03- The Apostles of Doom

by J. Langland

  No one said anything for several moments; all were trying to come to grips with that statement. A statement that was admittedly consistent with what they had all been taught about damnation.

  “Except we did not get here by dying. We opened a portal and came through it,” Captain Cranshall explained to the knight.

  Sir Samwell grimaced. “As did I. Or rather, I followed the archdemon through his portal. I am still dead, at least as long as I’m here.”

  “I think we need you to be more specific,” Heron said to the collapsed knight.

  Sir Samwell sighed, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the bulkhead. “Occupants of the Abyss are cut off from the Outer Planes; there is no connection to them.”

  “Yes, we have discovered that,” Sir Gaius agreed.

  “So if you do die, you have nowhere to go. And further, the Abyss is not one of the material planes, the so called Planes of Man. Animus can exist here on its own; it doesn’t automatically disperse back into nature and get reabsorbed. And the plane is fairly mana rich. Long story short, you just regenerate.”

  Captain Cranshall shook his head, not understanding. “So if I run you through the heart right now?”

  Samwell grimaced. “Well, assuming you could pierce my armor, which is doubtful, it would bloody well hurt, and I might pass out, but I would recover. I would regenerate.”

  Sir Lady Serah looked at him curiously. “Is that why you appear to be so young?”

  The Knight of High Justice smiled charmingly at her. “Indeed, my lady. Skin and muscle cells continually regenerate to the state they were in when you arrived. Those who are in the Abyss are essentially immortal.”

  That left everyone silent as they pondered this.

  “What if you are wounded when you arrive?” Sir Gaius suddenly asked.

  “What do you mean?” Samwell replied.

  “You said the cells regenerate to the state they were in when one arrives.”

  Samwell nodded. “I see your point. But no, you will heal to your body’s optimal state. Long-term healed wounds, of course, will not easily regenerate, although I suppose in theory they would eventually. Diseases also seem to be healed or at least halted with time. I am no healer nor expert on diseases, but no one dies of disease.”

  “How do you know any of this at all?” Sir Gadius asked suspiciously.

  Samwell gave the other knight a tired glare. “Try spending a century or two being tortured in an archdemon’s dungeon. You’ll eventually figure things out.”

  “So you’ve escaped from an archdemon’s dungeon?” Sir Lady Serah asked.

  “On several occasions.” Samwell said wearily. “It’s one of the things one must do to avoid pain in this place.”

  “Are you thirsty?” Halferth suddenly asked the Knight of High Justice, moving across the chamber to offer the knight a glass of water that had appeared in his hand.

  “Yes, that sounds fantastic!” Samwell said before eyeing the sorcerer suspiciously. “You did hear me just say that you can’t actually kill someone here, yes? So if this is poison or something, it won’t work that well.”

  “It is not poison. It is water, with a bit of sorcery to validate your credentials,” the CSO explained.

  Sir Samwell gave the sorcerer a tired look. “A truth potion? Seriously?” He shook his head and reached for the glass. “Very well, then.”

  Sir Samwell took the glass and drank it in a single gulp. He handed it back to the sorcerer before leaning back to rest. “I assume it takes a few minutes?” Samwell asked.

  “Not even that,” the sorcerer said, smiling. “What is your name?”

  The knight sighed, opening his eyes and meeting those of the sorcerer. “I am Sir Samwell, First Knight of High Justice and Sworn Champion of the Keeper of Law, Ponchas the Third. On Nilis the Twelfth in the One Hundred and Thirty-Fifth year of Oorstemothian Official Time, I pursued an archdemon through the Gates of Hell and have been trapped, unable to return to Oorstemoth, ever since.”

  The knight started clanging around in preparation to stand. “What other questions may I answer truthfully for you?

  The Outpost (Abyss): DOA + 5, Late First Period

  Bess was reviewing her notes regarding the previous day’s extremely disturbing meeting with Exador and Ramses when her valet, Kanefer, knocked gently on the edge of the entranceway to the parlor she was sitting in. She looked up and smiled at her loyal avatar, who was masquerading as gorgon-like demon with the lower torso of a snake and the upper torso of a handsome and muscular warrior.

