03- The Apostles of Doom

by J. Langland

  Arg-nargoloth shrugged. “The fact that Lilith is trying to destroy you, and that we kicked her butt, probably means he’s amicably disposed to us. Anything that weakens her or keeps her off balance is a net plus for him.”

  “We always got along much better with Sam than Lilith,” Darg-Krallnom said.

  “Sam?” Tom said. It occurred to him that the name Samwell was a close-sounding name to Sammael, and Sam would simply be the short form. “What does his default human form look like?” Tom was suddenly quite suspicious of his climbing buddy.

  Arg-nargoloth shrugged. “There really isn’t much variance among human forms as far as I can tell; they all look about the same. This one is rather pale, reddish hair with a tightly trimmed beard, average human height and weight.”

  “Does he wear mountain climbing gear and like to climb mountains?” Tom asked.

  Darg-Krallnom and Arg-nargoloth both looked surprised. “So you’ve met him?” Darg-Krallnom asked.

  “I have,” Tom said. “He had been mountain climbing near my old cave, shortly before we came to Doom. We talked, and he invited me to go climbing with him.”

  “That’s a good sign.” Arg-nargoloth grinned and nodded his head affirmatively.

  “It is?” Tom asked.

  “Yes. There are only two types of people he invites to climb with him,” Arg-nargoloth said.

  “Either they can fly on their own and he likes them,” Darg-Krallnom said, “or they can’t and he wants to push them off the mountain to their death—or, in the Abyss, their severe pain.”

  “Preferably on a very high mountain with a very jagged, rocky fall line off the mountaintop,” Arg-nargoloth agreed.

  Ithgar, Orcopolis: Late Fifth Period

  “Wow, this place is impressive,” Rupert said to Fer-Rog as the two of them wandered down the streets of Orcopolis.

  “Yeah, I’ve never been to a city before. Or at least an above-ground one. Everyone says that Mount Doom was a city in a volcano back in the old days, but for all my life it’s been basically a giant, mostly empty, house that we lived in,” Fer-Rog replied.

  “I’ve been to several small towns and two big cities: Gizzor Del and Freehold,” Rupert said. “Gizzor Del was much smaller than this. I think this place is probably about the same population as Freehold, but it’s physically larger. It is nowhere near as cramped. This place has all these really wide streets and—what did Beya call them? Avenues?”

  “Yeah, avenues were what she called them. Very broad streets for troops to march down, parade in.”

  “Plus, the buildings are all much bigger, but of course that’s probably because orcs are bigger than humans for the most part. But they are also much sturdier here. Lots of heavy carved stone with ornate carvings,” Rupert continued.

  “Yeah, all these stone gargoyles are pretty cool. I think gargoyles must be really popular here; I’ve spotted quite a few wandering around.”

  “Yeah,” Rupert agreed. “I’m not sure that anyone would even notice if I was walking around in my true form, there are so many interesting and different people and animals here. I had only read about goblins and trolls, but there are quite a few just walking around, going about their normal business. At my old school, we were always told that goblins and trolls were sort of untrustworthy brigands and rogues. Here they seem just like normal people.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard stories about them, but of course always as comrades in arms, particularly during Ragnarök. Did you see that ogre with two heads a couple streets back?” Fer-Rog asked.

  “Yeah, he—or is it they? was, or were, totally fierce! Seriously, would you address a two-headed person in the plural? I’m thinking it might hurt to get it wrong.”

  “I don’t know. We should ask Beya. What I want to know is how does someone that tall fit in a tavern? Almost all of the doors here are only twelve feet tall. That ogre was probably eighteen feet tall.”

  “Yeah,” Rupert agreed. “I suspect there are ogre taverns. Probably giant inns and taverns as well. I noticed as we were flying in a section on the south side of the city, there were what appeared to be much larger buildings, and based on window spacing, I don’t think they just had a lot of floors.”

  Fer-Rog shook his head. “I must have missed that. I was just too impressed by seeing a city—any city—for the first time.”

  “It is a very diverse city. You notice how no one freaked out about D’Orcs at the campsite?”

