Porphyria stood a small distance away from Vurp, considering something that had been tickling the back of her mind. For one thing, goblinoids of any stripe were not known to be exceptionally gifted magi, since their short lifespans made the kind of intensive long-term study required to be a mage of any caliber a life-long pursuit. Hell, humans barely had time to make a serious go of being a decent mage, and they tended to live a couple of decades longer than any goblin. And yet here was a boglin who was wearing the robes of a full Frater Zephyrius Mutatoris, and had obviously learned a thing or two about magic. Porphyria wondered if boglins ever got gray hair, or went bald -- the hair on Vurp's head was a stringy black mess, not showing any real signs of aging.
"Uhm Vurp," Porphyria started, causing the boglin to fidget uncomfortably at the sound of his name, "I hope you don't mind me asking, but how old are you?"
Vurp smiled slightly at the question responding, "I'm somewhere around thirty-five years old, madam."
"But you don't look all that old..."
"I live a clean and healthy lifestyle, and generally keep out of danger. And I'm also a devotee of a certain sect of worshippers of the longevity aspect of Zo, goddess of life -- we learn some useful techniques to retard the aging process. Very useful for one whose lifespan would normally be measured in decades." Vurp grinned proudly at his own cleverness, showing a mouthful of sharp yellow teeth. Whatever other benefits that might have been passed on to worshippers of Zo, good oral hygiene was obviously not one of them.
"Well, I'm glad to hear you won't be keeling over anytime soon then. At least, not from old age." Porphyria saw the boglin's smile dull slightly as she made the comment. She knew that the magi of the OZM tended to be a lot more careful with their lives than the typical ELF operative. Hell, almost everyone was more careful than the typical ELF operative, and often times, that recklessness spilled over onto those closest to the agent. Vurp would either learn to excel in his craft, or find himself on the wrong end of something sharp and pointy (if he was lucky) fairly quickly.
Vurp shifted nervously in his seat, and Porphyria realized that she had been staring at the boglin in an almost predatory fashion while she had weighed his chances of survival. She smiled reassuringly, and Vurp relaxed somewhat. "You and I should make a good team," Porphyria told him, "I've worked with people from your order before, and always enjoyed the experience."
Vurp nodded slightly. Some of the other magi of his order had been quite vocal in the past concerning their experiences with Porphyria. The phrase 'madwoman' came up with astonishing frequency, but then again, what could one expect from an ELF guerilla? The ELF form of magic basically relied upon calling up ancient and terrifying Powers and letting them rampage, all the time hoping that they hit the right target. It was nothing like the studied control that an experienced Frater gained over the elements. One would almost acquire madness as a survival tool, working as an ELF agent.
Vurp gathered up what little courage he had, and asked, "So what's the plan, mistress? Taking over the world might be a bit much for just the two of us."
"Oh, it probably is, and I was just joking, really. I think we should start with someplace smaller first, like Camille."
"You really mean to take over Camille? But why? I thought that we'd be spreading chaos. It seems like taking a place over would require imposing some sort of order, which is kind of the opposite."
Porphyria smiled happily, and replied, "Sometimes the surest path to true discord is to encourage the aneristic principle to flourish and begin to dominate. After all, very few really good revolutions start because there's too little control. And when empires finally fall, they tend to create enough discord to last hundreds of years, even if the empire only lasted a handful. Loosen the reins of power enough, and society becomes essentially self-ordering, but tighten them until society has no concept of self-order, and then let those reins snap, and that's when things really get interesting."
Vurp looked into Porphyria's eyes as she leaned towards him, entranced by the yellow runes that seemed to swim through her deep black irises. He looked for a hint of sanity somewhere behind those eyes, but could only see inscrutable depth. Vurp felt some fear at what this strange ELF agent proposed, but at the same time felt against his better judgment that he should work with her to see that her goals would be achieved.
"Madam, excuse me for questioning you," Vurp begain, seeming to wince at each word as it came out, "but I thought that chaos was all about giving people freedom, not about causing a new dark age."
"It's not about giving people freedom, Vurp. It's about making them realize that they already have freedom, no matter what their king or priest says. The State and the Church enforce order through a complex system of fear and force, and people buy into it -- they even begin to crave it. If you just kill the king, soon enough people will raise up another king. But if you make it so that people don't want any more kings, then you've got something that can last." Porphyria stood back form Vurp and turned around, looking into a dark corner of the room, continuing, "Dark ages are when people are the most free, anyhow. In order for people to experience real freedom, the system has to break down as utterly as it can."
