Outlands
Amdirlain considered both of the crates filled with symbols before she rose from the worktable. “Think I’ll have a little chat with Torm before I pass them over.”
Her tone drew a snicker from Echo, and Berry glared at him. “He’s incorrigible, he’ll sniff out the slightest opportunity for mischief.”
“Sage is still working on more," Echo laughed, motioning towards a building on the practice field’s edge.
“A third?! Aren’t ten thousand symbols enough for now?!” exclaimed Amdirlain.
“Don’t listen to him, he’ll have your head spinning,” warned Berry, and she slapped a hand over Echo’s mouth despite his attempt to wiggle away. “Sage is simply getting them ready in case he’s busy next time. He likes to have things already prepared. I feel sure he’s always been that way.”
“If you two bump my table, I’ll roll your hairy arses in wax and rip it off!” threatened Mirage, fixing them both with a glare. Echo, who’d been squirming around under Berry’s hand, teleported away.
“See? Mischief, he could have done that from the start,” grumbled Berry.
The heat in Mirage’s glare didn’t lessen a bit. “Shoo!”
Berry’s space at the table was suddenly vacant.
“I’ll let you get back to your engraving,” Amdirlain said, and she quickly secured the crates before heading off with an innocent wave. Away from the table, she could feel Mirage’s grumpy gaze and gave in to the urge to snicker.
“Wax on, wax off,” giggled Amdirlain, and a teleport took her to the platform she’d constructed on the valley’s ridgeline. The mental image of the pair fleeing from Mirage wielding a waxing strip, set her off into a fit of hysterical laughter.
“Torm, so apparently you’d requested some of my symbols from Ebusuku. I have a bunch of them Sage has prepared, so I’ll open a Gate to you in roughly ten minutes. Then, we can have a talk.”
Amdirlain waited not so patiently, her second-guessing herself about so directly interrupting him had her pacing. Feeling a blush stealing its way up her neck broke her from a pleasant daydream. Coughing at the tingling running through her stomach and groin, Amdirlain tried to get her imagination away from happily providing suggestions.
“Bloody panty soaker,” grumbled Amdirlain, and focusing on her Time Sense showed barely any time had passed. She sighed as she went back to pacing.
Close to the time, she opened the Gate focused on Torm, and found him waiting in a large chamber with a dozen armoured Erakkö present. Torm’s simple clothing made him as out of place as his human form. The Erakkö’s armour showed signs of recent wear, and though cleaned, there were scratches and marks from weapon blows that would certainly require a smith’s attention.
Torm’s smile lit up his gaze, and Amdirlain focused on his words to avoid another blush from her active imagination. “Thank you for taking this time, Lady Amdirlain. Might I share some name-gifts with you?”
“Of course, please come through all of you,” Amdirlain replied happily, and motioned them forward.
The immediate spark of amusement in Torm’s gaze nearly caused her to groan. Touching his mind, she caught a reminder of their usual formality.
[Diplomacy check failed!
Note: Really?!! Read the room, darn it! ]
Oh, you fucker! Screw it.
“Please come through. There are seats suitable for you,” Amdirlain said, and stepped aside from the Gate.
Ignoring Torm’s amusement, Amdirlain endured a receiving line good-naturedly as he introduced her to General Angarhela and his command staff. The interlaced fingers of their greetings prompted her to return their sign of respect.
Though she’d only seen twelve beyond the Gate, a full score of Erakkö came through, a few constantly flicking their eyes at the clouds overhead despite her reassurances. With the junior ranks formed up in ranks to remain standing, Amdirlain hastily created extra chairs around an extension of the table. The sudden appearance of the furniture caused a stir among the Erakkö.
“Torm, what refreshment is suitable?” Amdirlain asked mentally, as the Erakkö remained standing near their seats.
Torm drew a chair out from the table’s end and gave Amdirlain a bow before stepping aside to let her sit. “Our alcohol does nothing for them, though their water tastes the same. They’ve been fighting until recently, so even that would likely be welcome.”
The silent exchange went unnoticed by her guests and Amdirlain quickly shaped two spells. A thick half-litre steel stein appeared on the table at each position, and then pure water streaming from the air filled each nearly to the rim; its coolness frosting the metal.
“Well, that’s one way to do a Divine gesture,” murmured Torm dryly.
