03- The Apostles of Doom Page 31

  “Seems very manipulative,” Tom said.

  “That’s stability—immortality preservation.” Tamarin said.

  “Exactly, my dear!” Erestofanes exclaimed.

  “Rather seems to trivialize individual free will,” Tom said aloud.

  “It varies by pantheon of course,” the librarian said. “Not all are so rigid, and even those that are do like some changes and variations. They don’t want to play the same exact game over and over again. That gets boring. No, they want a good match, yet one that they feel more comfortable with than their enemies.”

  “Seems like a sound strategy,” Tamarin remarked.

  Tom snorted. “I don’t know; I hear something like that and I feel like I want to put my claw on the board and perhaps tilt the playing field in favor of the little guy. Make things a bit fairer for everyone.”

  Erestofanes laughed as he walked ahead of them. “Some things never change, my lord! I cannot count the number of times I’ve heard your prior self say exactly that!”

  Tom felt his stomach drop at that statement. Surely the invasion of memories wasn’t subconscious as well? Was it? Tom thought back. He had always rooted for the underdog; it was a natural instinct. He was sure this had to be pure coincidence. It had to be... didn’t it?

  They continued down the corridor for about another two hundred feet before encountering a large entryway on their right. This archway led into a portrait gallery. Large portraits of various individuals of all shapes and sizes lined the walls. There were four other hallways leading out of this room to additional rooms; one to the right and to the left in the center of those walls, and then two near the ends of the opposite wall that appeared to go to the same room.

  In the center of this wall was a very large—life-sized, in fact—portrait of a very large and quite intimidating demon. Erestofanes turned and bowed, gesturing up at the painting of the demon. “My Lord Tommus, may I introduce my Lord Orcus in what is believed to be his true form.”

  “I can see the family resemblance!” Tamarin said, shocking Tom. He had not seen any immediate family resemblance. Sure, it was a very large red demon with scaly red hooves like his own. And the demon had a very massive and scaled tail with a black metallic spade-shaped point; however, it was much thicker and longer than Tom’s.

  The demon was also monstrously muscled, far more so than even Tom. The demon was closer to fifteen feet tall, rather than Tom’s twelve to thirteen feet. He did wear something like a kilt, but it had no pockets, unlike Tom’s. It also had something of a massively muscled roid-gut, not the relatively taut muscled abdominals that Tom had. Further, Orcus’s horns were far larger and jutted much further forward than Tom’s, although they were the same ebony black. Orcus’s face was far more wrinkled and craggy; his eyes were large and luminously black, matching his horns. While Orcus did have something of a pug-like snout, it was more pronounced than Tom’s, and his head was larger in proportion to his body than Tom’s. The jaws were huge, most likely capable of biting a man’s head off.

  And sure, he had tremendous bat-like wings, as did Tom, but Orcus’s wings were far more heavily muscled along the wing-arms and his tip spikes far nastier and sharper than Tom’s. So, he supposed that in some ways, one could say they were of similar demonic form, but Tom was, as he knew by heart, far less intimidating, far less scary than this version of Orcus.

  “I don’t know that I see it,” Tom said.

  Tamarin and Erestofanes both glanced at him in an odd way. “You don’t see it?” Tamarin asked.

  “Well, yes, I suppose we are of similar demonic type, you could say. But he is far bigger, older, rougher, scarier and infinitely more intimidating than me,” Tom replied, feeling a bit annoyed they couldn’t see that.

  “Okay,” Tamarin said, making a funny motion with her mouth as she said it. “Although if demons did grow and age, could you not see yourself looking something like this in ten or twenty thousand years?”

  Tom shook his head quickly. That was ridiculous! “No, I doubt it, but even so, we don’t. Look, I get it that some people might see some similarities, but you know how people think those of other races all look alike. It’s nothing more than that.”

  “So, here is his favorite orc form.” Erestofanes changed the subject, pointing to a smaller painting of an orc to Orcus’s right, Tom’s left.

