Garlak wrote:Hmmm... I'm kind of surprised and confused. Why did this person show himself to the Prince and monologue? If this figure is as good as we think it is, then it should be aware that Nalifan will soon learn of it by interrogating the Prince's cronies.
The prince already knows him, the cronies know nothing. Nal doesn't even know that this guy exists. Even if he interrogates them, he doesn't even know enough to ask if this guy exists and they couldn't even supply a name as an answer, let alone his true power and plans.
So... who would be smart enough to separate Nalifan from his allies and involve him in a big conflict, thereby also *distracting* him...
The stranger certainly didn't do that.
but dumb (arrogant? confident?) enough to monologue like a Disney villain, and reveal *anything* about any plans? For that matter, who would set up Nalifan like this, and yet deal with people like the Prince.
He didn't monologue, he told Sargard to stop drawing attention to himself and endangering their plans. They clearly know each other and have struck a bargain previously. Nothing was "revealed". He also reiterated that he was going to live up to the bargain that he had previously made with Sargard. However smart or stupid you think Sargard is, if the stranger succeeds Sargard will be king and quite able to pay even an exorbitant price for the aid he has received.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
Nalifan rode through the ruined camp. The household knights that had joined the expedition were comporting themselves with some restraint, which in this case meant killing any adult that looked dangerous and looting the yurts before putting them to the torch. The freelances, survivors of broken armies and free companies, vented years of terror and hatred in a orgy of torture and rapine. They hacked down old men and trampled children under their horses' hooves. Babies were tossed into fires and girls thrown down and raped.
"Mother have mercy," whispered Darmira.
"I think we're beyond that," said Handren. "Those who live by the sword . . ." His voice trailed off as he saw two free lances slit the throat of a naked girl. Stasia drew closer to her lover and looked away.
"They've done this and worse to three nations," said Darmira, attempting to regain her composure. "They chose this, not us."
A gout of flame marked the exhalation of Nalifan's nightmare. The drow's steed walked through the ruined camp toward them. "Enjoying your victory?" the drow called out.
Darmira grimiced in distaste. "Not as much as you, evidently," Handren replied.
"Humans," said Nalifan with a sigh. "Do you want to lose? I think by now you have a fairly good idea of what will happen if you do? No? I didn't think so. So stop moaning about what it requires to win. They have eleven more tribes and I doubt any of the others will be this easy."
"Easy?" asked Darmira.
"No wizard of consequence challenged me," said Nalifan. "Either they didn't have one or I killed them all early in the battle. Too easy. Still, one down and eleven to go. Your men are certainly doing a fine job of slaughtering every living thing. Make sure they don't spare the livestock. We're leaving behind nothing that can sustain them."
"You're a cold one," said Handren.
"You have no idea," said Nalifan, "but you might learn, before the end."
A shout of "elf! Elf!" caught his attention. The drow wheeled the nightmare around toward the cries. Two soot and blood streaked mercenaries dragged a Khaduli woman forward. Her vest and tunic were ripped and the fabric had been used to gag her and bind her fingers. Olive skin peeked out from beneath the dark shroud of her hair.
Nalifan swung off his steed and approached the knights. He brushed away her hair. She was pretty, in a moonfaced way, and her cheeks were marked with tattoos of dark red tears. The drow pulled a pouch out of her girdle and spilled upon the slush. "Oh yes," he said, "she's exactly what I wanted. You've earned your reward." The men grinned, the older man showing rotting teeth. "Which reminds me, what are the local customs with regards to divving up loot? Never mind, you can tell me later."
He looked down at the witch and pulled her gag. She said something in a gutteral tongue. Her intent was clear, if not her exact meaning. Nalifan smiled. "Can you understand me, bitch meat?" he asked in Abyssal. Her eyes grew wide. "Yes, I think you do, little morsel," he continued in the same tongue. Abyssal was a language in which it was possible to grovel, flatter and beseach; but almost impossible to be kind. "Answer me, or I'll start by having you raped by dogs before moving on to the real unpleasantries."
"You can kill me," she replied, "but you will end up on the plate."
"Good," said Nalifan. "We understand each other. Tell me, what happens to tribless Khaduli?"
She snarled in reply. "What do your people do to the weak, the defeated?" he pressed. She glared and he saw pain and hate in her eyes. "Nothing good, yes," he said. "You say nothing but your eyes and your face tell me everything. What remains I can rip from your skull. You are defiant, ready to die. You see nothing but pain and then death in your future and that, that you are ready to accept. Let me demonstrate the feeble and flawed your assumptions are."