  “Yes, Kanefer?” Bess asked politely.

  “Mistress, the demon Tutankhamun is here to see you,” Kanefer said, causing Bess to blink in surprise.

  “Show him in!” Bess told her valet with a smile.

  Kanefer gestured towards the outer chamber, and the boy-demon Tut entered the room.

  Bess stood as Tut crossed the room to kneel before her. She tapped his chin, signaling he should rise. “Tut, tut, Tut!” Bess chided him. “You know we do not stand on such formality here!” She shook her head, smiling. “What brings you across the plains from the Courts?”

  “Mistress,” Tut said, rising, “I bring news that might be of value to you.”

  “I should expect so, given that you flew all the way here.” Bess grinned.

  Tut nodded and smiled at his gracious queen. “I came as soon as my shift ended, taking the usual precautions not to be followed.”

  Bess nodded in understanding, indicating he should continue.

  “Earlier this evening, a low-level demon that I’ve known on and off for the last few decades revealed interesting details of his accursed master,” Tut told her.

  Bess gestured for him to sit in the chair near hers, sitting down herself. “What did he report?”

  “He had been spending far more time at the bar than had been his habit. Enquiring, I discovered that his accursed master was in Freehold, behind the wards that were raised again after Exador’s exposure,” Tut said.

  Bess nodded.

  “Inquiring further, it seems that his accursed master is Hortwell, one of Lenamare’s senior wizards.”

  Bess smiled. “Interesting.” Indeed, another entry point to Lenamare and the book could be quite valuable. Exador had fumbled things so badly, and was currently being so extremely reckless, that another path to the book could be useful. Perhaps even necessary.

  “He has also met and dealt with Lenamare’s greater demon, Zargoffelstan,” Tut added.

  Bess nodded appreciatively. “I assume you’ve arranged for additional contact with him?”

  “Indeed, I have. I also got his version of what happened at the school as well as afterwards. Hortwell tends to keep him around during his work hours, and so Zargoffelstan is privy to a fair amount of information.”

  “And you were able to extract this information?” Bess asked, smiling at him.

  “I have become an accomplished bartender over the last several decades. Free drinks work extremely well.” Tut grinned back at her.

  “Excellent! This is far more interesting than worrying over my notes!” Bess exulted. “Do let us continue!”

  Keeper’s City

  Verigas, still tentatively the High Priest of Gizzor Del, tossed in his sleep. For the last quarter month, his dreams had been troubled. Clearly the result of his transgressions and the subsequent turbulence they had caused. Tonight was no different.

  He was walking through a forest that at first had been primarily deciduous, but as he went on, the altitude began to increase and evergreens were starting to be interspersed with the leafy trees. The sky was a dark gray and he could smell smoke in the air. A rather putrid-smelling smoke, for that matter. One that served to discomfort him.

  He felt lost, alone in the forest. He looked for signs of a trail and spotted what looked to be a hood or bonnet lying on the ground. He stopped to examine it; it was the bonnet of a young girl. Two of the ties were still knotted, but one tie was torn from the bon
net. As if it had been ripped off the child.

  Verigas felt a chill run down his spine as the forest suddenly seemed more ominous. His eyes lit upon what appeared to be a trail through the leaves and forest debris. It led from about a foot past the bonnet deeper into the forest. It appeared to Verigas’s untrained eyes that the person making the trail had been dragging something.

  He followed the trail for about another two hundred feet before he suddenly spied a small boot protruding from a bush. He quickly hurried over and around the bush, only to draw up short with a gasp at what he discovered.

  On the other side of the bush, hidden from his previous view but otherwise in plain sight, was the body of a young girl! Verigas recoiled in horror. The girl’s neck was savagely mauled, and while her dress was splattered with bloodstains, the neck wound appeared to be relatively dry. There was no large puddle of blood, no dripping of blood, only stains. While the leaves below the girl’s head and neck did have blood on them, still-wet blood, they were not soaked as he would have expected.