  “That is an intimidating orc; I will admit that,” Tom agreed. It was of an orc tribe with greenish complexion and rough, slightly scaly skin. He had a huge red Mohawk atop a frightening large head with huge pointy ears and a jawline to end all jawlines, with thick jutting tusks. The lisp would have to be horrible; Tom could also imagine the snorting from the massive nostrils in the center of the face, just below two large, deep set, blood-red eyes and a truly formidable brow and forehead. Naturally the orc was massively strong, and decked out in all manner of weaponry, albeit relatively light armor. The orc’s right hand rested on the hilt of a battle hammer whose shaft was shoulder height for the orc, and the mallet was one that was typically found only in trading card game art. It was so huge that no living creature could conceivably wield it.

  “Wow, now that is impressive,” Tamarin said, shaking her head.

  “And the corresponding D’Orc form…” Erestofanes gestured to the other side of Orcus’s portrait. This D’Orc looked very much like the orc they had had been looking at, except it was D’Orced up. Bigger, scarier, if that were possible, and with porcine hooves, bat wings and horns.

  “I believe he felt more comfortable keeping his preferred orc and D’Orc forms close for quick changes,” Erestofanes said.

  “Makes sense,” Tom said, admiring the picture.

  Erestofanes, meanwhile, had begun sliding across the opening to their left, heading towards the left wall. He gestured to the first painting there. “This was Orcus’s preferred human form.”

  Tom turned to look at the new painting, also life-sized. it was a picture of a man in very ornate robes embroidered with runic symbols and emblems that Tom recognized from some of Maelen’s books and papers as being tied to animages and the Society of Learned Fellows. So the man must be an animage, Tom was certain. The luxurious robes caught his attention first, but then his eyes traveled up to the man’s face.

  A man in his early thirties with a short curly black beard and mustache, along with a wild mop of thick curly black hair, a pale complexion, a rather pronounced nose and bushy black eyebrows stared back at him. He looked oddly familiar.

  Tamarin let out a gasp when she saw the picture. “It’s your human form, just older!” she exclaimed, causing Tom to stare at her briefly. His eyes darted back to the painting to see what she meant. He felt his heart stop and his stomach sink to his hooves. He was not sure, but he felt like his deep red complexion had suddenly turned pink, if not Gastropéan gray. Tamarin was right! It was like looking in a mirror at himself, only older!

  Tom moved closer to inspect the man’s face, the eyes, the expression, the… the… he felt the world lurch as he fell over. Barely registering pain, he crashed to the ground with a loud yet seemingly distant thud as the world went blank.

  Chapter 129

  Tierhallon: Mid Second Period

  It was a rather tame meeting this morning, Hilda reflected, sipping on her wine as Moradel recounted a rather fanciful tale from one of his first assignments. There had not been much news to report. Baysir was running late, but since he often did not attend these meetings, they had just started drinking without him. This evening, or rather morning, it was a lovely white Serclay from Etterdam that Sentir had brought.

  The door opened and in burst Baysir with a bright grin on his face. “We have received a prayer from Talarius!”

  Hilda blinked in surprise and leaned forward over the table, even as Sentir Fallon, who had been leaning back on the two rear legs of his chair, landed it on all fours.

  “Excellent!” Moradel exclaimed.

  “He has returned to Astlan?” Sentir asked excitedly. “Did t
hat crazy joint venture locate him?”

  Baysir shook his head. “No, and still no word from them.”

  “So where is he that he was able to send up a prayer?” Beragamos asked.

  “That was the odd thing. Saint Evicious did not recognize it at first because Talarius was not in Astlan. He is in Nysegard!” Baysir announced. A refleca glass appeared in his hand and he motioned for wine.

  “Nysegard?” Sentir Fallon asked in shock, even as he began to pour the wine.

  “What in the Abyss is he doing in Nysegard?” Moradel asked.

  “Isn’t that an off-limits plane?” Stevos asked.

  Beragamos looked uncertain and shook his head. “Not exactly off limits; more like an extreme travel advisory.”

  “Nasty place. We have lost extensive resources there—including saints,” Sentir said grimly.

  “Including saints?” Hilda asked in shock.

  “Place is overrun with Unlife. Over the last ten thousand or so years, we’ve had to invest heavily to protect our people. That includes sending in saints to do battle,” Sentir told them.