The drow drew a dagger from his belt and slit her throat in a blur of motion. Wide eyes stared at him in disbelief as her blood sprayed over his wards sizzled before sliding down into the slush. The free lances dropped her body and she lay thrashing in the snow as her life gushed out of her.
"Why?" asked Darmira. "Why pay a bounty on her if all you were going to do was slit her throat?"
"Oh," said Nalifan, "that's not all I'm going to do to her. This is just the beginning."
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
Cue the addition of another undead servitor with at least some power. I get the feeling Nal's enjoying himself, after all, he can't really cut loose back home without compromising his carefully constructed image of 'not being all that bad really, as long as ye show him the proper respect'.
I've been meaning to ask, what paths has Nal been focusing on focusing his growth in arcane power(or in blunt game mechanics terms, which feats has he been taking), if that's not going to spoil too much? Also, as far as additional High Magic, you've hinted that he's got one for undead creation now, does the Astral Soul-Sucker Construct count as another? And while we're at it, is he progressing conventionally in his mystical studies, or branching out into more esoteric paths to power(levels in wizard or presitge class for the terminally flavor text impaired who may be reading)?
And just for fun, what would his favored method of scragging a Tarrasque be at various stages of his development?
consequences wrote:Cue the addition of another undead servitor with at least some power. I get the feeling Nal's enjoying himself, after all, he can't really cut loose back home without compromising his carefully constructed image of 'not being all that bad really, as long as ye show him the proper respect'.
I've been meaning to ask, what paths has Nal been focusing on focusing his growth in arcane power(or in blunt game mechanics terms, which feats has he been taking), if that's not going to spoil too much? Also, as far as additional High Magic, you've hinted that he's got one for undead creation now, does the Astral Soul-Sucker Construct count as another? And while we're at it, is he progressing conventionally in his mystical studies, or branching out into more esoteric paths to power(levels in wizard or presitge class for the terminally flavor text impaired who may be reading)?
And just for fun, what would his favored method of scragging a Tarrasque be at various stages of his development?
actually it may be also more of a tactical decision. To learn more about what sort of magics his opponents have, what specefic powers and demons they have pacts/draw upon... a Undead servent who can't lie while he draws that info from her is useful..
also useful when wanting to wave a big red flag in front of otehr tribe smagic users. (Come and get me or else you may end up like this...)
consequences wrote:I get the feeling Nal's enjoying himself, after all, he can't really cut loose back home without compromising his carefully constructed image of 'not being all that bad really, as long as ye show him the proper respect'.
Nal has always enjoyed destroying his enemies. Back home, no one comes at him with armies because he lives between the Dalelands and Cormyr and you can't really march one through that area without other problems.
I've been meaning to ask, what paths has Nal been focusing on focusing his growth in arcane power(or in blunt game mechanics terms, which feats has he been taking), if that's not going to spoil too much? Also, as far as additional High Magic, you've hinted that he's got one for undead creation now, does the Astral Soul-Sucker Construct count as another? And while we're at it, is he progressing conventionally in his mystical studies, or branching out into more esoteric paths to power(levels in wizard or presitge class for the terminally flavor text impaired who may be reading)?
The Soul Catcher is something like an epic spell. Class levels mostly in wizard and his feats tend to be in higher level spell slots and improved metamagic so he can deliver an all mighty multispell beatdown with sky high DCs (courtesy of Crown of Sorcery et. al.) which some epic characters and monsters might actually fail their saves against.(Have you ever seen the saves on a level 25 paladin who isn't a maxed out save whore but has excellent Charisma? They're fucking disgusting.)
And just for fun, what would his favored method of scragging a Tarrasque be at various stages of his development?
Giant acid pit plus Wish.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
You've done the impossible- you've made me empathize with the drow.
Out of curiosity, when he is released from their control, how many people are going to die? Are we going to see a good portion of the aristocracy kneel over or something more in tune with the book of relevations?
Oh no no no... that's far too blunt for Nalifan's taste. He will, however, make sure that they will consider him Death Incarnated for generations to come.
Nitram, slightly high on cough syrup: Do you know you're beautiful?
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
LadyTevar wrote:Oh no no no... that's far too blunt for Nalifan's taste. He will, however, make sure that they will consider him Death Incarnated for generations to come.