  “Yeah. They got a lot of attention, but it was all more curiosity than fear. ‘Orcs with wings, cool,’ seemed to be the response,” Fer-Rog said.

  “I am sure that was disappointing.”

  “Oh, I know it was; I was watching Hespith’s expression. She was not amused at how friendly people were. She really prefers it when people just meeting her cower in fear,” Fer-Rog said, nodding in agreement.

  “Hey, you two!” an orc standing to the side with a bag over his shoulder called to them. He was about their own age, or the age they were pretending to be, about nineteen or twenty.

  “Yeah?” Fer-Rog asked.

  “You guys like to party? There’s a totally bashing dance party happening over at Head Smashers Lounge tonight. Admission is only three coppers and a two-drink minimum with this map,” the orc youth told them, waving a piece of paper.

  “That sounds cool! We haven’t been to a party in at least a week,” Rupert said.

  Fer-Rog nodded. “Yeah, cool!”

  The orc grinned at them. “Here is a map. It’s only a few blocks from here. Give them the map for the reduced cover charge.”

  “Cool!” Rupert said as the orc handed him the map.

  “Thanks!” Fer-Rog nodded to him as they continued on their way.

  “That was very nice of him to invite us to the party!” Rupert said.

  “Yeah. A little odd that one has to pay money to party, though. Although I don’t know much about parties—or money, for that matter. Just the two we had here with the Olafas and back at Mount Doom after the oath taking.”

  “I’m thinking it’s to pay the expenses of putting on the party. In a city, it’s not like a family thing; someone has to pay for things for the party,” Rupert explained.

  “That makes sense!” Fer-Rog nodded.

  “Think we are okay for money?” Rupert asked, fingering his small money pouch.

  “I think so; we should have that many coppers. I mainly grabbed silver and gold coins before leaving the Abyss.”

  Rupert shook his head. “I didn’t think of that. I just brought some emeralds, rubies and sapphires, all small to medium-sized. We should be able to exchange them for money.”

  “Yeah, I am sure there will be some place willing to buy them,” Fer-Rog said.

  “Cool!” Rupert replied.

  Astlan, Near Mount Orc: Late Fifth Period

  “Yes, I think this was the better plan,” Lob Smasher said, eyeing his roasted rabbit skewer. “We come in out of the east with Fierd’s light, fresh, rested and fully geared, rather than coming in at night, when our initial impression would be less than ideal.”

  There was suddenly a thunderous ripping sound from behind Tal Gor as Schwarzenfürze finished eating her rabbit. The putrid miasmic odor that the Crooked Sticks had been getting only too used to caused everyone to start cursing and fleeing the cooking pit to get fresh air.

  “That D’Warg, I swear she does that just to see us run away!” Bor Tal complained angrily.

  Schwarzenfürze’s eyes followed him as he hopped away, the light of the campfire reflecting ominously in her eyes. It was, of course, very hard to see her expression in the dark, but Tal Gor assumed it was, as usual, rather mocking. Tal Gor was absolutely certain she did it simply for her own amusement; the timing was always just a little too perfect.

  Ithgar, Orcopolis, Head Smasher Lounge: Mid Sixth Period

  “They weren’t kidding about the head smashing,” Fer-Rog said to Rupert as they stood at the edge of the dance floor of the Head Smashers Lounge. They
were watching people, mostly orcs, dancing to very loud music in the weird tavern. The dance seemed to involve periodically smashing one’s head into either the person one was dancing with or some random person nearby. If both smashers had large tusks, they generally smashed tusk to tusk; otherwise forehead to forehead.

  The music was something someone had called Death Tribal Voodoo; in terms of rhythm, or lack thereof, it wasn’t that different than D’Orc Metal, except there were no lightning guitars or similar instruments. The instruments were mostly various types of drums, gongs, bells and similar devices, along with some more traditional-looking stringed instruments.

  “Why aren’t you drinking?” a large orc appearing about their age suddenly asked them as he guzzled down a very large mug of glargh. He was practically shouting over the loud music.

  Rupert shrugged and looked at Fer-Rog. “I guess we should; we paid for them when we came in.”

  Fer-Rog nodded and looked at the curious orc. “We just didn’t think of it.”

