03- The Apostles of Doom

by J. Langland

  Muzga gestured for everyone to get into their initial positions, all seated. She and Uzgash Death Smasher, the third of the first-generation D’Orcs, along with Tom, were providing the base triad; one at each corner of a triangle formation, inside the henge. Outside of them were five younger-generation D’Orc shamans, including Valg, stationed at each of the five points of the pentacle they had drawn in blood upon the ground stones of the henge.

  Next came seven orc shamans, arranged around the pentacle, then eleven D’Orc warriors. The seven shamans and eleven D’Orcs would be doing a very powerful dance of protection. Outside of them were thirteen additional participants; one standing on top of each of the henge pillar stones in the inner ring.

  The thirteen consisted of Darg-Krallnom, Targh Bowelsplitter, Vargg Agnoth, Helga Dourtooth, Gulogd Death Cheater, Eldebra’s father, and then seven shamans. The seven shamans included three orc shamans, Buga Breathstealer, Gorga Greatsword, and Gishnakh Stormsurge, and two human shamans, Mery Messwirth and Anfrith Hallworth.

  The final two shamans were perhaps the most unusual, at least in Tom’s mind. Thakad Stonemason was a dwarven shaman and a woman, which made Tom feel awkward about all the dwarven woman jokes he used to make with his gaming buddies. Contrary to popular misconception, Thakad did not have a beard or any other excess body hair. The last shaman could probably only exist on Nysegard: Elyelwith Flores, one of the Forial Alfar—a wood elf—and for the last thousand years a shaman on the Isle of Doom, now sworn to Tom.

  In the outer ring were three concentric circles of dancers. The first ring had seventeen dancers, the middle circle had nineteen dancers, and twenty-three were in the final circle. On top of each of the outer twenty-nine pillars were two drummers and a young assistant, the pipe holder. At the base of each stone, inside the circle, were horn players, each with an assistant with a pipe ready for them to inhale during breaks in their playing.

  The outer dancers would be harvesting mana from those outside, not directly in the ritual. It was the job of the thirteen shamans on top of the inner circle to channel that mana to the inner dancers and the inner circles.

  The dancers would be passing pipes between them; D’Orc dancers would pass pipes of demon weed, and the mortal dancers would exchange mortal stash pipes. Each pipe was carefully color coded to avoid accidentally creating any more D’Orcs or demons. Or so the joke went; technically, they’d need to specifically summon the person by name.

  The region outside the drum circle held the general population, who would be chanting and dancing as they felt the spirit and energy. They too would be passing color-coded pipes. The stationary inner participants each had their own pipes, as Tizzy had instructed.

  Tom shook his head, thinking about the massive drug rave he was about to throw. His mom and former stepdad would be so disappointed in him. He assumed his actual father would be as well, if he had not died in that giant fireball at his lab. But if this was how one made D’Orcs, then so be it. I mean, these are shamans, witch-doctors, curanderos. If it was okay for Carlos Castaneda, maybe it is okay for me. Certainly it should be okay for trained shamans. Right?

  ~

  “Drug-fueled paganism!” Talarius shook his head in disapproval from his perch atop a nearby stone that was not part of the henge.

  Sir Stainsberry laughed. “As a wizard, I would like to agree with that. A clear head is required for wizardry. However, I know from my mother’s people, as well as from other members of the El Ohîm, that there are many paths to truth and the Light.”

  “Alvar and the El Ohîm use drugs?” Talarius looked at the Knight Magus in shock.

  “Not all, of either group; not even most. However, ‘spice,’ as this special demon drug is called among the alvar, is used sparingly by sorcerers and a few other wizards, and several animages, such as Voyagers. Some alvaran shamans and even priests of the El’adasir occasionally use various mind-altering substances to achieve higher states of consciousness, or enhanced states of being,” Sir Stainsberry said. “Spice, in particular, is used to assist in astral projection. The true danger of that drug, for mortals, is that if you take too much—and by too much I mean more than a small pinch—you can find yourself lost in the far parts of the Astral Plane and have quite a bit of trouble returning. Particularly if you are untrained and have no clue as to what is going on.” The Knight Magus shook his head ruefully.