  “And they died? Permanently?” Stevos asked, looking more than a little concerned.

  Beragamos also made a grim face.

  “Several, yes. Perhaps one every hundred years or so, but it adds up after several millennia,” Sentir said.

  “Our human forces suffered far worse; particularly after…” Beragamos trailed off, glancing toward Sentir.

  “After what?” Stevos asked, puzzled.

  “After I slew Orcus,” Sentir said quietly.

  “How in the multiverse would killing a demon prince hurt our efforts in Nysegard?” Stevos asked, at a complete loss. Hilda shared that feeling.

  Sentir grimaced. “Well, it turns out that, as they say on the plane, Nysegard makes strange bedfellows.”

  “Meaning?” Hilda asked.

  “Meaning that Orcus and his forces had a very large and powerful presence on Nysegard and were extremely important in keeping the Unlife in check,” Beragamos said. “When Orcus fell, so did his empire. His forces were severely weakened and were, in fact, on a back footing, fighting for bare survival for about a thousand years.”

  “With Orcus gone, his threat reduced, the Storm Lords and their various allies were able to focus a lot more of their attention on us,” Moradel added. “Our losses rapidly escalated, and we were forced back into a much smaller footprint in a few large fortresses.”

  “You are not saying we were allied with Orcus and his D’Orcs?” Stevos asked, aghast.

  “Alliance is a strong term,” Sentir said.

  “Enemy of my enemy is perhaps more accurate,” Beragamos said. “That being said, there were, and have been, times since the fall of Orcus that we have fought alongside them.”

  “We fought alongside D’Orcs?” Hilda asked, shaking her head.

  “D’Orcs, orcs, humans, dwarves—yes,” Sentir said. “If you can believe it, we were also joined on a few occasions by Los Alfar as well.”

  Stevos shook his head in disbelief. “Are you saying that D’Orcs and orcs fought alongside elves? Their mortal enemies?” Hilda was left reeling by this; it was unheard of.

  “As they say, Nysegard makes strange bedfellows.” Sentir sighed.

  “Wow!” Stevos exclaimed. “Talk about unintended consequences!”

  “Yes,” Beragamos said drily, glancing at Sentir Fallon, who was staring into his wine glass.

  “So if Talarius is in Nysegard, does that mean he escaped to there, or that this Lord Tommus has returned to Nysegard?” Stevos asked.

  Baysir shrugged. “So it would seem; although why he would allow Talarius to visit and thus alert us is a mystery.”

  “A trap?” Sentir Fallon asked.

  Beragamos seemed startled by the suggestion. “That would be incredibly audacious.”

  Baysir nodded. “He will likely have enough on his plate once the Storm Lords realize he is there. Why would he want to add us to the mix?”

  “Strange bedfellow?” Stevos asked.

  “What?” Moradel asked in response, not comprehending.

  “Perhaps he is trying to attract our attention, trying to get us to pay more attention, invest more resources in Nysegard to fight these Storm Lords,” Stevos suggested.

  “Hmm, that would be bold, and make far more sense than acting as a trap to lure us into combat,” Moradel agreed.

  “I am not sure... I still favor a trap. Perhaps he wants to steal more mana?” Sentir Fallon asked.

  “That seems like a risky play,” Hilda replied. “If the Forces of Darkness have driven us into small pockets on the world, then they are clearly dangerous. Surely he could figure out a smaller-scale distraction without such extreme risks. He did the previous time.”

  Sentir Fallon shrugged. “Perhaps. All I do know is that we have already lost too many resources on that plane; trap or strange bedfellow, I’d prefer not to invest any more resources.”

  “If we want to recover Sir Talarius—and I think we all agree that allowing demons to kidnap our Knights Rampant is a bad precedent that should not go unanswered—then would not it be easier to rescue him from Nysegard than from the Abyss?” Moradel asked.

  “Well, since none of us can actually go to the Abyss, and it is not safe to send mortals there, I would agree.” Beragamos said. “However, I am also loathe to try to engage both the Unlife and a demon prince at the same time.”