Amdirlain simply spoke over the top of him, suppressing the urge to poke out her tongue. “I hope the water is alright for now. If you’re feeling hungry, I’m sure we can sort something out. Torm, stop looming and sit down, please.”
Amdirlain’s raised eyebrow and pointed finger had him quickly seated in a chair beside her. She raised her stein in a silent toast to Torm before draining half of it and returning it to the table. One of the Erakkö sampled the water, and others followed suit, though some moved more carefully than others wincing as they shifted position. Reluctant to intrude, she listened to the fatigued slowness of their broadcast thoughts, laced with pained reactions they sought to keep suppressed.
“You are not what I had expected from a spirit if I might be so bold, Lady Amdirlain,” said Angarhela, after he’d taken a drink.
“From what I know of your spirits, that’s a great compliment. I noticed some of your staff are recovering from wounds. Might I assist with healing them?” asked Amdirlain.
“We could provide no offering suitable for such a favour-” started Angarhela and stopped as Amdirlain shook her head.
“General, I don’t expect any offerings. I’d like to help and with your permission, I will,” stated Amdirlain kindly.
“If you do not expect any offering, what do you expect, Lady Amdirlain?” asked Angarhela. “Guardian Torm told us of your tenets the other day, but I find it hard to conceive of a spirit not asking or demanding the blood price for aid.”
“I expect nothing, nor do I demand. I’ll help people I believe deserve it. If Torm believes you worthy of help, I’ll give you my trust and aid, unless someone abuses my trust. In the end, everyone’s choices are their own, and I choose to help others where I can,” replied Amdirlain. Even though she could see their nature in Soul Sight, Amdirlain looked at Torm. “Do you find the General and his soldiers worthy of aid?”
“I do, Lady Amdirlain. They are honourable warriors, risking their lives to keep their people safe,” replied Torm.
Oh, we’re doing improv theatre.
[Diplomacy check failed!
Acting [M](9)]
Yeah, yeah. Whatever!
Amdirlain looked back at the General. “So I’ll ask again; might I heal your staff?”
“Whatever aid you would gift us with, we would gratefully accept; the recent fighting was fierce. Our healers cannot produce the feats Guardian Torm has shown, and they are still treating those injured in the battle before he arrived,” said Angarhela.
“After we’re done speaking, I’d like to meet your medical staff. I’d help them so they can help others. For now though,” Amdirlain paused and Life Mana suddenly covered the area. “This should help your injuries.”
The staff started at the greenish-golden light rippling around them. Amdirlain happily noted the pain in the injured easing quickly from the Mana she pushed into the wall.
“I wouldn’t wish to impose on your generosity, but I would prefer we tend to the wounded first. Despite all the help Guardian Torm provided in defence and healing, we still have infirmaries filled with wounded,” replied Angarhela.
“That speaks well of you General,” said Amdirlain, and she glanced at Torm. “Torm, would you know which injured need attention the most? I can open other Gates near the infirmaries with the worst wounded to minimise any disturbance.”
“I’m uncertain, but I know who to check with,” Torm said and he rose to his feet. When he passed through the Gate, Amdirlain kept a mental link to him.
“How long were you fighting for before Torm arrived?” asked Amdirlain, catching the lack of titles unsettled the General but didn’t correct her wording for him.
“The fighting was on its fifth day when he showed up on the wall. We’d received word of his presence in the kingdom, but had never expected such help,” Angarhela replied. “How is it that Guardian Torm can go through this doorway into our world and you cannot?”
[Diplomacy check failed
Note: Really, why have this skill then?]
Because you fucking gave it to me, now piss off you wanker.
“I can give permission for Torm to enter because he serves Týr, but I answer to myself, so I don’t have anyone to give me that permission. The creator of worlds sets the rules for entering them, and I can only abide by his rules. That said, I have others that can help assist, but they’ve recently returned from fighting to help another world.”
“Do you require the healers worship you to gain the help?” Angarhela asked.
Amdirlain shrugged and considered her words after the Senior Shaper Vāriyāka’s reaction to the word magic.
“You are persistent, General. Who they worship is their choice. You’ve seen Torm provide healing that requires such worship, but while I can provide that form of aid to a Priestess, or Priest, it’s not the only option. There is another method that depends more on the individual’s capacity as with Shapers. While it has limits in the healing it can provide, it would make recovering from some injuries much faster.”