  Talarius frowned in disapproval. “So let me understand this process,” he said. Stainsberry nodded, so Talarius continued, “The old orc shaman is going to take this spice, and travel to the Astral Plane with attendants.”

  “Correct.” Stainsberry nodded.

  “Then Lord Tommus and his people are going to essentially go hunting for him on the Astral Plane? And when they find him, they will bind him, trap him, and somehow conjure him into a new D’Orc body here in Nysegard?”

  “Exactly. That body will be created by the mana and rituals done here. The new D’Orc’s form will be a combination of Karth and what people expect a D’Orc shaman to look like and be. They will imbue the excess mana they generate into this new form. The more they have, the more powerful he becomes,” Stainsberry told Talarius. “During this process, his mortal body in Ithgar dies. He is pure animus on the Astral Plane, which is transferred into, and fused with, the newly created D’Orc form.”

  “And then?” Talarius asked.

  “Then he is bound to Lord Tommus, which is sort of a moot point, since he’s already sworn allegiance, and then he will be sent into the Abyss, so to speak. At that point the transformation will be complete. He will need to rest for a few days, but he will then be a full D’Orc with all the knowledge and skills he acquired in mortal life,” the knight concluded.

  “D’Orcs, as I am starting to learn, are basically demon orcs, yes?” Talarius asked.

  “Yes; demon is a generic term for beings that are bound to the Abyss.”

  “So he will be immortal?” Talarius asked.

  “Indeed, even as are demons. D’Orcs are just demons that come from orcs; there are also demons that come from humans, elves, dwarves and most other intelligent species,” Sir Stainsberry said, speaking louder, as the drums had started pounding and were about to drown out conversation.

  Talarius, however, had turned at this and was staring at Sir Stainsberry incredulously. “Wait. What did you say? There are demons that were once human?”

  “Indeed,” Stainsberry shouted back. “All demons have to come from somewhere. Other than the D’Orcs, very few demon races procreate frequently; therefore, they rely on wizards and other mana wielders to conjure mortals into the Abyss to resupply their ranks. Making a human demon is no different than making an orc demon. The only difference is the mortal race they started as.”

  Talarius began to feel the world reeling around him. The drums were getting louder and louder. Was the ground dropping? He distantly noticed the wizard lighting a pipe and inhaling. Talarius’s nerves were on edge. He could barely think after this revelation. He began to hyperventilate.

  “This… edge off.” He heard Stainsberry shouting as he pushed something into his hand. It was a smoldering pipe. There would be no demon weed in it, he’d learned that. It was mostly tobacco and a few other herbs. He did not normally smoke tobacco, although it was not proscribed by his church, no more so than alcohol. The few times he had tried tobacco, it had been relaxing.

  Talarius took the pipe, clenched it between his teeth and drew in a breath, the red coals glowing as oxygen flowed into the pipe and smoke filled his lungs. He turned to look back at the henge as the people started to chant and dance.

  ~

  “This is weird,” Reggie said, passing his pipe to Boggy. “I am getting goosebumps. If I had any body hair, I’m pretty sure it would be standing on end.” They were able to talk over the drums at a somewhat reasonable level because Antefalken was strumming some sort of noise-canceling tune with one hand on something that looked like a ukulele strung over his shoulder.

&nbs
p; “Your cornrows are looking rather frizzy,” Estrebrius said. Reggie had had to explain his hairstyle to the smaller demon. Despite being centuries old, the demon had apparently not met or seen many black—or in Reggie’s case, formerly black—people. He was dark purple now; a minority color among demons, who arguably were the most persecuted minority in the multiverse. He was now a double minority—wait, incubi were also a minority among demons. Hell, yeah! Triple minority! Reggie pumped his fist in the air, and Estrebrius raised an eyebrow at his odd behavior. Elite of the elite! And shit, he was best buds with a demon prince! Fuck yeah! Talk about elite! Reggie giggled, more than happily buzzed. He probably should not have eaten those two cookies before toking up.

  Antefalken took the pipe from Estrebrius and inhaled deeply. “It’s been a good seventy or eighty years since I’ve had any demon weed. Well, other than a cookie or two.”