  The orc looked at them in disbelief. “It’s glargh! How do you not think of glargh?”

  Rupert shrugged. “It doesn’t do a lot for us.”

  “What do you mean? Is that a brag about how much you can drink?” The orc was clearly a bit drunk already.

  Fer-Rog shrugged. “Not exactly. It’s just a fact.”

  “Does that make any sense to you?” the orc asked a friend of his, who had walked up with a large mug of his own.

  “Nope. Sounds like he’s calling you a lightweight,” the large orc’s friend said.

  “That’s rich, considering these two are both scrawny!” the large orc said.

  “We are apprentice shamans,” Fer-Rog said.

  “Scroll trollers…” the large orc’s friend said, shaking his head dismissively.

  “What’s your horde name?” the large orc asked.

  “Olafa,” Fer-Rog replied.

  “Ha! Olafa are lightweights! I doubt Olafa scroll trollers can drink more than one mug of glargh before passing out!” the large orc said.

  “Is that a challenge?” Rupert said with a wide grin.

  “Of course it is!”

  “Accepted,” Rupert said. “I am Rugog; this is Rog.” He gestured to Fer-Rog.

  “Aggfred,” the large orc said.

  “Snoggnord,” the large orc’s friend said.

  “Let’s go to the bar,” Rupert said.

  Fer-Rog nodded and led the way to the bar. “I wish they had cookies…” he said to Rupert.

  Chapter 131

  Mount Doom: DOA + 9, Early First Period

  Tom entered the library to spend some time with his thoughts. He had just come from the DCC and ensuring that the Oorstemothians and their friends were still making their way out of Doom’s lands. Their ship was quite interesting; it did indeed look like a very large, flying nuclear submarine, but with three conning towers: a large main tower in the center and two smaller towers on each end. It was not clear to Tom what the point of those end towers was, but he assumed there was a good one.

  The question was, just how crazy did one have to be in order to think that sending a ship to arrest a demon in the Abyss was a good idea? As crazy as wizards like Lenamare were, he was pretty sure they were still wise enough not to pursue a demon into the Abyss. Why Tiernon’s people would join them was another mystery. Why was it that all of his opponents seemed completely irrational?

  “Oh, hello!” Antefalken said as he exited an aisle carrying two large books.

  “There you are!” Tom said with a grin. “I haven’t seen you since I dropped you off here.”

  “That’s because I haven’t left, nor did I sleep last night. This place is just too much! I could spend centuries in here,” Antefalken said.

  “But then who would hear your ballads?” Tom asked, smiling.

  “Well, given that most of my audience is immortal… not sure it’s a problem,” The bard replied.

  “I think Damien would be a bit put out,” Tom reminded him.

  “Not if he saw this place! He’d forgive me—he’d be here by my side. And it’s actually quite cool in here, so he could spend a few centuries with me.”

  Tom nodded and had a sudden thought. “Have you seen the paintings of Orcus?”

  Antefalken shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Follow me. I want your opinion,” Tom said, gesturing for Antefalken to follow him.

  The bard set his books down on a study table and came over to join Tom, and they proceeded down the aisle leading to the portrait room.

  “In the room we are about to enter are portraits of Orcus in his various forms. He apparently used the paintings as references to remember the different forms,” Tom told Antefalken.

  “Yes, that’s pretty standard,” the bard agreed.

  They entered the room and Tom gestured to the main painting of Orcus.

  Antefalken whistled. “Well, that’s not at all what I thought he’d look like.” He twisted his neck to stare at Tom for a minute and then back at the picture. “You do know there is an odd resemblance, yes?”

  “So I’ve been told by Tamarin and Erestofanes. I didn’t see it at first, but I do now. However, that’s nothing compared to his standard human form,” Tom said, gesturing to the picture that had freaked him out.

  Antefalken turned to look at that portrait and did a sharp double take. “Unholy bat crap!” He turned to stare at Tom in shock. “How is that possible?”

  Tom shook his head. “I have no idea; that’s why I wanted you to see it.”

  Antefalken turned back to the portrait and simply stared. “How is it that a demon prince, dead for four thousand plus years, had a human form that looks just like yours. Are you sure you had never seen pictures of him before?”