  “Further, such a direct engagement to rescue a Knight Rampant on our part would set a bad precedent. They are supposed to be fairly self-sufficient,” Sentir added.

  “So a more mortal intervention?” Stevos asked.

  “Given our level of trust of the Church in Astlan?” Baysir asked, shaking his head. “We are already keeping them in the dark as to our involvement there.”

  “Do we trust the Church in Nysegard?” Hilda asked.

  “I believe so. They are about as battle hardened against the Forces of Darkness as one can be,” Beragamos answered, looking to Sentir for confirmation.

  Sentir Fallon shrugged. “True; however, their resources are very limited, even as we’ve scaled back our resource allocations here in Tierhallon for Nysegard.”

  Stevos frowned. “Well, we just set up Fort Murgatroid as an independent operation with Torean’s Rangers and priests. We trust them, and their mission is to track the D’Orcs. Well, we now know where the D’Orcs are.”

  “Interesting idea, Stevos.” Beragamos nodded his head. “Sentir, correct me if I’m wrong, but have we not had half-orc and even orc priests in Nysegard?”

  Sentir blinked, thinking about it. “We certainly did. I have no idea if we do currently. Dashgar or Inethya would know.”

  Beragamos nodded. “I would think Dashgar as Attendant Archon might know, but the Prophetess Inethya would definitely know.”

  “So, we would use Fort Murgatroid as a staging point to Nysegard and the Church of Nysegard and the rescue of Talarius?” Moradel looked to the others to see their reactions.

  “I think we should consider this,” Baysir said.

  “Given our only priest on this at the moment is Teragdor, is he of sufficient rank to be leading this effort?” Hilda asked.

  “Well, we can certainly approve him for larger mana withdrawals on our side. He’d have to be tutored in higher rituals as well. We can’t officially promote him within the Church though,” Moradel said.

  “The one promotion we can give him, as I think you are alluding to, is the title of Apostle of Tiernon,” Baysir said.

  “In many ways, that is how he is working now,” Stevos noted. “He’s got the attention of Tiernon and is talking to and working with his avatars, and we are asking him to be our emissary to Nysegard. That is an apostle, pretty much by definition.”

  “Apostle of Tiernon is a very high honor for someone whose main quality was being in the right place at the right time,” Sentir said frowning.

  “Isn’t that how destiny is supposed to work?
” Beragamos asked, chuckling.

  “Yes, but no one up here worked to set him up to be in the right place at the right time,” Sentir groused.

  “True, but no one has to know that,” Baysir said, smiling. “Going forward, we just tell everyone that this was our plan all along.”

  “In other words, standard operating procedure.” Beragamos laughed before taking another swallow of wine. “Is there another bottle? We should discuss this a bit more.”

  “Indeed,” Baysir agreed. “I am fairly certain our friend Teragdor will be the first half-orc Apostle of Tiernon in the history of Tierhallon.”

  “Strange bedfellows indeed,” Sentir Fallon agreed glumly.

  Mount Doom: Late Second Period

  Tom lay in his bed. He wished he could roll over and lay on his back and stare up at the ceiling, but his wings made that difficult. He had tried it and it was quite uncomfortable. The two pillows he was sleeping on were actually not against the headboard, but further down on the bed so that he could rest his head in an elevated position, keeping his horns from tilting his head at an uncomfortable angle and giving him severe neck cramps.

  He had previously thought of assuming his Edwyrd form to sleep in, although he was not at all sure he wouldn’t pop back to demon form in his sleep. He had never actually slept as Edwyrd. He had, however, stared at many a ceiling as Edwyrd.

  However, he was not so sure he wanted to change into Edwyrd now that he had seen Orcus’s human form. He had no idea how to parse the paintings. Hell, he had fainted! He was only out for a few moments, but it was rather embarrassing. Dark Lords were not supposed to faint. Pretty sure that was in the handbook: no fainting! Truly bad form, particularly in front of one’s vassals.

  Both Tamarin and Erestofanes had been quite concerned, but he had been able to get back up and assure them he was fine. After all, there couldn’t be anything physically wrong with him. It had just been an overwhelming shock.