  Reggie blinked, staring at Antefalken and his ukulele thing. A thought just struck him. “Wait, I thought you weren’t a mana-using demon?”

  Antefalken took another hit and nodded. “I’m not, but I am a bard, and I can do some bardic magic—you know, spellsongs, chants, that sort of stuff. We are in a very mana-rich environment right now, and with this pipe and all the mana floating around—that’s what’s putting your hair on end—it makes it much easier for me to do things like this noise-canceling tune.”

  “What the—is that Tizzy?” Boggy asked in consternation, pointing towards the outermost ring of unofficial dancers.

  They all turned to see the octopodal demon down in the crowd, his pipe clenched between his teeth, puffing like all get out, and all four hands pounding away on two sets of two bongos strapped to his front. He was walking on all fours, or rather dancing, rather weirdly.

  “He seems to be having fun!” Estrebrius noted.

  “Let’s go join him!” Antefalken said, ceasing his playing. The full volume of the drums and the crowd suddenly hit them in full force.

  Reggie jumped in surprise, feeling the rather amazing beat starting to move him. “Let’s go!” he shouted.

  ~

  Vaselle suddenly realized that it was getting dark faster than it should this early in the evening. He looked up to the sky to see that very dark storm clouds, much darker and lower to the ground than Krallnomton’s normal Doom clouds, had moved in. He examined them with his wizard sight, which he had activated at the beginning of the ceremony so he could observe the process.

  Interesting; they were mana-driven storm clouds. This was something he had read about, but never actually seen. Intense levels of mana and animus churning could create storm clouds, which, like all storm clouds, were accumulations of air, water and fire in the form of lightning. He shook his head, suddenly realizing something that should have been obvious. The storm clouds that surrounded Doom! That was what those were; he simply had not realized it.

  Vaselle blinked as the first flash of lightning lit the sky. He tipped his head back further, reveling in the power. Wizard spells were so contained, so packaged and tight in their use of mana and animus that the storm clouds rarely had time to gather. It was the raw, excess mana and animus that attracted the storm clouds. Only during times of war, when wizard battled wizard on a large scale, did you typically see these clouds.

  He giggled slightly, more than a little bit affected by his mortal stash and Tom’s own demon weed flowing over the link. Storm clouds in a battle would make throwing lightning bolts very easy. Probably one reason they were so much more popular in a war. Easier to call down upon a target from the storm clouds, and much more targeted than a fireball that might roast your allies.

  He had to imagine that the soldiers on the ground hated it. Nothing like being mired in mud, muck and pouring rain, poor visibility and the threat of lightning strike. It was good to be a wizard… and better to be a warlock.

  Vaselle closed his eyes, feeling the intense beat of the drums and the wailing of the horns. The entire henge area was very hard to look at with wizard sight. It was bright, very bright. There was so much magic, it was more than a little overwhelming.

  The dance of protection created a cloudy, glowing shield that seemed very primitive compared to that of Lenamare’s wards, yet these wards seemed far more natural, rawer and perhaps at some primitive level, even more awe-inspiring. It was the fine-weave artistry and taut control of Lenamare’s wards that in some ways was deceptive. They had immense power locked within them, hidden. Here the power was fully on display. He had to admit it was every bit as inspiring in its own very different way.

  Suddenly the drum beat shifted and several of the dancers changed direction, chants rhythmically shifting. Vaselle opened his eyes to see the pentacle flashing brightly. With a sudden twist, through his link with Tom he found himself with Tamarin, in the Astral Plane.

  The region outside the inner ring was very hazy, and he could see nothing outside of the drum circle; simply the vast colorful nothingness of the Astral Plane. Tom began his chanting. Vaselle could feel Tamarin with him inside Tom’s brain. This was surreal. Superficially, it was not technically dissimilar to a three-wizard link for spellcasting. Viscerally, however, it was much different. This was far more intimate; similar to possession, yet with three people. He could feel, experience the shaman links to Muzga and Usgash, and then to the other shamans on secondary levels. Those shaman links were the equivalent of wizard links.