The staff whispered among themselves but the General sat quietly mulling over her words before he spoke again. “What sort of limits does it possess?”
“Flesh wounds, blood loss, various degrees of bruising, and strained muscles would all heal without issue. Broken bones and deeper injuries would need to be tended first, but then it could speed up recovery afterwards,” explained Amdirlain.
“That would still do much to help,” said Angarhela. He gave her a respectful nod with his fingers interlaced that his staff echoed. “Such aid would be extremely beneficial. I find I do not have the words to express sufficient thanks.”
“I’m not one for words either. I much prefer to be helping than talking about it,” Amdirlain replied, and gave the stunned General a bright smile. “Torm has confirmed the first patients with Healer Dokodela. Anyone still experiencing pain, please stay seated in the light until the pain eases it will also help with the extremes of exhaustion I can feel from you.”
Amdirlain flowed to her feet, and Angarhela went to stand, only to find Amdirlain’s hand resting lightly on his shoulder. “That includes you; when is the last time you’ve slept properly?”
“In far too long, Lady Amdirlain,” Angarhela replied.
“The Gate will open right here. You can always turn your chair if you wish to supervise the lessons and the care given to your soldiers,” advised Amdirlain.
Prior practice made quick work of training the Healers and others among the medical staff, including stretcher-bearers. They got to practice with the Spell Forms adapted to Life Mana, treating the first patients under her supervision.
Despite the initial score of new Wizards, they had no chance of possessing enough Mana to tend to all the patients. Messages to the Archons added their healing efforts with either Universal Life or Blessings from those who’d started levelling Priest.
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Their provision of aid provided whatever reassurances the General and his staff had sought to gain. After additional groups of Healers came through the Gate for lessons, staff members returned to oversee the castle’s matters, the General being the last to leave.
Amdirlain set the crates upon the table in between groups, and Torm returned her raised eyebrow with a smile. “Týr, feels it is only right that we acknowledge your role in bringing them aid.”
“Is your boss miffed with me for not asking? I don’t want all this,” grumbled Amdirlain, nodding at the excited surgeons funnelling back through the Gate.
“No, he’s grateful and will abide by your terms; he intends to say nothing until the others prove themselves to you. Sidero told me that the measure of a person is what they do with power,” countered Torm.
“Sidero was just quoting, or rather misquoting someone else; at least she didn’t tell you 'with great power comes great responsibility'. Fine, whatever, it’s already done,” replied Amdirlain as she pushed aside her frustration to focus on the work at hand. “What’s the situation at the castle? The General’s staff felt exhausted.”
Through the mental link she still held, Torm presented memories of the fighting before he said anything. “Exhausted but recovering, the swarm contained tens of thousands; they’d been fighting day and night. I wanted to speak about the Thri-Kreen. Besides the extreme change in their behaviour from before the grey years, they release no Souls on dying. Yet the Erakkö’s accounts make that unexpected; they depict intelligent individuals living in tribal groups that mainly kept to themselves and cared for their tribe mates. While there were occasional issues, their records show it was more at an individual level.”
“Are there any left nearby?” asked Amdirlain, after taking time in consideration of his words and memories.
“No, the swarm smashed itself apart against the castle,” answered Torm.
Amdirlain considered her options and gave a sigh. “Any bodies still around?”
“They are still dealing with the remains,” confirmed Torm, giving her a confused look.
“Can someone fetch me a Thri-Kreen corpse?” enquired Amdirlain, before she explained. “Analysis can give me information about the dead; perhaps I can get a clue what’s happened.”
“I’ll arrange that while you teach the next batch,” Torm replied and he passed through the Gate in a gap between arrivals.
It wasn’t until the last of her students returned to the castle, practicing under the supervision of one of Týr’s Valkyrie that she got a chance to examine a Thri-Kreen corpse.
[Species: Thri-Kreen (Psi Altered Drone)
Class: Slave
Level: 20
Status: Deceased
Details: The Illithid Hivemind growing beneath the former Elven Kingdom of Elunith, gestated and controlled this body.
]
Oh shit!
“What were the grey years?” asked Amdirlain, as she sought to wrap her head around the Illithid presence.
