Fawn BW XXX

Stood on a ridge-line in the heart of a forest, the Sylvan elves were arraigned either side of the Mage, dressed in colours of the spring forest, common to many High Elf races, they bore the mark of a river flowing through a deciduous forest. As he watched, a huge ram-like face peered out of a smoky gloom-laden battlefield in front of them, on which was strewn hundreds of elven dead. As the sun set slowly in a blaze of red, orange and yellow, the creature’s huge frame came into view, surrounded by flame and smoke, and holding aloft a massive mace with an oversized human skull cemented to the top. A grossly fat demon lord - bloated on spite, bile, and contempt - it was covered in coarse hair and disease-ridden sores, with a goat-like head and legs, topped off with the curled horns of a ram. His arms were human but vast bat wings sprouted from his back, and his long, snake-like tail was tipped with a poisonous head. Very big, over three times the size of the humanoid stood next to him, his tail writhed and his wings beat slowly, stirring up foul air. Its words were unrecognisable but in response the ground opened and the bodies of the dead elves fell into the abyss. Next to the monster, stood a humanoid figure dressed in a long grey-black cloak with hood up hiding a face that Fawn guessed not to be there. The figure watched every movement of the gigantic beast next to him. His huge, black sword was drawn and faintly glowed neon-purple. The humanoid wore a 7-pointed crown (each point containing the brightest blue gem), which sat squarely atop the its cowl. Suddenly Fawn could hear the enemies’ conversation as if they stood next to him.

“One has arrived recently and has many of the artefacts for which I search.” The disembodied voice hissed from under the cowl.

“Yes, he hides with the elf-mage, just beyond my reach.” The Demon looked briefly down to where the humanoid stood before returning his gaze to the forest.

“Aah, my Lord, thank you. I will use the ancient paths to find him; he has an item of particular importance to our cause.”

“Indeed, that ancient stone should never have been lost – the meddling gnomes will be brought to account.” More flame and smoke billowed forth from the huge beast, obscuring the humanoid from Fawn’s view.

“Yes, my Lord. I will enter their halls soon, although they will not know it.”

“You have a request from the Drow Queen, I believe?”

“My Lord, as ever, you are well informed. She would have me find the friends of the one who hides here.” The smaller creature pointed to the forest which stood unrelenting before them.

“All in good time; find this Druid and bring him before me. He may have more to offer than just a shard of a gem.”

“As you wish,” the humanoid said before bowing and striding toward the deep-green tree line where the elves stood.

The forest burned. All Fawn could see was fire, death and destruction as he looked across what was once a beautiful glade. He stared despondently as, parting the billowing smoke and striding through the piles of ash that were once mighty trees, the huge, ran-headed beast came. It was surrounded by creatures from the lowest planes of the Abyss, each with cruel weapons and each its own mockery of prime material beings, some so decomposed that it is wonder that they move at all. Fear was palpable and the few that faced the onslaught faltered and broke ranks. In the centre of a thin line of elf warriors stood a beautiful elf princess Fawn knew to be Malenwe and two half elves that he thought to be druids. With arms outstretched in defiance of the approaching beast, Fawn noticed the finery – rings with large gems, golden arm bands, and a platinum bracelet on one of the druid’s arms. Spells were thrown at the Beast, and both druids used wands and staves to create all manner of effect on the enemy ranks. Malenwe, an expert with bow and sword, cut down rank upon rank. But nothing stopped their advance. Finally, as the huge beast charged and more elves broke ranks, the less well dressed druid reached into his gypser at his side and produced a small, unremarkable green gem.

“No Morwath! That is not meant for our use!” the other druid screamed as the first rain of arrows struck the ground around them. Eyes were wide and brow deeply furrowed in concentration, Morwath replied, “but we have to try something before he takes it all.”

“No! You must fly!” The half-elf druid indicated a direction to his rear where trees still stood.

“That will not help; you need me here. Only I can turn back the abomination – fight fire with fire!”

“Morwath, you must take Lastar’s artefacts to Gwendolyn before it is too late!” The first druid pleaded in between casting spells and firing great blasts of flame from what looked to be nothing more than a well preserved twig. Turning to look at his friend and ignoring the enemy that flew at them, Morwath asked, “why did you summon me then? Surely you meant to use the power I have? Perhaps all your dream-watching has affected your mind.”

