03- The Apostles of Doom

by J. Langland

  “And what about you, dear? I thought you were to be hunting down a defunct goddess ensconced inside a pyramid or something?” Hilda asked.

  Jenn grinned at Hilda’s description of their expedition. “We were heading to Noajar first and had stopped by Murgandor to get the lay of the land from some agents the Grove had there. While there, rangers came alerting us to the D’Orcs so we came to investigate, having the same concern as you about a raid and casualties.”

  Hilda grinned. “What happy fortune-stance! We shall all have to have dinner together!”

  “You are with the Grove?” the half-orc asked Jenn rather cautiously.

  “Well, I am traveling with Trevin D’Vils, Enchantress of the Grove, aboard a Grove cloudship, but technically I am with the Council of Wizardry, I guess.” Jenn frowned slightly, not exactly sure who to say she was with. Technically, that would be Lenamare, and thus she supposed the Council, but it was a bit weird.

  “So you are with the alvar?” the half-orc asked hesitantly.

  Jenn looked at the half-orc more closely; he was wearing a robe and had a pendant with the symbol of Tiernon on it. “I’m sorry, but is that the symbol of Tiernon?” she asked, changing the subject away from the alvar.

  The half-orc reached out a hand in greeting. “Ahh, yes. As Hilda mentioned, I am Teragdor, itinerant priest of Tiernon.”

  Jenn blinked as she shook the half-orc priest’s hand. “A half-orc priest of Tiernon?” She had never heard of such a thing. Like most people, she just sort of assumed that Tiernon would hate orcs; what with them generally being considered a Force of Evil, or at the least a Force of Darkness. The alvar were pretty clear on that point, particularly when drunk.

  “Yes, indeed. I get that reaction a lot.” The half-orc grinned rather frighteningly. “However, I was raised by a priest and followed in his learned footsteps. My, uhm, background allows me to take the Light of Tiernon to people and regions that are otherwise hard for us to spread the message to.”

  “Interesting. Astounding, really,” Jenn said. She turned to Stevos. “So are you a priest as well?”

  “Ahh, not precisely. I am a servant of Tiernon as well, but not a priest,” Stevos said.

  Jenn nodded, not sure what he meant but at this point not sure she could handle the answer. Too much weirdness was going on.

  “So, do you need to pursue the sword or do you want to come over to our investigation site?” Jenn gestured over to the area where Grove researchers were examining the ground near where the D’Orcs had staged their activities. “Maelen and Elrose are there, and Gastropé will be shortly.”

  Gamos and Hilda glanced at each other. “I think it might be worthwhile to collaborate with your team,” Gamos said while looking at Hilda, who nodded slowly.

  Jenn frowned slightly; they seemed a bit unusually hesitant. However, Jenn had to admit, even though it felt like she had known Hilda forever, they had only met the one time for a few hours. So technically, she supposed they were simply acquaintances; in which case their hesitation made a bit more sense. It was just so odd how she felt such friendship with Hilda; it was not her normal response to meeting new people.

  Hilda gestured to the exploration site. “It’s your site, why don’t you lead the way and make the introductions?”

  ~

  Gastropé watched the gateway to the Abyss close behind Tom, cutting off the horrible screeching noise. The wizard named Vaselle was staring at the fire where the gateway had been, looking very concerned. Damien was also looking more than a bit concerned.

  “I really should be there with him,” Vaselle said.

  Gastropé looked at the wizard askance. “Are you nuts? It sounds pretty bad, and trust me, he can more than handle himself.”

  “I know, or I am sure, but still, my place is by his side,” Vaselle said.

  Gastropé noticed the orcs looking at them very oddly all of a sudden, except for the young one with the monster behind him. “Can I ask why you think you should be beside him?” he asked.

  “Because I’m his warlock!” Vaselle said.

  Gastropé blinked. “His what? Did you say warlock?” Gastropé had never met a warlock. Naturally, having studied conjury, he knew what they were.

  “Yes.” Vaselle grinned proudly.

  Gastropé squinted at him and then looked to Damien, who shook his head slightly from side to side and nodded. “He never mentioned to me that he had a warlock!” Gastropé would have to rethink his relationship with Tom.

