had commissioned. She returned with them all, but Gorfang had a strong suspicion that she hadn't actually paid for everything. He wasn't too bothered.
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Taking a copy of the volume The Fall of the Khabran Empire, Gorfang visited his burgeoning settlement at Gadûhvrás. Home now to hundreds of orcs and dozens of cave trolls, the settlement was expanding into more of the abandoned halls and chambers of the ancient orcish city - the merest fraction of the vast warrens of old, but a good rate of growth. Even better, female orcs had finally been acquired from somewhere, improving the prospects of the colony surviving beyond the short lifespan of the current generation.
Gorfang called together the assorted priests of the more traditional orcish gods who'd arrived along with the others. These were all of a fairly open and cooperative mind; Gorfang's lieutenant Shufghoth had whittled out all those not prepared to fit their faith into the structure of Gadûhvrás.
Gorfang stood up on a worn plinth, where centuries past the throne of the ruler of the city had once stood, and perhaps his words were affected by that. "I am Gorfang, King of Gadûhvrás ," he began, "your Lothrak," he added, using the orcish word for chieftain which seemed more suitable for a group this size. Even so, his assumption of the title was a significant moment in the development of the city. "You are all priests of orcish gods, and your cults are welcome in Gadûhvrás. All will be treated equally; none will have dominance over any other." The one-eyed priests of Gruumsh seemed less than delighted with this, though those of Ilneval and Baghtru smiled. Gorfang continued. "I bring word, however, of a new faith, a cult of a warrior god that orcs can be proud to follow - the cult of Hektis. I seek priests and warriors willing to spread His word and teach his ways and fight in his name."
There was some shuffling. Most of the orcs of Gadûhvrás, by the very fact of their having come here, were the sort who were open to new ideas, new starts; so the idea was not a struggle for them. However, being orcs.... "What's in it for me?" asked a voice from the back. "What does this new God offer, what is there to show his power?" It was a reasonable question, but Gorfang was ready with an answer.
"Me," he said simply. "I am Hektis' Regalia Bearer, and I cannot be bested. I have slain every man and monster who has crossed my path. I could slay the Old Gods themselves should I choose!" Several of Grummsh's priests looked on the point of a siezure at this point. "The way of Hektis is the way of the Warrior - laid down here!" he brandished the book. "I will teach any who choose to follow the Way."
The Cult of Hektis was born.
It was the calm before the storm, and all three were back in Lossal, either relaxing or checking in with their respective contacts. Gorfang fancied an ale, and had taken himself back to a familiar haunt, the Flaming Spear, for a couple of good ones.
He was just getting nicely comfortable when the song being played by the minstrel in the corner caught his attention. It was introduced as "Wealthy Well", to rousing applause from the patrons. The tune was jaunty, jolly and memorable, the words neatly drawing a mental picture of the story. The story was uncomfortably familiar....
Three good companions, an Orc, a Thief and a Red-headed Beauty, went out one day to steal the treasure from an Evil Dragon. They waited until the Dragon was out, and descended into his lair, down a well. Pausing only to dance and laugh, they stole his treasure to the last copper, before coming down from the hills and returning to their home to live happily ever after while the Dragon lurked underground and ground his teeth.
While much of this was inaccurate, Gorfang was only too aware of what it was about. When the song ended in a storm of applause and cries to hear it again, he went over to talk to the bard. The young man was only too keen to tell the orc where he'd got the song; it seemed a question he'd answered frequently. Another bard, in the Dark Slayer over the road, had taught it to him a few nights previously. Gorfang had been considering killing this minstrel in an attempt to squash the ditty, but by the sound of this he was too late.
Sure enough, when he walked past a couple more inns later, the same song could be heard. It was everywhere....
Back at the manor, the three compared notes. Each had had a similar experience; finding this new song, this incriminanting song, being sung all over the city. "Was it magical?" asked Gorfang. He was worried; he'd found himself singing 'Wealthy Well' on the way home earlier. "No," said Lynien after some thought. "Not magical, but inspired. Almost divinely..." Eloy's eyes widened. Sabath's words in the dream crashed back into his mind. There is a way in which I can arrange your meeting - though you may not necessarily like it. Sabath had not done anything so crude as to haul Eloy off to wherever Setram was, or as to tell Eloy where to find the dragon. He had simply arranged things so that Setram would inevitably come to find Eloy - and his companions....
Across the north of Alair, from the austere holy city of the Kordasa to rowdy Nasirolan at the swampy edge of the Trakar and south to warlike Radelin by Lake Isara in New Tellare, a new song was on the lips of bards and minstrels everywhere. None knew where it had come from; most heard it from another singer, or sung in a tavern, and thought to begin with that they were the first to have it. Catchy and funny, jaunty and merry, it was sure success when sung by even the least talented of performers. Inns and taverns rang to it, court bards played it for lords and their ladies in their halls, workers and farmers sang it as they laboured. In another week or so, it would sink back among the repertoires of singers to become just another song, though always a popular one. But for these few days, it was everywhere, and no-one who was keeping up with affairs in the North could fail to hear it.
The three companions settled in to wait, knowing what was coming, and prepared as well as they could be. Five days after the discovery of the song, the expected sound of distant wingbeats was heard, along with a strangled shout from Gorfang's guardsmen outside. Plans had been laid, and the comrades swung into action.