“It is not my mind that you should be worried about!” retorted his friend, taking a second to return the look before throwing more dweomer into the melee. Looking down at the stone in his hands and curling his fingers tightly around it, the druid replied, “What do you mean? The Father has no impact on my judgement, my will is my own!”

“It appears your judgement is becoming clouded, but we have no time to discuss it! You must leave before all here is lost. Go back to the lost souls for they may offer you sanctuary.” The half-elf pleaded and a look of desperation came to his face. The druid put the stone back into its bag and paused to ask, “And what of you and Efferendil?”

“You cannot think of that now; I will battle here to defend the tree if nothing else. Go now!” It was too late. As the one named Morwath turned to contemplate his decision he saw the cowl wearing undead humanoid smash Malenwe to the ground and shoot a ray of light at the druid which broke on him, engulfing him in purple flames which stripped him of all clothing; finally, his body slumped in a naked heap, already very pale as if the blood had been purged from it. Controlling his emotions well, the second druid stood his ground and said, “You know that it will destroy you Dordraug.” The humanoid’s voice was a slow deep rasp, “that is why you will bear it for me, Druid. At least until we find the rest. Let’s face it Morwath, you are not as committed as your friends to their folly. You are too wise for that; for the vain pursuit of the unobtainable. Even if your idiotic comrades were to succeed, you could not tolerate the imbalance – all that bright light, overstated pomp and ceremony, the lack of ambition! No my Druid that would not be your chosen path…”

“You know nothing of my chosen path Dark Wolf; why should I bear it for you? Kill me, take what you want.” The blow was like lightning – fast and ferocious – and the Druid spun and fell.

Fawn’s night was disturbed again…

The night sky was partially illuminated by a sickle-moon that hung low against the deep-black, irregular skyline. Pale clouds, slightly brighter than their cobalt-blue background, occasionally smothered the cold light as they rushed like some ghostly army to crash against the distant horizon. The moon’s pale light, mainly reflected by a meandering water course that snaked across the low-lying grassland, occasionally glinted silver-blue as it touched the broad marsh that surrounded the small group of hills in the foreground. Stood on one of these hillocks were two very different figures, both of whom seemed to absorb what little light was available. The first was highly distinctive – the same grossly fat demon lord he had seen in his previous vision. The second resembled a man; it looked as if someone had taken a human and squeezed him until all the light was wrung out like water, leaving only the purest of darkness. He was gaunt, as though from a long illness, and carried no weapon - yet there was something inherently threatening about him with eyes, dark and piercing.

“My Liege,” the man began, half bowing as he slowly approached his superior, carrying a faintly glowing orb in front of him, “we have gleaned something significant from this scrying stone that we discovered in Yarlug.” The intensity of the Demon’s red eyes seemed to increase as his gaze was turned down upon the humanoid. “As you will recall, we understood there to be nine such stones, created by the Old Wizard, often from parts of the natural elemental Gates to the Prime.”

“I recall,” hissed the Demon threateningly.

“In creating the stones,” continued the human seemingly oblivious to his Lord’s irritation, “the Arch-Mage used them to move the elemental gates, together with that to the ethereal, into the dwarrowdelfs from where they could be more easily controlled, effectively stopping those not of the Prime arriving unchallenged and enabling swift movement across the Plane.” Orcus seemed to be wrestling with a desire to crush the impudent man, weaving his black, scull-adorned wand back and forth, and growling, “I thought as much…”

Picking up pace the man continued, “It appears that he was unable to move natural gates with stronger linkages – the Astral and both the positive and negative gates. He also had to create a Gate from where to travel the Prime itself – at Sutur. We now know that as each Minas was plundered, and the palantirs taken, control over the Gates was lost.”

“I know this,” the Demon snarled, “what new have you discovered?”

“Forgive me…” the man replied hoping to be spared the touch of the deadly wand, “this Palantir produces echoes of the cries of a universe at birth, wonderfully chaotic and turbulent. For some time we could not understand its operation - beyond that of seeing random events on the Prime and further afield (most of which unimportant). We quickly realised that it was aligned to the Gate where we found it, at Yarlug, and is therefore Astral in nature. The Orb’s linkage with the Gates was easily understood but we could not determine its real purpose, and still struggle with its operation.”

“Get to the point!” Orcus yelled.