  Tom shook his head. “No. My Edwyrd form is what I looked like as a human, perhaps a little older.”

  Antefalken just shook his head. “That is really creepy.”

  “Yes. Thanks for realizing it.” Tom said gratefully. “Tamarin and Erestofanes seemed to take it in stride. I know for a fact I am not Orcus and we don’t do reincarnation on my world. Or at least no one can prove it, nor did I have a religion that would reincarnate me.”

  “That’s the key point, I think.” Antefalken agreed. “Every instance of reincarnation I am aware of is controlled by the gods. It’s part of a religious contract they have with their followers. I have the impression that you are not a particularly religious person.”

  “How can one be religious when one drinks and has dinner with gods and goddesses?” Tom asked. “It’s really hard to worship someone you know.”

  “I would have to agree. I myself am not religious. Demons get too big of a look behind the curtains,” Antefalken agreed.

  Tom paused for a moment. “Okay, I am now thinking back to our conversation shortly after I brought Talarius to the Abyss. You were telling me, to my shock, that the gods were real people, and now here I am talking about having dinner and drinks with them.” Tom shook his head in disbelief and wonder. “I’ve done that with Phaestus and Sekhmet, and tomorrow night I’ve been invited to the Nyjyr Ennead’s outpost in the Abyss for dinner. This is getting a bit too surreal.”

  “Someone is moving in rarified circles,” Antefalken grinned at him.

  “Not as rare as people that used to be in Lilith’s good graces,” Tom shot back with a grin.

  Antefalken nodded. “Very few stay that way, and I’m afraid I am no longer in her good graces. I’m pretty sure I’m on her exterminate list, in fact.” He stopped suddenly and looked at Tom. “Wait—did you just say these gods have a place in the Abyss? Why would gods have an outpost in the Abyss?”

  “Yeah, that struck me as odd as well,” Tom agreed. “Phaestus said it had something to do with their restoration plans. Apparently they are working on multiple fronts. I am betting it will make more sense once I see the place and talk to them more about their plans.” He shook his head. “Gods and all their crazy schem
ing.”

  “Almost as bad as the demon princes and archdemons.” Antefalken laughed.

  “Almost,” Tom agreed.

  Antefalken stared back at the painting of human Orcus. “It’s a nice gown. I saw it in a display case early this morning.”

  “What?” Tom asked, puzzled.

  “Over on the other side is a large set of rooms with display cases of clothes.”

  Tom shook his head. “Why would Orcus keep his clothes in a museum rather than his closet?” He made a puzzled expression. “Actually, his closet and wardrobe are fairly empty, very basic. I’m not even sure where Zelda got the gown I used for the first oath taking in the throne room.”

  Antefalken nodded. “The clothes in the cases are just his templates. He doesn’t actually wear those particular clothes.”

  Tom looked at Antefalken, puzzled. “What you do you mean, his templates?”

  Antefalken looked quizzically up at Tom. “For shape-changing, of course. Just like with these pictures. He uses the clothing templates to remember what the clothes he wants to shape-change into look and feel like.”

  Tom shook his head. “What? Are you saying his clothing was part of his body or something?”

  Antefalken nodded and tugged on his collar. “Of course. You haven’t noticed that I always wear the same clothes and they are always clean and never get damaged? Even when I get fire-balled or shot full of arrows? Heck, with all the soot around here, it would take a lot of washing to keep my colors this bright!”

  Tom reached down to carefully touch the bard’s shirt, trying to avoid clawing him. “Really? This is you?”

  “Yep.” Antefalken nodded. “However, they are removable parts of me. I can take them off, and if I leave them somewhere, they’ll just fade away and I can reform them as needed. Makes getting dressed when the lass’s father or husband comes pounding on the door much easier.”

  “So you can shape-change?” Tom asked.

  “Not exactly.” Antefalken shook his head. “About the best I can do is alter my appearance. Hair style, facial hair and clothes. Took me a hell of a lot of practice to get the clothes right. I tend to keep them the same so I don’t have to memorize too much. I do sometimes change the color, but that’s about it.”