View source for Orcus and the Palantir

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 – Orcus: a grossly fat demon lord - bloated on spite, bile, and contempt.  He 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.  

The man, for that’s what it most resembled, 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 or someone who had never experienced illumination. He 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 an 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.”