  Verigas felt a deep-seated gnawing begin in his gut. This was no wolf; no beast had done this! This could only have been the work of a vampyr, or perhaps a vampire. However, from his limited understanding of the undead, the savagery would lead him to suspect a vampyr.

  Verigas grasped at his chest, pulling his Sword and Shield of Tiernon amulet outside his robe. Did he have Holy Water? He grasped at his belt in vain. Who carried vials of Holy Water around with them outside of stories?

  Now he could see before him what had to be the monster’s trail. Disturbed leaves and twigs, spattered with drops of blood, leading further into the forest and uphill. Cold fascination took hold. Despite the pleas emanating from the back of his head, he knew he had to see, had to confront this monster!

  Verigas marched forward, following the trail upward and further into the darkening forest. Suddenly he heard the sounds of fighting. Heavy breathing, muttering and snarls of low rage came from a clearing up ahead. Verigas proceeded cautiously to the edge of the clearing.

  It was a clearing at the base of a large rock formation. A giant boulder, perhaps thirty to forty feet in diameter, surrounded by smaller rocks and boulders as well as rock fragments. The fragments appeared to have fallen from the top of the boulder. This was made more obvious due to the fact that the large boulder was riven in twain, as if split by an axe, or perhaps lightning; the shattered pieces of stone lying scattered at the base of the large rock.

  A scream of rage drew Verigas’ attention to the battle below the rock. Vampyr! He had been right; there was a tall, thin, ragged vampyr snarling viciously, exposing its mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. The vampyr and its opponent, a good-sized woman wearing the habit of a Sister of Tiernon, were circling each other in battle.

  The vampyr lunged, swiping with its deadly sharp claws, and the Sister of Tiernon dove to the left far faster than one would have imagined. This threw the vampyr off-guard, and it overbalanced. It stumbled, trying to recover even as the large sister dove towards the vampyr’s chest, both hands wrapped around a large dagger radiating the Grace of Tiernon.

  The Sister plunged the blade into the vampyr’s breastbone with what had to be incredible strength and shouted, “By the power of Tiernon, I condemn thee to eternal damnation! To true death! Return to haunt the living no more! By the power of Tiernon, I end thy vile Unlife!”

  There was a flash of bright light and suddenly the vampyr exploded! It burst thunderously into a spray of bloody gore that splattered Verigas’s white robes. With a start, Verigas realized he was only about ten feet from the Sister and where the vampyr had been.

  The large woman was clearly winded. Her hands, the right still gripping the hilt of the blade, rested on her knees as she bent over, trying to recover her breath. Verigas shook his head, suddenly glancing up to the riven rock, where a full blood-red Uropia was perfectly framed at the top of the split. As if a dark ruby in a setting.

  “Verigas?” the woman suddenly asked.

  It took Verigas a moment, but he suddenly realized that the Sister had be the legendary vampyr slayer Hilda of Rivenrock, who had perished some four hundred years ago defending the Orphanage of the Sisters of Tiernon at Riven Rock. When he had first heard the story as a youth in the seminary, he had spent several nights in terror under his covers.

  “Verigas.” Saint Hilda was standing up now and looking directly at him. How could that be? He had never even been to Riven Rock. He had no idea where it even was.

  “Yes,” Verigas replied, still in shock over what he had witnessed and at being addressed by a saint in a dream. Dreams were generally not this lucid. Verigas felt a new chill run down his spine. This dream—he knew it was a dream now—was just a little too lucid.

  “Where are you?” Hilda asked.

  “Keeper’s City in Oorstemoth,” Verigas replied.

  “Why are you there?” the saint asked.

  “I’m here to support the Church’s mission, our alliance with Oorstemoth.” This really did not make much sense. Why would a long-dead saint from Eton want to know why he was in Oorstemoth?

  “What is the purpose of the alliance?” Hilda asked.

  How would a saint not know about the holy mission? Verigas wondered.

  “Uhm, to rescue Talarius, Knight Rampant of Tiernon, and bring to justice to the foul fiend who abducted him and caused untold damage to the Church, the Rod and Oorstemoth. To ensure that the foul creature who dared to steal Tiernon’s Holy Mana can never do so again,” Verigas said.

