03- The Apostles of Doom

by J. Langland

  A shock he still had no way of explaining. Once he got to bed, he had been able to fall asleep for a short while, his brain just feeling too worn out. That, however, had not lasted long before his anxiety had woken him. He needed to figure out some way of de-stressing.

  He had a long day ahead of him; four different swearing-in ceremonies in four different cities. They would be traveling to the cities via runic gateway and do the oaths at each stop. It would take until nearly midnight Nysegard time. If he was this uptight, he would not be able to concentrate on the oath-taking. That would be a grave disservice to his vassals. He needed some way to get the tension out and unwind; a sauna and hot shower or something. Except that didn’t make a lot of sense in the Abyss.

  Wait, he thought. The DoomSpa! They were restoring it; everyone was talking about it. In theory it was like Hellsprings Eternal, only better. Perhaps he should head down there before starting his day. Soak in a lava pool, have an acid steam sauna? That seemed like his best bet. Tom hopped out of bed to head down to the DoomSpa.

  DoomSpa

  Lesteroth Garflog finished squeegeeing the last of the excess mercury back into the pool. D’Orcs were terrible about tracking mercury and acid around the place. Of course, to be fair, it would help a lot of there were towels to dry people off with.

  There were a few towels, but as a rule they were not used for the mercury pools because they were too difficult to wash. They were never allowed for the acid pools because, obviously, the acid would dissolve the towels rather quickly. So they were really only useful for the water and blood pools. Fortunately, lye basins, which were actually watered-down alkali pools, were pretty good for washing the few towels they had.

  He, or more specifically, Bellyachus, who was in charge of the DoomSpa’s laundry, was hoping a shopping expedition to the Planes of Meat would happen soon to bring them more towels. During Lord Tommuss’—er, Orcus’s—absence, a lot of the former towels had been repurposed for clothing.

  Why the D’Orcs insisted on wearing clothing was a mystery, but it was a habit they all had. Sort of like this sleeping business. Very weird that, but he had found himself getting sleepy and sleeping as well. He had forgotten how good it felt to sleep, to just not be, for a few hours a day. Considering how boring things had been in Doom’s Redoubt, sleeping would have been a great way to pass the centuries.

  It was also, Lesteroth had to admit, nice to have an actual job with real work, not slave work, to do. He was going to be paid for his work! And soon, after a few more shopping expeditions, they would have food and x-glargh and maybe even Denubian Choco-CoffeeTM at some point.

  From what he had heard from the D’Orcs, back in the day, Mount Doom had been a center of civilization in the Abyss to rival the Courts of Chaos. More importantly, however, Lesteroth and his friends would have relatively decent jobs with stuff to do, and actually have a reliable source of income! That was the problem with the Courts: having reliable, not soul-destroying, income.

  That, of course, was why he’d signed up for Lilith’s army; to actually have money. However, much to his frustration, he had been posted to a place with nowhere to spend it. And his contract had been, like all of Lilith’s employment contracts, for eternity or until Lilith terminated one. And of course such termination, should it occur, was very slow and agonizingly painful.

  It was quite remarkable that he and his buddies had found a convenient out. Sure, there was always the chance that Lilith would someday defeat Lord Tommus and seek horrifyingly terrible vengeance on those who had betrayed their contracts; however, Lord Tommus seemed quite capable of holding his own against Lilith and her forces. By which he obviously meant himself and his comrades. According to pretty much everyone he’d met that had been posted at Doom’s Redoubt, they were pretty typical of all of Lilith’s regiments.

  “Lesteroth Garflog!” A deep, reverberating, thunderous voice startled him out of his reverie. Lesteroth spun in surprise only to fall on his knees in awe. Lord Tommus! Think of the devil! Was this a surprise inspection? He couldn’t believe the Lord of Doom knew his name; at least could not until he remembered they had a link that probably helped the demon prince recall his name.

  “Your Demonship! How may I serve you?” Lesteroth quavered, kneeling and bowing his head.

  “Well, you can start by standing up and looking at me,” the demon prince said with a chuckle.

  Lesteroth stood shakily; he was not at all accustomed to being in the presence of a demon prince. It was more than just a little bit intimidating.

  “Your Highness?” Lesteroth asked again, timidly looking at Lord Tommus’s amazingly handsome and noble face.