  “That’s because I just signed up a few days ago. I got in contact with him after the battle with Talarius and he gave me a project to prove my worthiness and true desire to be his servant. Once I did that, he accepted me into his service and took over my body and soul!” Vaselle made a sort of fist-pumping gesture.

  Gastropé just stared at the crazy wizard with his eyes wide. “Are you nuts?” he finally asked.

  Vaselle frowned at him. “No,” he replied stiffly. “What greater glory can there be than to be the trusted servant of one of the most powerful demon princes in the multiverse?”

  “Demon prince?” Gastropé felt the blood leaving his face.

  The young orc, Tal Gor, snorted. “Yes, demon prince. Orcus demon prince. Tommus be demon prince too.”

  The humans looked at Tal Gor, puzzled. “Why are you talking like that?” Gastropé asked.

  “Talk like what?” Tal Gor asked.

  “Well, before you were speaking fluent Trade; now you are talking like, well, like an orc!” Gastropé said.

  Tal Gor scrunched up his face. “I is orc. In past you spake good Orcish, now speak Trade, so I answer with Trade.”

  “I wasn’t speaking Orcish!” Gastropé said, “You were speaking Trade.”

  “No, we were all speaking Universal,” Damien said, shaking his head.

  “What?” Vaselle asked.

  “Vogh doath nor calldren sek Zetla, feist?” Ragala-nargoloth suddenly asked Tal Gor in what Gastropé assumed was Orcish.

  “Tommus va ast, calldren sek tran veight zeigfreidnocht,” Tal Gor replied in the same language. Apparently, Orcish was the same across the planes.

  “Unfortunately, I don’t have a translation stone with me,” Damien said. “I doubt we can buy one in Murgatroy, unless it’s more sophisticated than I expect.”

  “It is not,” Gastropé told him, shaking his head. “It makes Gizzor Del look like Freehold.”

  Damien grimaced.

  The orcs continued talking to Tal Gor, but Gastropé had no idea what they were saying.

  Finally, Tal Gor said, “Vaselle, shamans say summon you demon.”

  “Summon Estrebrius?” Vaselle asked, puzzled.

  “That’s a thought,” Damien said. “When Tom was here, he was projecting an aura that allowed us to all communicate; maybe Estrebrius can do the same, or at the least he can be a reliable translator.”

  “So demons project an aura that lets everyone around them speak the same language?” Gastropé asked.

  Damien nodded. “It is not widely known, nor advertised, but they can if they want to. Wizards occasionally use lower-level demons as translators. The lower-level ones can project the aura, but do not have the power to intervene and cause mistranslations; which, one presumes, more powerful demons can do.”

  “That’s a demon warg, right?” Gastropé pointed at Schwarzenfürze, who glared balefully back at him.

  Damien nodded.

  “Why doesn’t it project an aura?” Schwarzenfürze growled in Gastropé’s direction, causing him to drop his finger and swallow.

  Damien shrugged. “Perhaps because wargs do not speak? Or perhaps because you referred to her as an it and she does not want to?”

  Gastropé looked nervously at the D’Warg, who was still glaring at him. “Sorry?” Gastropé told Schwarzenfürze.

  Vaselle shook his head. “Very well; assuming he isn’t busy fighting off those Chaos guys...” The warlock walked over to the fire and began chanting a summoning spell. Within
moments, a small, ugly demon materialized in the flames and stepped out.

  “What’s up?” the little demon asked rather loudly. He seemed to realize this and rubbed his ears; he had just come from a very loud environment.

  “We need a translator,” Farsooth Gore Tusk said.

  “I understood you!” Gastropé exclaimed.

  “Excellent, that helps a lot!” Damien smiled in satisfaction.

  “What are you talking about?” Estrebrius asked.

  “When Tom and Antefalken returned to the Abyss, we were left with no one to translate our conversations to Universal, so we had communication issues,” Vaselle told his demon. “Trade Tongue is apparently different from plane to plane. Oddly, Orcish seems to be the same.”

  “Orcus demanded that we standardize the language across the localverse,” Beya said. “Although given that all versions of Orcish are descended from Jötnmál, the language of the jötnar, it is not impossible to understand non-localverse dialects. If I had to, I could, for example, get by in the Four Lands.”