I can see it now - huge temples to the death god...with statues of Nalifan at the front. Rows of humans bowing down to his image...a priest with a Nalifan shaped mask walking through the crowd scattering boiling blood from a censor...the worshipers screaming in wild fear and excitement waiting the the priest to choose the sacrifice.
<could be...just maybe!>
bobnik wrote:Well, you would want to be pretty confident before attempting to bitchslap reality.
Samuel wrote:
Out of curiosity, when he is released from their control, how many people are going to die? Are we going to see a good portion of the aristocracy kneel over or something more in tune with the book of relevations?
You can't skip to the end of this book.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
Samuel wrote:
Out of curiosity, when he is released from their control, how many people are going to die? Are we going to see a good portion of the aristocracy kneel over or something more in tune with the book of relevations?
You can't skip to the end of this book.
Can we get the Author to post more often?
I can offer bribes...
Nitram, slightly high on cough syrup: Do you know you're beautiful?
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
Varnar Gest straightened as he faced the elven wizard. "I am Varnar Gest, wizard to the court of King Elois of Vanyard. I bind you to serve and defend the nation of Vanyard for a year and a day, to protect and serve its monarch, and to destroy its enemies, and then return from whence you came in peace and forever bound against retaliation and retribution."
Perhaps if he created a death spell while under the binding, to take effect when it ended? He'd not be violating either part, then.
Conversion Table:
2000 Mockingbirds = 2 Kilomockingbirds
Basic Unit of Laryngitis = 1 Hoarsepower
453.6 Graham Crackers = 1 Pound Cake
1 Kilogram of Falling Figs - 1 Fig Newton
Time Between Slipping on a Banana Peel and Smacking the Pavement = 1 Bananosecond
Half of a Large Intestine = 1 Semicolon
Varnar Gest straightened as he faced the elven wizard. "I am Varnar Gest, wizard to the court of King Elois of Vanyard. I bind you to serve and defend the nation of Vanyard for a year and a day, to protect and serve its monarch, and to destroy its enemies, and then return from whence you came in peace and forever bound against retaliation and retribution."
Clever monkey.
Except in only binds Nalifan. Also, it only prevents him from commiting retaliation and retribution which means he can return and get them for things they did AFTER he left.
We've got a traitor princeling who wants the Big Chair, a command to protect the monarch, a command to defend the nation, and a command to destroy its enemies.
What happens when the present monarch catches a severe case of axe poisoning and a traitor, who would be classed as an enemy of Vanyard, is suddenly the ruling monarch? I can think of a few possibilities, all of them very, very messy.
Oh, and Varny missed a spot...there's nothing in the geas preventing Nalifan from seeking retribution and retaliation until after he leaves, as long as he can find a way to do it without violating the rest of the geas.
Chronological Incontinence: Time warps around the poster. The thread topic winks out of existence and reappears in 1d10 posts.
Out of Context Theatre, this week starring Darth Nostril.
-'If you really want to fuck with these idiots tell them that there is a vaccine for chemtrails.'
White Haven wrote:
What happens when the present monarch catches a severe case of axe poisoning and a traitor, who would be classed as an enemy of Vanyard, is suddenly the ruling monarch? I can think of a few possibilities, all of them very, very messy.
Sargard is also protected by his father's command. Even if the king dies, the command remains in force unless countermanded by the new king. The geas doesn't leave room to disobey the king based on Nalifan's opinions of his rulership or the quality of his orders, otherwise he would be free to act now and a lot of people would be dying in slow and horrible ways.
Oh, and Varny missed a spot...there's nothing in the geas preventing Nalifan from seeking retribution and retaliation until after he leaves, as long as he can find a way to do it without violating the rest of the geas.
The rest of the geas does prevent it. He's bound to defend the kingdom. Setting it up for future destruction is an outright violation of that commandment. He's bound to defend Vanyard and serve as its monarch sees fit for a year and a day and after that he's bound against retaliation.
The geas is not without loopholes, but distorting the clauses in that manner won't yield anything but pain and possible death if Nalifan makes the attempt.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
Ezgay floated through a sea of silver mist. I'm dead, thought the Khaduli witch. He slit my throat and killed me. I'm dead.
It was funny. She sensed her body, but did not need to breath. She felt no aches or pains or really much of anything at all, but she was still herself. Was this a trick of the mind or spirit or simply the nature of her true essence?