  “I have never been to the DoomSpa before. I need to relax so that I can focus my attention on the four oath-taking ceremonies today. What do you recommend?” Lord Tommus asked.

  Lesteroth blinked. The Dark Lord Tommus, his sworn master, the Lord of Doom, a Prince of the Abyss, was asking for his, Lesteroth Garflog’s, advice? What sort of fantasy world have I entered? Lesteroth wondered in confused awe.

  Fort Murgatroid: Mid Third Period

  Teragdor finished the Ritual of Sanctification on the main altar to Tiernon within the chapel. A group of Tiernon’s and Torean’s saints had done some sort of joint Beatific Sanctuary spell on the chapel itself last night. He had never heard of such a thing; apparently it was a permanent equivalent of the more standard Greater Sanctuary spell, which only lasted for a few hours under the best conditions.

  This one, however, was not only permanent, but they’d somehow made the site sanctified to both Tiernon and Torean; again, something he had not even known was possible. One of Torean’s saints, Timbly, had informed him that such joint rituals, at a mortal level, were fairly common within the Holy Etonian Empire, where the churches frequently worked side by side.

  Of course, his own sanctification of the altar was a bit of weak tea compared to a super-powered sanctification of the chapel by two groups of saints; however, it was tradition for the priest in charge of a chapel to personally sanctify the main altar.

  This main altar was a bit odd in that the chapel had two side-by-side altars, one to Tiernon and the other to Torean. Torean’s altar had been sanctified this morning by Rasmeth, the Torean high chaplain, who had arrived to handle Torean’s religious operations.

  Teragdor had watched the sanctification from a pew. It was actually pretty similar to the one he had just finished. After a few moments of prayer after Rasmeth had finished, Teragdor had gone up to his altar to begin. Understandably, he had felt a bit awkward; Rasmeth was of higher rank, a high chaplain versus an itinerant priest, and Teragdor had never actually sanctified an altar in a chapel. He had done so on a few smaller forest altars, and while the ritual was the same, it felt much more solemn to do so in an actual chapel.

  Actually, being in a physical chapel was a pretty rare occurrence for Teragdor, given that there were none for several hundred leagues of Murgatory—other than his new one, of course. In the end, it had gone surprisingly well, if he did say so himself. His prayer for confidence and a steady hand had apparently paid off; he’d felt the power of Tiernon flow through him with greater ease and strength than on any of his previous sanctifications. It was most likely because they were already in a sanctified chapel, so its strength supplemented his own.

  As he turned and headed down the aisle, he couldn’t help but notice Rasmeth staring at him oddly.

  “Is there something wrong?” Teragdor asked the priest. They’d only spoken briefly when the priest had arrived this morning. He was suddenly terrified he’d done something wrong.

  Rasmeth shook his head. “No, but I thought you said you were an itinerant priest of Tiernon.”

  Teragdor blinked in surprise at the very odd statement. “I am. What causes you to ask that?”

  Rasmeth shook his head slightly. “Well maybe they do things differently in the Church of Tiernon, but you have an amazing amount of Grace for an itinerant priest.”

  I
t was now Teragdor’s turn to shake his head. He had no idea what the priest might mean. Typically, that statement would mean that Tiernon was exceptionally with one. The more Grace of Tiernon one had, the higher spiritual rank one was; in other words, the more powerful rituals, pronouncements and mantras one could do.

  “Uhm... thank you?” Teragdor said uncertainly.

  Rasmeth smiled and gave a quick shake of his head. “No, I know that sounds weird. I suppose it is just that out here, so far from the church, one doesn’t see much opportunity for advancement. I would have expected someone with your Grace to be higher up in the church hierarchy. At least, that would be the case in the Church of Torean.”

  Teragdor nodded politely with a small grin. “Uhm... thank you. I do what I can. I do not get to see my superiors that often.” He shook his head. “I have been spending an extremely unusual amount of time with saints and avatars; perhaps some of their Grace has rubbed off.”

  Rasmeth titled his head and smiled. “Yes, I would suspect so. I am still in some shock at finding saints actually in the building. I had never even met a saint, or even presumed to ever meet one, until Timbly suddenly appeared to me in a dream with instructions to come here. And then when I get here? There are saints of Tiernon and Torean here. Not in dreams, but physically here. It is—surreal. That’s the only word I can think of.”