  Verigas blinked at the expression on the saint’s face. He could not quite determine what it meant.

  “And how exactly do they propose to do this?” the saint asked.

  Verigas was not really sure, but this seemed unusually direct and on point for a saint. Were saints not supposed to be sort of mystical and cryptic? “Oorstemoth has built a vessel, a flying metal ship,” he replied.

  “A ship? You mean like the ones that were docked outside of Freehold?”

  This saint seems remarkably up on current events for a dream, Verigas thought to himself. Yet, she doesn’t know about the Holy Sacred Mission? He said, “No, it’s all enclosed, sort of like a tube with towers on each end and in the middle. It’s covered in magical runes.”

  “And how will this help them recover Talarius?” she asked.

  “The Inferno can travel to any place in the multiverse,” Verigas said. “They’ve taken it to the Abyss to hunt down the archdemon and recover Talarius!”

  The saint closed her eyes briefly and sighed. This really wasn’t what Verigas expected for a mystical experience. “I’m going to need some more details.” Hilda said, looking at Verigas and moving closer.

  The Inferno: DOA + 5, Early Second Period

  “Gaius?” Gadius called softly towards the bunk above him.

  “Yes?” Gaius replied at a normal speaking level.

  “I was checking to see if you were asleep.”

  “I am not. Nor are you, unless you are once more talking in your sleep.” Gaius chuckled.

  “Funny. No, slumber will not come.” The white knight sighed.

  “Nor for me,” his ebony counterpart agreed. “I am not sure why; I should be exhausted by the emotional trials of this day. Mentally, I do feel it; however, physically I do not feel tired.”

  “Perhaps it is the stress of our unexpected guest, or the fact that we are actually in the Abyss?” Gadius proposed.

  “Hmm. I have been thinking about that; however, Sir Samwell did agree to disarm and check his weapons and armor into the armory, as per ship rules during non-combat periods,” Gaius said.

  “And, in fact, divested himself of additional blades and weapons as well, beyond what we ourselves have done,” Gadius agreed. “And Sir Lady Serah is fully armed and standing guard on his quarters. She is surely powerful enough to hold off even an archdemon long enough to sound the alarm should he prove hostile.”

  “So then it should not be that; we’ve slept wit
h far worse enemies nearby,” Gaius said.

  “Could it be what Barabus told us about the Oorstemothians not knowing about the aether?” Gadius asked. “If they are not aware of the aether, then there is no way this ship could be protected against aethereal penetration—unless they got extremely lucky with other countermeasures.”

  “Perhaps, although that thought has bothered me less than the potential it opens up for our work in Oorstemoth.”

  “I have not tried to shift. Doing so would allow us to determine if the ship is secure. If we shift and can leave the vessel, we can be fairly certain there is no such protection,” Gadius said.

  “Good point. Why don’t you try?” Gaius asked.

  “Because you are the one who loves the aether more than I and are far more versed in it. How many times have we had this discussion?” Gadius asked, his smile reflected in his humorous tone.

  Gaius chuckled. “Yes, and it is your dislike of the aether that probably makes you paranoid of the ship’s vulnerabilities.”

  “And you are not concerned?”

  “I am now that you reminded me.” Gaius laughed.

  “So?”

  “Very well,” Gaius replied with mock resignation.

  Gadius waited, staring up to the bottom of Gaius’s bunk, waiting for the knight to test the ship’s defenses.

  “Hmm, that is very odd,” Gaius said, sooner than Gadius had expected.

  “What is odd?” Gadius asked.

  “I shifted, and I felt the shift, but after shifting I was still in the material realm. Right here, not aethereal.”

  “What do you mean? You could not shift to the aethereal realm?” Gadius asked.

  “No. I shifted, or at least it felt that way; however, everything stayed the same. It felt like the material and aethereal realms were one and the same,” Gadius said, and paused. “I have not shifted back, in fact.”

  “So you think you’re aethereal now? I should not be able to hear you,” Gadius said.