She continued to drift as she tried to come to grips with her new state. There was a dark shape in the mists ahead. She tried to slow down, to approach it more cautiously, but instead her speed increased slightly. She was, she realized, being drawn toward it.
She took a deep breath of nothing out of reflex, but there was nothing to breath and no need for her spirit body to inhale. She was dead and she was heading toward the Charnel House. There she would be consumed by the Maw and cease, all that she was and all that she could ever be joining the essence of her god in ever lasting immortality as one small part of a greater whole. It was the fate of all that followed the Maw and all of their victims. It would be the fate of all of Creation.
The darkness resolved into the form of a gigantic mountain. It was unbelievably, stretching as far as the eye could sea. A continent sized jet of molten rock crowned it. On it's flanks were the shadows of two more mountains. She furled her brow. This was not the Charnel House.
She drew closer to great mountain. The silvery mist parted and cleared away and suddenly she was falling towards the mountain side. The air was hot and choking, tasting of bitter iron and ashes. Rock rushed towards her.
She hit and she could feel every bone vibrate and groan and the pain, the pain was incredible but her bones did not break and her organs did not burst. She lay still, panting, forcing air through vestigial lungs. She shuddered long and hard.
Had she failed the Maw? Those who did not feed him or displeased him were digested in agony before they joined him, but she had been true. True! She had taken the lives of so many, with her magic and with her knife. She had been faithful!
"Hehe," said an old, rasping voice. "Such a pretty one I have here." She craned her head and looked up. A tall woman with black hair and purple skin was standing over her. The woman was spectacularly ugly and possessed long, talon tipped fingers and a mouth full of fangs. Her nose and ears were far too big and the rest of her body was lean and muscular. She wore a patchwork gown of skin. Ezgay was familiar enough with atrocity to recognize human skin attached to other pieces of human skin with iron staples. The hag looked at her with blazing red eyes and Ezgay recognized what she was.
"No!" she screamed as the hag stooped and grabbed her by the shoulder. Talons dug through the skin and deep into the spirit flesh of her body. The hag chuckled and dragged the naked witch woman over rocks which should have bruised and cut her flesh, but only sent more pain flashing through her body.
"Look what I've caught for us sisters!" she called out. She dragged Ezgay around the bend and the Khaduli saw a horror before her that was worse for being familiar. "She's so pretty."
A half dozen night hags cackled in response to their returning sister. The night hag camp consisted of a seven tents of naked hide laid out in a row. Before them were frames of bone and sinew where fresh skins dried. Three long, stained tables were laid out in center. Ancient blood and ichor discoloured them and they were marked with innumerable cuts and gouges. Two massive bone cages held hideous captives.
They had the faces of men and women, but the bodies of slime dripping maggots. They were about as long as a man's torso and squirmed incessantly, each face crying out or begging or cursing. They blubbered and moaned and cried out in pain or despair. They were larvae, the currency of the night hags. Their purchases would use them to fuel dark magics or as raw material to fashion into the most wretched of slaves. And the hags were going to turn her into one.
She screamed and kicked and spit but her blows were feeble and the hag only laughed. "You have no power over me dearly," the creature leered, "but I have power over you, mortal." Ezgay wracked her brain for a spell, but she was bereft of magicks. The hag tossed her to one of her sisters. The witch struggled, but against the iron strength of the hag is was futile.
Leather restrains were tightened over her limbs. The hag chuckled and tested the edge of a huge, obsidian bladed cleaver with one finger. She smiled, satisfied and the blade came down. Chop!
Off went Ezgay's right hand and there was pain. Off went the left. The cleaver bit through pseudoflesh and pseudobone to buried itself in wood twice more. The hags howled amongst themselves with cronish laughter. The one with the cleaver bent over to lick up her tears. She then kissed Ezgay on the forehead. "You took it well dear," she said and moved away.
Another hag took her place. She kissed the Khaduli on the mouth and then barred her fangs. She bit off most of the witch's lower lip and threw her head back and swallowed. "But it isn't over yet!" This provoked another fit of laughter. A third hag leaned over Ezgay.
"I like your eyes," she said and then her lips closed over the witch's right eye and sucked it out of the socket. Fangs severed the dangling optic nerve. Ezgay screamed and screamed and screamed. "Oh we're not done yet," said a fourth hag.
"We haven't even really started," howled the fifth.
"Everything must go," said the sixth.
"And nothing must be wasted!" they shouted in unison. The fourth bent over Ezgay and stuck her tongue in the witch's ear like a lover. Ezgay shuddered, knowing what would come next. A clawed talon traced her naked sex. "Surprise," said the first hag.