“It started with a massive sound that woke the inhabitants, and over the next days, the sun dimmed before fine ash fell across the crops. It was four years later before they experience a real summer, the Erakkö had a large number die for lack of food, and it hit the nations north of them worse,” explained Torm. “After that, the plains Thri-Kreen vanished for almost a decade. When they returned, they tore their way through two Elven Kingdoms and drove them from the continent.”
“That sounds like a massive volcanic eruption seeded the atmosphere with ash. I don’t know if it’s connected, but the Thri-Kreen have been modified by the Illithid,” said Amdirlain, opting to cut to the chase.
Torm hissed as he inhaled sharply. “The creatures that enslaved the Githzerai?”
“Indeed,” Amdirlain confirmed and gestured to the body. “This is a Psi Altered Drone, Analysis says it was gestated and controlled by an Illithid Hivemind, but no indication as to how many of those exist. I might have to see if I can learn more.”
“Do you think the Githzerai will assist the Erakkö?” asked Torm.
“Absolutely not. Their faction leader was opposed to continued warring with the Illithid and was assassinated for attempting to make peace. Plus, unless they’re under threat, the Githzerai want very little to do with outsiders,” declared Amdirlain.
“A moment of your time Amdirlain,” Malnar interrupted, “I have some drawings for you to look over.”
Amdirlain quashed her initial response and nodded to the architect. “Just a moment.”
“I’ll be getting back, we’ve still many to heal,” Torm said.
His gesture towards the Gate had Amdirlain holding back a grumble. “You’re still not out of trouble for being sneaky.”
“You were out of touch initially,” Torm pointed out innocently.
“Alright, catch you next time boy scout,” Amdirlain said but caught his hand as he turned to go. “Where’s my goodbye kiss?”
“That, I’ll happily provide,” Torm said and cupped her face as Amdirlain leant into his slowly heated kiss.
Amdirlain coughed when they eventually parted and fanned her face to cool her blush. Distracted, she took the plans from the clearly amused Malnar, and laid them out on the table. After absently closing the Gates once everyone was through, it took Amdirlain a while to focus on the options Malnar had prepared. They were some time in going over them before others came to speak to her.
“Amdirlain, can I have a moment?’ O’Nai asked.
“Of course. What did you need to speak about?” asked Amdirlain, passing Malnar back her drawings. The architect gave her a nod before she moved off, jotting down more notes as she walked.
O’Nai didn’t wait for her to move far before he spoke up. “I was wondering if there were any plans regarding the other Clans.”
“There are plans, but I need an item made so I’m not wandering fruitlessly searching the Plane for them,” replied Amdirlain. “Given the Plane’s size, it will need to be quite strong to ensure I don’t miss them.”
O’Nai nodded and fixed Amdirlain with a determined gaze. “I know where some were located while I was alive. I’d like your permission to see if I can find them.”
At his words, Amdirlain stepped close and clasped a hand to his forearm. “While Angels have gone into the Abyss, it’s extremely dangerous; my chief concern is for your safety. You took the classes Ranger, Fighter, Scout, and Priest, correct?”
“What’s that got to do with it?” asked O’Nai, his tone baffled.
“When you were among the living, your presence didn’t stand out against the Plane’s energy. As an Angel without concealments, Demons would know you’re around even kilometres away. Your Class selection means that a lot of your strength comes from channelling blessings. Combined with your nature, those blessings will attract attention from even further away,” explained Amdirlain.
“After seeing those children being tortured, my people’s fate won’t leave my thoughts. I can’t simply leave them waiting for however long everything else takes,” O’Nai said sadly.
“Ebusuku has the list of materials needed,” Amdirlain started, and motioned to stop O’Nai from interrupting. “You can start gathering them, as none needs venturing into the Abyss. Once we have the materials necessary, I’ll get it constructed and make finding them my priority.”
O’Nai’s worried expression broke into a beaming smile. “That’s-”
“Wait up, you can start. However, if Ebusuku judges anything is too dangerous for you to try gathering, then you wait until she says you’re ready.” declared Amdirlain. “Is that acceptable?”
“I would make progress towards helping them, and I’d grow stronger in doing so,” O’Nai said, after a moment’s thought.