Taking a pace backward the man’s fear was palpable, “Yes my Lord, forgive me. We have seen what appear to be messages sent between palantirs that give us cause for alarm.” With no immediate response, the thin figure carries on, his words coming rapidly but gaining in conviction, “the one named Yishmay Noh Yagitamo appears to have one of the Stones that you seek, but that is not all. She seems to be fleeing from the attentions of your most hated enemy, moving from her stronghold at Nega, which she believes will be assailed, to the Lady Mariliath’s last fortification at Ochi.”

“Then it is time to reinforce our position in the East, is it not?” Orcus’ wand became still in his hand.

“It may be my Lord, but the Gate that we used recently seems to be denied to us – others are also controlled against us. The ethereal powers have ignored the gates to the Prime – paid off by Lastar and now preferring to bicker amongst themselves - allowing others to manipulate them.” The Demon’s irritation returned, “Yes, yes, but we must act swiftly and that does not include building a fleet of troop ships – even if we do help Inwe destroy Fontainver…”

“Agreed my Lord,” the man shuffled nervously, “if I may continue…You will recall that Lastar did not wish the dwarves to have all the power over the Gates and asked the Sylvan elves to control how each gate could be accessed – more specifically the origin of the gate. According to their overly bureaucratic methods, the gates’ alignment to the planes, annotated on the Great Wheel, rotated according to the Sylvan recounting of the changing Age. You will recall that this was recorded by the dwarfs on the walls of their halls – presumably so that they could keep track and not let all the control fall to the elves; however, this mechanical process has been tampered with and is no longer predictive. We believe this is because the Sylvan elves have withdrawn from the Prime as, according to them, the time of the third born has arrived. No human has yet produced the 7th Age Codicil and the movement of gates has become random.”

Frustrated, the Arch Demon’s voice takes is laced with malice, “what Gate is available, Macherrion?”

“Well, Sire, we believe there to be a Gate at Hama’ Las,” Macherrion adds, “which is not well defended.”

“I know it well,” the Demon hissed studying the night sky as if remembering some old encounter.

“Its proximity to both Nega and Ochi is also appealing,” continues the man, “your forces that left Gos have become engaged around Minas Emras, but could be diverted to secure Amras Aarda relatively swiftly.”

“Mmm, perhaps…as I recall, those forces failed to reach Sutur ahead of the Drow and Gith,” mused the Demon, much more interested in the tactics than the history lesson. “They owe me a result...”

Taking a great stride away from the Warlock, the Demon looks to the far horizon before turning its great bulk swiftly back to gaze upon the orb, “my understanding, however, is that no significant power holds Sutur: the half-elf chased away by the Wraith who, in turn, has been dispatched and whose bitch has fled. No Drow leader has yet emerged to take control and most of the Gith have withdrawn to Malor’s direct control…” Considering all the angles Orcus returns his gaze to the sky, “Unless that is a task for Inwe’s creation…” Looking at the Warlock the Demon’s posture is, once again, threatening, “we need that intelligence quickly Macherrion!” he orders. Fearing to break the silence, possibly believing he has said enough, Macherrion can only nod in acquiescence, before the Demon demands, “What strength have we there?”

“My Lord, two of your three legions are at full strength, the third is scattered, skirmishing, but could be rallied relatively quickly.”

“Good, disengage at Emras and march on Sutur!”

“Yes, my Liege, and of Minas Aarda?”

A long pause is eventually broken by the Demon’s deep, growling, questioning voice “How confident are you of getting a force to that particular Gate?”

“Well, the Druid has helped considerably. He has watched the wizard of the self-styled New White Council, and has deep knowledge of the Palantir. As you know, we have proved its operation moving troops between Everlost and Yarlug, and are in position to test a movement of troops between gates on the Prime – we believe the Gate at Aarda to be that of Earth.”

“Good. Dispatch a spearhead force from our units here – say half a legion under Archerion.”

Bowing deeply the Warlock breathes a sigh of relief, “Yes my Lord”

“Where is the Druid now?” asks the Demon, not allowing his servant to depart.

Looking increasingly nervous Macherrion replies “As you will recall, we let him escape in the hope that he may be able to bring us the remaining parts of the Sarnim Stone. Unfortunately, after he and his friends destroyed the Samurai, we lost him.”

Wreathed in black smoke and with purple bolts of energy flying from his Wand the Demon’s anger is dangerously close to boiling over, “get him back! I want him in front of me before I dispatch anyone to Everinstar.”