  They were, however, to Vaselle’s wizard-trained sensibility, far more raw, more ad hoc, free-form and loose than he was used to. He supposed that made sense. He needed to stop analyzing this, though, and focus on Tom and the summoning.

  “Karth Mauhur Lugdog Gahsagr, son of Lukil Agral tal Veng Death Cheater, I, Lord Tommus, Master of Doom, summon you by your true name. I demand that you attend me to swear your obedience and demonstrate your obeisance.”

  Vaselle blinked. While he understood what Tom was saying due to their link and rehearsal, he was not speaking Universal. It was some other language, a very harsh one that he was unfamiliar with. It sounded something like Orcish, but it had a different cadence, different inflections.

  The summoning didn’t take long, unlike what could happen in demon conjuring. Karth was already linked to Tom and a willing target. So, with a not-unexpected swooping sensation, Karth sort of stretched, elongated—well, telescoped—into the center of the pentacles.

  What was rather unusual was that Vaselle could clearly see that it was Karth. This would happen if summoning a known demon from the Astral Plane; however, one seldom did that. Typically, only new demons were summoned this way, and they were always formless blobs of light.

  “Karth Mauhur Lugdog Gahsagr, son of Lukil Agral tal Veng Death Cheater, I now bind thee in the orcish tradition of Abdimman Fal Tregnon and the Bringers of Chaos, Destruction of Order and Birth of Justice for the Oppressed and Maligned,” Tom intoned to Karth. “I am Tommus, Heir of Orcus, Lord of Doom, Father of D’Orcs! Do you hereby invest yourself in my cause, myself and my destiny?”

  “I do,” Karth replied.

  “Do you swear upon all that you hold true, the core of your being, at peril of eternal shame, dishonor and condemnation, that you will forever serve me and my cause, even unto and beyond the true and final death?” Tom asked.

  “My lord, I so swear!” Karth replied.

  “Take now my binding,” Tom ordered as an even brighter strand of pure light flowed down and over the existing link. Karth reached out and took the link with his astral hand.

  “Consume the link!” Tom commanded.

  This part was unlike anything Vaselle had ever seen with demon binding, but the intent was clearly the same as the more coercive binding fixation spells. They had gone over it several times, so Vaselle had a good idea of what was happening, and intellectually he understood it, even if it was foreign to how wizardry did these things.

  Karth’s astral hands began shoving the link down his throat. Given that everything in the Astral Plane was translucent, rather ghostly, one might say
, Vaselle could actually see the link sliding into his esophagus, where it seemed to start curling up in the center of his chest. Vaselle blinked; the link was settling where an orc’s heart would be, except that astral forms were simply manifestations of an anima body and did not actually have any organs.

  “Wrap yourself in my link; surround yourself with my power. Tie yourself, your soul to mine!” Tom commanded. Karth started turning around, winding the link around himself, wrapping himself up.

  This was very trippy; no wonder one had to get high for this. Vaselle shook his head, feeling a bit dizzy. He felt the power of the drums beating through his body as Tom pulled them back to Nysegard. Suddenly the drums stopped with a loud, thunderous final stroke. The horns blew; the dancers stopped for a moment and then reversed as the drums started a different beat.

  “Karth Mauhur Lugdog Gahsagr, son of Lukil Agral tal Veng Death Cheater, I, Tommus, Lord and Master of Doom”—Vaselle’s master was holding his Rod high above his head—“summon you to Nysegard, by the power of the D’Orcs and the Defenders of Nysegard. We demand that you appear before us in your true D’Orc form!”

  Loud wails expressing a large variety of emotion came from the outer dancers. They seemed to move into overdrive, their dancing becoming even more frenzied as the drumbeats picked up speed and intensity.

  “We, the Defenders of Nysegard, demand that you appear before us in true form. Reveal yourself in all your D’Orcish splendor!” Tom shouted. Vaselle noted that all the inner shamans were chanting rapidly; a few were making semantic gestures along with mouthing words, apparently doing rituals.

  The darkened sky above lit up brightly as five bolts arced through the sky, and the wind began picking up. Vaselle was beginning to get sensory overload. Tom was still shouting, but he could barely concentrate on it, even with the link, over the roar of the drums, horns, shamans, and the wailing dancers.