  Teragdor made an O shape with his mouth as he let out a long, drawn-out “Oh, yeah.” The half-orc grinned and nodded in agreement. “You cannot even begin to imagine who I’ve met. I spoke with Baysir, Prophet of Astlan, yesterday!”

  Rasmeth’s eyes went wide in shock. “Tiernon’s prophet in Astlan? Here? He spoke to you?”

  Teragdor nodded solemnly, trying as hard as he could to remain humble. “I know. I am sure I must be living in a dream at this point. It’s as if I am living in one of the Times of Legend.”

  “You may be.” Stevos voice startled the priests as he walked up to them. Both priests turned suddenly to the saint, who was walking down the aisle with a book strap containing three rather expensive-looking books.

  “We may be?” Teragdor asked, noticing Rasmeth bowing respectfully. “Rasmeth, may I introduce my patron saint, Saint Stevos Delastros.”

  “I am honored, Your Saintliness. I did, of course, recognize you. You are highly respected in the local Church of Torean,” Rasmeth said humbly.

  “Thank you, Rasmeth. Timbly speaks quite highly of you. As you are aware, I am sure, this is a very unusual and highly discreet mission,” Stevos said.

  “I do, Your Saintliness,” Rasmeth said, bowing in acknowledgement.

  “I don’t stand on honorifics; you do not need to refer to me as ‘Your Saintliness,’ ” Stevos said, chuckling.

  “As you instruct, sir,” Rasmeth replied.

  Stevos grinned and shook his head. “We have located the Knight Rampant, Sir Talarius, and thus, presumably, the D’Orcs,” he announced.

  Teragdor’s eyes widened in surprise. “He’s returned to Astlan?”

  Stevos shook his head. “No, nothing so straightforward. He has filed prayers from Nysegard. We believe he is with the D’Orcs, whom we suspect have returned to Nysegard.”

  “Nysegard?” Rasmeth asked with a note of concern in his voice.

  Teragdor shook his head; he was not that familiar with that world.

  Stevos sighed. “Yes. It is a long story, but apparently the D’Orcs, or rather Orcus, had a very large presence in Nysegard, and we believe that they have returned and that Talarius is with them.”

  “That cannot be good! As I recall, the Forces of Light in Nysegard are nearing their last stand,” Rasmeth said with concern. “If the demons have returned, it will likely mean true darkness on the planet.”

  Stevos chuckled. “That would be the logical thought. However, it turns out that the D’Orcs, under Orcus, were one of the largest contingents of the Forces of Light on Nysegard.”

  Both Rasmeth and Teragdor were silent for a moment, trying to wrap their heads around that obviously nonsensical proposition.

  Teragdor shook his head. “I am sorry; did you just say that Orcus and his armies were on the side of Light?”

  “Odd, isn’t it? But yes, apparently they were; perhaps the largest Force of Light on Nysegard,” Stevos answered ruefully.

  “That… that goes against everything we know about demon lords,” Rasmeth said, sounding bewildered.

  “Indeed, so it would seem. However, it also appears that upon occasion, in Nysegard, the Five Siblings, D’Orcs and even the Los Sidhe have fought side-by-side against the Unlife.”

  Rasmeth shook his head, unable to grasp this. “If I did not know, could not see, that you are a saint, I would have said you are either crazy or lying. This goes against everything we are taught.”

  Teragdor nodded in agreement.

  Stevos shrugged. “Apparently there is a saying that Nysegard makes strange bedfellows.” He chuckled, looking to Teragdor. “For example, I recently learned that on Nysegard, not only are half-orc priests of Tiernon not unheard of, but there actually are pure-blooded orc priests of Tiernon and Torean.”

  “Seriously?” Teragdor asked in shock.

  Stevos nodded. “Inethya, the Prophetess of Nysegard, tells me that about ten percent of their priests are full-blooded orcs, and another twenty percent have orc blood. The numbers are even larger for Nysegard’s equivalent of the Rod. She says that is also true of Torean’s priests and Rangers.”

  Both priests blinked in surprise, they stood there in silence for a few moments.

  “So is there a plan to rescue him?” Teragdor finally asked.