  “The where?” Vaselle asked.

  “A region of a non-localverse plane that does occasional commerce with people in our localverse,” Ragala-nargoloth responded. “It’s an example of a place where Orcish was not standardized.”

  “Okay, we need to figure out what to do next,” Damien said. “I have no idea how long before Tom can get back, so we need to find a way to get these three back to their worlds, and get Vaselle and me back to Freehold.”

  Gastropé grimaced. “Well, that should be simple. Not.”

  “Yeah,” Vaselle said. “Aside from the issue of knowing a dimension-hopping spell, there’s the problem of knowing which plane to go to and then where to go on the plane. Unless you’re adventurous, it’s basically a roll of the dice as to where you end up.”

  Damien nodded. “The Council has spells with very specific targeting language for known crossing points to the localverse. But it’s not my specialty and even if it was, I wouldn’t be carrying around spells that would get us somewhere reasonable.”

  “Actually, if Lord Tommus was here, I could dream walk to another shaman I know well, and Tommus could follow me and open a gateway to him,” Beya said.

  “Good idea,” Farsooth said. “I don’t have anyone strong enough in my immediate band, but we do have a couple in my horde.”

  “Exactly,” Ragala-nargoloth stated. “The problem is opening a gateway without a lot of preparation and power on this side, and no target to lock onto on the other side.” She shook her head. “It’s actually pretty amazing how well powerful demons like Lord Tommus do this.”

  “Well, when you have a lot of mana at your disposal, everything is easier,” Farsooth noted.

  Gastropé shook his head. “I guess we just need to wait for Edwyrd to come back.”

  “We are near some town—Murgatroy, was it?” Vaselle asked. “Maybe we should think about getting some rooms at an inn?”

  Gastropé started to nod. Keeping these guys out of sight would be a good idea. His eyes drifted over to the cranky D’Warg behind Tal Gor, and his stomach started moving south. “Argh. That won’t work,” he said.

  “Why not?” Damien asked.

  Gastropé pointed to Schwarzenfürze. “Her.” He quickly dropped his finger as Schwarzenfürze’s eyes narrowed. She did not seem to like it when he pointed at her.

  “She would need to be stabled in the wargtown,” Gastropé said.

  Tal Gor shrugged, “That is what wargtowns are for. She’s been there before, just a few days ago.”

  Gastropé nodded emphatically. “And that’s the problem.”

  “What do you mean, wizard?” Beya asked.

  “Your last visit here set off all sorts of alarm bells, and now there’s a large group of investigators combing the city and the wargtown in particular, trying to understand what you were up to.”

  “Why?” Tal Gor asked, shaking his head. “We went shopping, like we said.”

  “Yes, but the alvar freaked out when they saw D’Orcs and D’Wargs.” Gastropé gestured to Schwarzenfürze.

  “How do you know all of this?” Ragala-nargoloth queried.

  Gastropé grimaced. “Because I’m with them. I was having dinner in Murgandy when the alvaran rangers arrived, having ridden around the clock to bring the news.”

  Farsooth shook his head. “Damn elves, they blow everything out of proportion. Everything is a war to them! Seriously unpleasant people.”

  “They keep talking about going across some imaginary sea to some sort of Promised Land, I wish they would just hurry up and go already!” Beya said angrily.

  “Well, why don’t we just go explain things to them?” Vaselle asked. The orcs all turned to stare at him as if he was crazy. Gastropé had to agree with them that the warlock was nuts.

  “You haven’t met that many elves, have you?” Farsooth asked.

  “They are a bunch of know-it-alls who prefer to lecture the ‘lesser races’ that they so ‘nobly shepherd.’ They do not take advice from the sheep,” Beya said angrily.

  Gastropé shook his head. “I’m not sure they are that bad, but they definitely seem to have gotten bees in their plate armor when they learned of the D’Orcs.”

  Ragala-nargoloth nodded. “That sounds like them. They don’t like things they can’t easily control.”

  “Well,” Gastropé interrupted, “according to the alvar, the D’Orcs are supposed to be the most fearsome warriors in the multiverse, Knights of Chaos excepted, apparently.”