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Gorfang's guards were firmly told to leave the estate southwards and stay under the trees there until it was all over. As they left, the three sprinted out of the manor house; Gorfang didn't really want the place torched and there'd be no point trying to hide from Setram inside anyway. The orc shifted weapons into position on his shoulders and hips as Eloy cast spell after spell in quick succession to the accompaniment of increasing wingbeats from the north. A tiny orange sparkle rapidly expanded to the vast shape of the dragon Setram, hurtling towards them at an incredible speed with small flames of fury licking around his head.
Once Eloy's defensive magics were cast, the three scattered, well aware that bunching together would make them a single target for the dragon's breath weapon. Gorfang readied the Gorbow, his newest weapon, a bow with a stave as thick as a halberd, while Lynien flipped open a spellscroll and Eloy readied a wand while lifting from the ground with his Ring of Flying. A moment later, the Man in the Shadows stepped outside time and space, ceasing to exist as far as the majority of the multiverse was concerned. Gorfang and Lynien grasped briefly for a fading curl of thought that was their memory of him, but busy as they were it eluded them. Setram, fateless like his foes, focussed sharply on his three targets, shrugged off the effect and aimed himself directly for Eloy. In all their encounters, only two beings had dared direct violence against him - Méabh and Eloy - and he had never discovered who had cast the Orb of Cold that had struck him in Amberlan.
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Setram came hurtling in, his enormous armoured bulk belied by his incredible speed. As soon as he came in range, Eloy triggered the Wand of Ice Storm, and a hail of sharp-edged chunks of ice battered the dragon's oncoming head. A growl of pain came from the dragon, but he didn't deviate from his course. Watching, Gorfang saw the ice shower strike, and an idea came to him. Drawing the mighty Gorbow, he sent a volley of arrows into the cone of flying ice, to strike where it did. The cold had weakened the dragon's defences just slightly and the arrows struck true - but were deflected by the monster's thick hide. Eloy cast again, and again, as the dragon approached, and Gorfang rained arrows at the struck location, inflicting some minor wounds. Then the dragon reached them.
Eloy had positioned himself slightly higher than the dragon's altitude, and Setram angled up, opening his jaws ready to direct his firey blast at the human. At the last moment, Eloy invoked his Dimension Door power, attempting to relocate himself inside the dragon's body. The enormous speed of the massive monster made this an almost impossible shot, and Eloy found himself suspended in mid-air just below and behind Setram as the dragon rushed past. He lashed out with his sword, striking sparks from the beast's hide but not penetrating it. Balked of his target, Setram swallowed his fire and continued to climb in preparation to turn for another pass. As he passed overhead, Lynien unleashed the Cone of Cold she'd read off a scroll at his underbelly. White frost spread out across Setram's underside, crackling as he moved, and he roared in pain as he soared upwards and rolled over to face back the way he'd come.
Gorfang spun and charged across the grass perpendicular to the dragon's path, relocating himself, then drew his mighty bow and loosed again. Some of his shafts penetrated but it was clear that even this incredible weapon wasn't enough to pierce the monster's hide. Stowing his bow, he drew a different weapon from his Haversack and waited for Setram to come back into range. Watching even Gorfang's superhuman muscles fail to drive arrows into Setram, Lynien glanced at her short bow and discarded the idea of using it. Until the dragon came to earth, all she could be was a target; she selected a bush that only an epic thief could call 'cover' and vanished utterly behind it.
As Setram swooped back towards them, once more directing himself towards the airborne Eloy, Gorfang aimed a slender weapon at him and triggered it. A nearly invisible beam of energy leaped from the fragile filligree teardrop point to strike the dragon. Setram's magic resistance failed him, and he snarled as he felt his strength drained by the ray of the Invigilator. Eloy was less fortunate. His Ice Storm sputtered and died as Setram's magic resistance belatedly squashed its' effects. He paused for a fatal instant at the sight of this - and Setram coughed a great gout of flame at him. Desperately, the assassin spun in the air to try and dodge, and only the edge caught him. After his mistake with the Firestorm in Shan'quarth, he had his Ring of Fire Resistance firmly in place this time, and some of the flames were deflected from him by that. Smouldering, he angled himself around and tried his Dimension Door again - and vanished.
Gorfang was now the only foe remaining in Setram's view, so the dragon turned towards him. Gorfang blasted him again and again with the Invigilator, sapping the power from the dragon's mighty muscles. The Ice Storms seemed to have stopped, though it didn't occur to him to wonder where Eloy had gone - he'd forgotten Eloy existed.
Eloy was in one of the weirdest situations he'd ever been in - he was inside the dragon's body cavity. Even with such a huge dragon, there wasn't a great deal of room inside for a full-grown human, and it was sufficiently hot that had it not been for his Ring of Fire Resistance he would have been seriously burned. As it was, when the dragon lurched onto a different course, the constrictions of its' mighty muscles came close to crushing him. Bruised and half-suffocated, he struck with his dagger and DD'd out again - landing atop the beast's back as Gorfang hit it yet again with the Invigilator. Pulling a rope from his pack, Eloy swung it around the dragon's neck and caught the end, bracing himself in case Setram tried to throw him off. As he did so, Setram landed heavily, his strength finally sapped below the point where he could remain airborne.
Lifting his huge tail, the dragon smashed it down, producing a shockwave - reduced but still powerful - that radiated out from his location. Gorfang braced himself and remained standing; Lynien was knocked from her feet, but remained concealed and the dragon didn't know she'd fallen.
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