  “There is; or at least a plan to make contact,” Stevos said.

  Rasmeth’s eyes narrowed. “And since you are telling us this, I assume we are involved?”

  Stevos chuckled. “Indeed. Sentir Fallon is not thrilled with sending more avatars into Nysegard. He and the others would prefer to use mortal intervention.”

  “Except that you have reservations about using the normal Church and Rod channels,” Teragdor said.

  “Exactly!” Stevos nodded with a wry grin. “We want to use Fort Murgatroid and resources that we will screen and move here to contact our Nysegard people—both those of Tiernon and those of Torean. We think the Rangers of Nysegard might be quite useful in discreet contact on Nysegard.”

  Rasmeth nodded. “That would make sense.” His eyes suddenly shifted behind Stevos; Timbly had entered the chapel and was coming to join them.

  Timbly, a bushy-bearded bear of a man, or rather saint, in leathers, came up and gave Stevos a slap on the back. “Filling them in on the fun?”

  “Indeed, I have been,” Stevos said.

  “Should we break up for our individual briefings?” Timbly asked. “We need to fill you in on the local resources in Nysegard.”

  Stevos nodded. “Yes. Teragdor, you and I need to speak, as do Timbly and Rasmeth.” The two priests both nodded. “Let’s head to your offices.”

  It was weird to have an office; Teragdor was still marveling at it. While it was not much of an office by cathedral standards, it was far more than he’d ever had before. For one thing, for the majority of his career he had slept in sleeping bags and, if lucky, in a tent. Now, as of this morning, he had a permanent home at Fort Murgatroid!

  He had a small bedroom on the second floor of the back half of the chapel, and on the ground floor he had an actual office with a desk and two chairs for visitors. Rasmeth also had his own room and his own identical office. As a high chaplain, he was sure that the accommodations were far below Rasmeth’s standards, but for Teragdor it was a huge honor.

  They entered Teragdor’s office and Teragdor gestured for Stevos to take the armchair behind the desk.

  Stevos shook his head with a grin and sat down in one of the armless visitor chairs. “This is your office, Teragdor. Have you even had a chance to sit in your chair?”

  Teragdor grinned, moving around to take his chair. “For but a few moments
this morning. This a big upgrade for me.”

  Stevos smiled. “And that is part of what I wanted to talk about. You are now a chaplain, because you have a chapel, or at least a shared one. Unfortunately, because we are working outside of the normal church channels—and even if we were, we essentially never dictate church roles and positions—this chapel and your chaplaincy are more facts on the ground than facts in some book in a cathedral.”

  Teragdor nodded. “I understand completely.”

  “That being said, this is officially yours and Rasmeth’s property, and you have Tierhallon’s full support.” Stevos chuckled. “Given that it was built by Tierhallon, we can give it to whoever we want.”

  Teragdor also laughed and nodded.

  “As we locate and assign more people we can trust, we will station them here, and as such they will be nominally in your domain. However, given that we are now asking you to establish relations with Nysegard and be our point person on this, it was decided that we needed to give you a promotion to ensure you have the resources you need,” Stevos said.

  Teragdor shook his head in confusion. “I thought we just agreed that you have no authority to promote me within the church?”

  Stevos gave him a deep nod of agreement. “Correct. However, we can promote you in Tierhallic rank.”

  Teragdor shook his head. “What does that mean?”

  Stevos smiled broadly. “Baysir, Moradel, Sentir Fallon and Beragamos have agreed that you should be anointed as an Apostle of Tiernon!”

  Teragdor blinked in shock, feeling the color drain from his face. An Apostle of Tiernon? Teragdor? Had there been one in the last thousand years? They were extremely rare, unheard of except in legend. That would explain Stevos saying they were once more in a “Time of Legends.”

  “I—ah—I have no idea what to say... This is such an amazing honor. I never could—I can’t even comprehend it,” Teragdor stammered out.

  Stevos grinned and shrugged. “Well, in many ways you’ve been functioning that way. Hell, you’ve not only had dinner and drinks with multiple saints, you’ve done so with Beragamos, Supreme Archon of Tiernon. You are taking orders and instructions from the Saints of Tierhallon. If that doesn’t qualify you as an apostle, I don’t know what does.”