She bolted up right, screaming. Her tunic was caked in blood, her blood. She grasped her neck. There was a fresh scar there where the dark one's blade had cut. She looked around, but it was dark. "Did you enjoy your trip?" Nalifan said from behind her.
"A trick!" she said, but she did not believe it.
"You know that's not true," said Nalifan. "There is no divine reward awaiting for you if you die. Only the block. You're in a camp full of men and women who want to kill you in unpleasant ways. There are a hundred bad deaths waiting for you and worse fates after death, but there is one path that will allow you to escape them. My path."
There it was. She was at the mercy of the man who had destroyed her tribe. She should gut him with her knife, but she had no knife and even if she tried she would fail. "Serve me for a year and I will kill you at the end of it," said Nalifan. "Serve me very well and I will not only spare you, but I will reward you. Or you can die now."
She shuddered. "No."
"Then we have a bargain?"
She nodded. He bent down in front of her. "It's not that I don't trust you, it's that I would be an idiot to. There are worse places than the slopes of Gehenna, much worse places. There is no end to torment in the Lower Planes, with horror piled upon horror and degradation piled upon degradation. If you are not mine body and soul I will send you to one of the places whose name cause even fiends to tremble." He spoke a string of sinister and musical words and touched Ezgay's forehead with his index finger.
There was a long moment. It stretched. Finally he stood. "You will have the opportunity to earn your life. Don't fuck it up." Nalifan walked away and pulled back the flap to the darkened tent. "If you need something, ask one of the guards." Then he closed the flap and vanished into the night.
The drow arch-necromancer smiled and began humming a murder ballad. Restoring her to life had been costly, but cutting the strings that had bound her soul to her cannibal god and letting another part of the Lower Planes pull her in had been easy. She was skilled, ruthless, and desperate to please him. Perfect.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
Nothing like showing the "Fate Worse Than Death" to get a person to work with you.
Nitram, slightly high on cough syrup: Do you know you're beautiful?
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
Ah, the lower plains. Makes serving evil hardly worth the effort, unless you become powerful enough in life to actually be one of the tormentors.
By the way, how exactly did Nalifan return the witch to life? In D&D isn't that sort of thing normally reserved for the servants of the divine? (Or did Nalifan just wish it?)
Raj Ahten wrote:Ah, the lower plains. Makes serving evil hardly worth the effort, unless you become powerful enough in life to actually be one of the tormentors.
By the way, how exactly did Nalifan return the witch to life? In D&D isn't that sort of thing normally reserved for the servants of the divine? (Or did Nalifan just wish it?)
I'm betting wish.
Anyway, why would anyone be evil with such a fate?
To live in Abier-Toril is to live under one rule: obey or you shall feel my fist. The followers of Bane are naked in their espousal of such a rule, but it applies to all. The gods fear Ao who rules not out of consent of the governed or superior wisdom, but naked might. Mortals that do not worship a god go to the Wall of the Dead, to be eternally interred, or become the prey of fiends. To avoid that fate one must worship a god and to be a god's worshipper is to have your fate after death determined by that being.
Worshippers of the gods of good will undoubtedly pipe up at this point about how worthy their respective lords and ladies and the causes they champion and all that other nonsense. That's irrelevant, although its nice for them that they found an agreeable tyrant because that's what every mortal Toril has to do: choose the divine tyrant they can best live with or ascend to godhood.
So where does this leave us poor mortals? We should look to blind Tyr as our example. Questioning Ao made him a cripple, albeit still a divine one. The current order will stand until overthrone by something powerful enough to break Ao and what comes in its place maybe worse. The first sign Toril has of a reborn Illithid Empire will probably be Illesine eating Ao's brain and I can say with confidence my enjoyment of Ao's death will be short lived. We mortals need to understand this and only this is the highest law: obey or feel my fist. The vaunted gods of good are Ao's obedient dogs and the only care he has for justice is that the portfolio be filled.
So choose your god carefully. Be respectful of your betters. Crush your enemies. And never succumb to the delusion that the universe works according to any high minded moral philosophy you happen to cling to.
-Nalifan D'Azurentien
From Imperial Overlord himself.
Besides a lot of souls which go into the abyss or hell end up as low ranking demons which later with the can become greater and more powerful demons(Or at least that's how it was in Planescape). Presumbly evil people who knowingly go into the abyss/hell think they are powerful enough to become great demons quick enough and thus go once again on the merry way to cause atrocities.