  Farsooth chuckled. “Well, they do have a point on that. They are the best of the best of orc warriors, and they are even more immortal than the elves. You skewer an elf and it croaks; skewer a D’Orc and it returns to the Abyss for a rest and then comes back to hunt you down.”

  Ragala-nargoloth and Beya chuckled at this as well. Gastropé was not sure, but he thought maybe the new and absolutely horrifying expression on Tal Gor’s monster might also be a grin. She seemed to be understanding them. Which was all the more reason to wonder why she did not project one of those translation auras.

  “So what are we going to do then?” Vaselle asked. “Even once Lord Tommus comes back, we are going to need to go into town and get supplies. We are going to need someplace we can rest or camp, a secure location for dream walking…” he gestured to the shamans.

  Tal Gor shook his head. “Yes. Unfortunately, it’s a day’s flight to my clan, where we would be safe and secure, and we only have one D’Warg.”

  “Gastropé, you’ve been to this city,” Damien stated, looking at Gastropé. “Do they have any place that might sell us a flying carpet?”

  Gastropé twisted his head slowly from right to left, thinking, hedging. “I would seriously doubt it; the city’s something of a backwater.”

  “Schwarzenfürze and I can wait here while the rest of you go into town to look for a carpet,” Tal Gor said. “Maybe bring me back some water. Or if there is no carpet, get us some camping gear.”

  Damien shrugged in agreement. “That may be our best bet.”

  Murgatroy

  “Ugh,” Beragamos moaned, easing down onto one of the two small beds in Teragdor’s room at the inn. Stevos sat down on the bed across from him as Teragdor positioned himself to sit next to Stevos while holding two bottles of wine that Hilda had purchased in a local shop.

  Hilda pulled out the small table and set upon it the tray of meat and cheese she had gotten from the inn’s kitchen master. “The sausage options were miserable; some passable venison sausage, a pot of too-fatty goose liver paste. I refuse to call it pâté! There are also some slices of beef and a very hard cheddar cheese, plus their standard bread loaf, which appears to be made of stone…” she clanked the loaf of bread against the side of the table to make her point.

  “At this point, my dear, I just want a glass of wine,” Beragamos said.

  Hilda snorted, shaking her head. “We shall see if that is what we have purchased.”

  “This
was an unusually long day,” Stevos remarked.

  “Seriously bad luck running into those Grove people,” Beragamos agreed.

  “I don’t think they were able to sense anything,” Hilda said, arranging the clay wine goblets.

  “That Trevin D’Vils is very perceptive,” Beragamos said. “She’s clearly a skilled enchantress and I have no idea what race she is.”

  “She’s not human?” Teragdor asked.

  Beragamos shrugged. “I don’t believe so. We were not the only ones shielding ourselves today. I am not sure what she is, though. Possibly fae, or half-fae.”

  “That would explain the association with the alvar,” Stevos said.

  “But not the dwarves,” Teragdor said. “Dwarves and elves get along only slightly better than orcs and elves.”

  “The Grove is a rather odd place, and I know very little of it,” Stevos stated.

  Beragamos nodded. “We have zero visibility into that place. It is quite odd and extremely opaque to magical prying.”

  “It is also in the heart of Norelon and we have never been strong in that region,” Hilda added, handing Beragamos a goblet of wine.

  “On the plus side, you managed to attract a new fan with that animage.” Stevos chuckled at Beragamos.

  Beragamos shook his head weakly from side to side. “Talk about the wrong cover! I walked up to a member of the Society and told him I was a Voyager.”

  Hilda laughed. “I am sure you will be getting an invitation to join the Society before long.”

  “I had no idea that there have been no known Voyagers in Astlan for the last nine hundred or so years!” Beragamos groaned.

  “I wasn’t sure he was going to let you go.” Stevos grinned.

  “I am sure he would have preferred to strap me to a chair and pry the secrets of Voyagery from me!” Beragamos took a sip of his wine and grimaced. “I have been spoiled by you, Hilda. This atrocious grape I might previously have thought barely passable, but no more.” He shook his head. “At least it soothes the nerves, if not the palate.”

  “Actually, it’s pretty decent compared to most of the wine around here,” Teragdor noted, setting his goblet down after taking a few sips.