“It's your choice if you want to risk interrupting Ebusuku and Farhad fucking, or if you wait until they’re done,” Amdirlain replied. At O’Nai’s laughter, Amdirlain patted him on the back.
She gave Pit a smile as O’Nai headed off. “What did you want to talk about, Pit?”
“I was wondering if it would be alright if I travel with Aggie, rather than continuing to fight the undead,” asked Pit.
Amdirlain nodded without hesitation. “Of course, if that’s what you’d prefer, I’ll send her a message. I’ll tell her to summon you to watch her back, and you can grumble I sent you away from the fun. She’s gotten strong fast, but she has to sleep like anyone else.”
Her ready acceptance clearly relieved Pit, and he nodded happily. “Thanks.”
“What level did you get up to so far?” asked Amdirlain.
“Only level seven in Ranger, Archer and Fighter,” Pit replied with a shrug. “I prefer using a bow, but it doesn’t do much against the undead.”
Amdirlain nodded understandingly, having seen arrows passing through skeletons. “If you want to use a bow, have you got a form picked out?”
“Farhad mentioned the Basteti, I think I’ll look like one of them, then people won’t expect my strength,” Pit replied, causing Amdirlain to smile at the thought of the large Hound Archon disguised as what she still considered a cat-folk.
“Alright, I’ll send a message shortly, might want to figure out an appearance,” Amdirlain said.
* * *
Viper’s PoV - Raivo’s Quarters - Blades of Ruin Fortress
Viper groaned in pleasure and rose from where Raivo had left her draped across the throne’s arm, every motion making something squelch. “I’m all filled up.”
“The Wizard will be at the Portal site shortly. Don’t tamper with him, set a bond to sustain yourself with one of the Manes instead,” instructed Raivo, as he got dressed.
“Why can’t I play with the Wizard?” pouted Viper petulantly.
The flat look Raivo gave her caught Viper’s breath in her throat from excitement, but the moment his aura ignited, she froze. “His people would detect any corruption in him, so don’t ruin my tool.”
“Your tool tried to ruin me,” teased Viper, as she slid a hand through the puss-green cum splattering her torso to spread her lower lips. A contraction of muscles sprayed blood and more of Raivo’s cum from her vagina and added to the mess already on the floor.
“Cut the act, clean up before you go through, or you might offend the little Elf. You’ll want his maps and information on the Ten Kingdoms’ inhabitants. Since you want to kill Humans and he wants them gone from ‘their’ lands, you have a common goal. Though best you keep in mind ‘our’ goals. Mess with my plans, and not only will I ruin you—I’ll ensure your destruction,” warned Raivo, before the room vanished from around her.
Viper found herself in a room with a rune etched archway set into a wall. The bleak grey stone walls made the burnished Mithril runes stand out from the stone that housed them. Across the seamless walls, Mana Sense showed the power of the wards that prevented unauthorised teleporting into the chamber and set a solid barrier against scrying and detection.
Protean absorbed the blood and other fluids that coated her, inside and out, adding to the mass she held within its grasp. Viper took on a new shape far different from Julia’s old lithe body. The brunette hair darkened to solid black as it rippled down to mid-back, contrasting with the sun-tanned skin, and pale blue irises. Her wings and tail melded into the human form, she created a set of new clothing. Long fingers trailed down her aquiline nose, the pout gone from ripe lips as Viper folded her arms under her full breasts and settled to wait.
Her posture emphasised the presentation of her lush cleavage within a loosely laced, almost sheer linen top; its whiteness stood out from the deep red leather pants and thigh-high boots that completed her outfit. She’d been standing there less than a minute when she tapped a solid boot heel hard against the black stone floor. Little by little, the pace of her tapping increased, until the sound was matching a woodpecker’s speed, and the runes finally glowed.
When the archway surged with power, she stalked through, beckoned by the magic beyond. A female Manes, and a pair of huge males nearly three metres tall, stood opposite a cloaked figure. At only one-eighty centimetres, the Manes were head and shoulders taller than him, and Viper found she was also slightly taller. The Elf wore a deep hood, the enchantments on it hiding his features from her perceptions. Dissatisfied with not knowing who he was, Viper quickly checked him with Analysis.