"Power is merely the faculty to act. It is a kinetic quantity few can grasp. The deaths of these fanatics costs me nothing. I can replace them. Because I never stop moving."
People are very good about rationalizing their bad actions. I was following orders, I deserved it, I'm mostly a good person, etcetera.
Then there are those that think they are protected by their god or their power or the deals that they have made.
Sometimes they are right.
Then there are the poor fools who aren't evil but get stuck there because they got jacked on their way to their realm of the dead or lost or tricked.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
Which hardly applies to the Khaduli witch, since she thought she was going to be eaten anyway... just by a different being. It seems she had no delusions about anything but punishment in the afterlife, yet she still pursued her course.
Rogue 9 wrote:Which hardly applies to the Khaduli witch, since she thought she was going to be eaten anyway... just by a different being. It seems she had no delusions about anything but punishment in the afterlife, yet she still pursued her course.
You need to reread. She clearly expected to merge with her divinity, with agonizing digestion being the punishment for those who displeased it, not those who had served it well. She was quite surprised to end up on the chopping block.
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
Nalifan lowered the heavy bundle into the hole. Digging in the frozen ground hadn't been easy and this wasn't a task he could delegate to others. He had used a pick axe to break up the dirt before resorting to the shovel. "Rest for awhile," Nalifan said to the bundle. "Wait until the Khaduli return. Then rise." He began shoveling dirt back into the hole.
Filling it back up took a lot less time than digging it. He scattered the excess earth around and then paced around the dig site to obscure the excavation. It wouldn't fool Mikos, but it was good enough. Time would take care of the rest. He walked out of his tent and into the chill morning air.
The sun, as usual, was irritatingly bright and the reflection off the snow only made it more unpleasant. All around him the camp was dissolving as freelances and armsmen broke down the tents and prepared to fire everything they were leaving behind. Bulging saddlebags and sacks hung from most horses, stuff with the loot taken from the Khaduli and their epic campaign of destruction.
Darmira was waiting outside his tent, sitting atop of her horse. Handren and Marcosa were nearby and Stasia was literally Ezgay's leash. "Ready to go?" asked the princess of the blood, amusement dancing in her eyes.
"Yes," said Nalifan.
"And you're not going to tell us what you were up to?"
"No."
Handren glanced sideways at Marcosa. The mage shrugged and threw up his hands. Nalifan just smiled. "I'm done. Let's go."
He took the reigns of a large steppe pony from the hands of one of Darmira's guards and leapt onto the beast's back. He patted the pony's neck. "Good boy."
Stasia rode up beside him and passed the leash. "Here's your pet."
"Thank you," said Nalifan and tossed the leash back to Ezgay. "Stay close."
"Did you really need another concubine?" asked Darmira.
"No," replied Nalifan, "nor will she serve in that capacity. I have other uses for her."
"Such as providing information on the Khaduli and their magic?" suggested Marcosa.
Miranna swallowed nervously as she stepped inside. She padded softly across the carpet. "Lania?" she called out softly. The woman in the bed turned her heard. Her face was bruised and swollen.
"Not so pretty now, eh?" Lania slurred. "You shouldn't have come."
"I couldn't just hide," said Miranna. She approached the other woman. "Have you seen a healer?"
"Oh yes," said Lania. "The duke sent his healer to me, along with the guards. The worst was cleaned up. Most of it won't even scar," she said bitterly. "Although I'll still have 'Wizard's Whore' on my back. It'll just be faint."
Miranna repressed a shudder. How long would it take to carve that on someone's flesh? "Heh," said Lania. "You don't get it, do you witch girl. He saw this coming. That's why he got you out of the city and left me here. So it would happen to me and not you."
"He warned me," said Miranna. "He said they might try something. He must have warned you to."
"Of course he did," she said bitterly. "But he didn't protect me. I'm not as valuable as his wizard-girl. I'm just a whore. Nothing but a pawn on the board. I can be discarded to protect a knight or a bishop or a better placed pawn. That's what we are girl. Your time will come."
She's been brutalized and she's in pain, Miranna thought. She's not thinking right. "I just came to wish you well."
"Watch your own ass girl. It's on the chopping block."
The Excellent Prismatic Spray. For when you absolutely, positively must kill a motherfucker. Accept no substitutions. Contact a magician of the later Aeons for details. Some conditions may apply.