[Name: Himelchon Malantur
Species: Andúnë Elf
Class: Wizard / Fighter / Andúnë Scion / Assassin
Level: 49 / 48 / 51 / 46
Health: 7,964
Defence: 662
Mana: 62,768
Magic: 171
Melee Attack Power: 146
Combat Skills: Dagger [M] (1), Sabre [M] (15), Long bow [M] (22) - Multiple Spell Lists - Various Affinities.
Details: A member of the Andúnë Royal court’s Yúcalë faction working to oppose the unexpected resurgence of two obsolete factions. Currently tasked with interfering in their mingling with Humans that has arisen from clandestine meetings in Eyrarháls. Recently agreed to assist Ýridhrendaer Malantur’s request to tend to his pandering of the Jarl of Eyrarháls in order to gain more information while the degenerate is off in Duskstone with his pet human.]
I wonder if I can fracture all their factions into fratricidal fractals. How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck had a woody? Is this really what she was also so fascinated with?
“Oh, you’re using the mysterious-wizard look, how cute,” Viper purred. Her smile added to the beauty of her fine features before she ruined it by cradling her heart shape-face mockingly with her hands.
“We have the maps of the Persian kingdom of Darius. You are to start there,” the Manes female snarled, though sounding calmer than many Demons Viper had heard.
“I have my own plans,” refuted Viper.
“There are humans you can kill, and Lord Raivo wishes mistrust of the adventurers sown in the north,” growled the Manes female. “Tend to this, and then we will provide maps of the Norse kingdom.”
“Also, drawings that I’ve accumulated, Viper. You’ll be able to get south quickly instead of flying there, unless your memory isn’t as impacted as Raivo led me to believe,” Himelchon said, the pitch of his voice magically distorting from one word to the next.
“Well, since you’re going to save me time, I guess I can have some fun in the North first,” huffed Viper. “Accept this.”
She pushed a bond towards the Manes and kept a straight face when they all accepted.
Greece - Aegina - Paláti of Apollo
The slap of leather sandals driven by quick, heavy footsteps echoed through the still halls, causing the woman dozing by the bedside to start awake. Blinking fatigue from a grey gaze that matched her patient’s skin tone, she lay the back of a hand against the forehead of the man tossing on the bed. Wrinkling her nose at his vomit and filth-stained clothing, she reminded herself to get a slave to burn the bedding. The dim candlelight didn’t sting her gaze like the lantern thrust into the room ahead of the guard. Light spilled over her golden tan skin and white cotton robes. A copper clasp stamped with Apollo’s Lyre restrained the loose folds where they gathered on one shoulder. Brushing her auburn fringe from her eyes, she rose quickly to greet the arrivals.
The guards stepped hastily through the doorway, allowing a muscular man in purple fey-silk robes to enter. The lantern caused his gem-encrusted rings to flicker coldly with every motion. His gaze rested briefly on her shoulder clasp, and with a sneer, he motioned for her to move aside. Staring down at the man’s sweat-soaked features, his gaze didn’t linger long, but more sweat ran across the ashen skin before he looked away.
Wrinkling his nose in disgust at the rank and bitter odour, his black gaze stabbed at the woman, and his full lips twisted contemptuously before he spoke. “Any sign of waking?”
“No, Highest,” the Priestess replied, holding herself motionless. “He’s been muttering some insensible words in that abomination they call a language.”
“Get someone that understands it to listen to his ramblings; I need to know if they’ve relevance to Amdirlain,” snapped the man.
“What if he doesn’t wake up, your Highness?” asked the woman, rapidly swallowing as the man’s gaze hooked onto her. The sharp line of his nose added to the eagle-like effect of his cold, aloof expression.
“If he doesn’t,” the man paused. “Best ensure someone speaks to his Soul before it’s carried to Hades and get me answers. After that, have his corpse thrown to the pigs, don’t waste the temple supplies cremating him.”
As the man turned away, the lantern’s light reflected off his cloak’s clasp—a golden lyre with strings made of a series of individually carved gemstones.
It was only when the footsteps faded away did she release a deep sigh that caused her shoulders to slump as the tension eased from her frame.
“Why is mercenary scum like you important enough to attract the notice of that High Priest?” she asked coldly. Busily contemplating her instructions, her fingers twitched and gathered up the blanket that constrained the straw pallet. Looking at him, she pulled it free and pressed it over the helpless man’s mouth.