Wow, Vurp thought, she really is completely bonkers. But there was still something in the back of his mind that couldn't simply dismiss what she was saying. For some reason, he found himself twisted more and more towards Porphyria's way of thinking, the more he thought about it. Maybe there was something to what she was saying, even if the first impulse of his gentle nature was to rebel against it.
"I see your point, Madam." Vurp's answer was timid and reverential.
Porphyria stood silent for some time, and then said, "We'll leave for Camille in a few days. I doubt we'll have much trouble with the Justicars there -- the strength of the Pantarchic Church in the city does tend to push out all the other religions. At the very least, we ought to be able to make a bit of a stir there, won't we?"
Vurp nodded, happy to at last have a hand in bigger events -- to have a Higher Purpose, even if it would probably get him run out of every town he set foot in, if not killed.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Friday, July 17, 2009
Chapter 9, Part 1 - Boglin
Porphyria enjoyed the cool night air as she sat on the porch of the Discordian safe house. In the week since she had come to the city, she had come to tolerate its various eccentricities. The small but lively nyloc community in the city had come to regard Porphyria as one of their own -- due in part, no doubt, to the influence of the Golden Apple -- and Porphyria enjoyed their company.
A sudden crashing noise off to her left brought Porphyria out of her reverie and into a combat stance as she quickly engaged her psychic invisibility. Out of the darkness from the direction of the noise, a smallish, green-skinned creature came flying as it made a beeline for the door of the Discordian safe house. Damn, Porphyria thought, looks like someone's bringing trouble with them. Porphyria sighed. She had just gotten the safe house comfortable, as well. If she was forced to abandon it due to the antics of this creature, she would be quite annoyed.
Luckily, there was little sign of anything chasing the creature, as it made it to the door and quickly rushed inside, slamming the door behind it. Moments later, a pair of guardsmen came rushing around the corner, stopping and looking slightly confused as they peered around, searching for their quarry. They strolled down the road, poking piles of garbage and peering into shadows, but walked straight past the safe house without pausing. As the two guardsmen turned the corner at the other end of the street, Porphyria breathed a sigh of relief and turned to the door. It was time to see who this new guest was.
As Porphyria slipped in the door, she heard a strange, hissing voice chant in Enochian. Porphyria's future sense alerted her to oncoming danger, and she dove aside just in time to avoid an almost-solid gust of wind which screamed past her ear and slammed into the door behind her, causing it to shudder violently. In the middle of her dive, Porphyria applied psychokinetic energies to change her course and propel her towards the small figure in the darkness, who was already chanting another phrase in Enochian. Porphyria crashed into the short figure about waist-height, knocking the breath from it and disrupting its spell. Grabbing the creature by the neck, Porphyria stood and examined her catch, holding the creature at arms-length as it attempted to smile ingratiatingly.
On close inspection, the strange creature was obviously a boglin -- a race rumored to be a cross between a goblin and a slaan, which shared little of the redeeming qualities of either race. The boglin's green skin oozed a slimy moisture which reminded Porphyria unpleasantly of urine, and its homely, frog-like face showed an expression of terror behind its sickly smile. The boglin was dressed in a thigh-length, sky-colored robe that looked almost comical on the creature's skinny form. Porphyria felt little weight at the end of her arm -- the boglin obviously had the ability to levitate, and was doing so in order to avoid being choked at Porphyria's hand.
Porphyria looked into the eyes of the boglin, and threatened, "Now, there will be no more of that magic in here, understood?"
The boglin nodded cautiously, its eyes darting around, apparently searching for some means of escape.
"Good, because if I hear any language other than Anglic from you, I swear that you won't survive to get out more than two words." At that, Porphyria released the boglin's throat and smiled with amusement as it hovered in the air before her rather than dropping to the floor. "Now, I would like to know who you are, and why you came here."
The boglin gulped, rubbing its neck, "My name is Vurp, apprentice brother of the Ordo Zephyrius Mutatoris, and Discordian Legionnaire. And I'm sorry for attacking you, madam, but I thought you were a Hellhound."
Porphyria nodded slightly, replying, "No problem. My name's Porphyria, ELF guerilla," -- the boglin's eyes widened slightly as a flicker of recognition played across his face -- "Why were the Hellhounds chasing you?"
"A simple misunderstanding, mistress Porphyria. I was accused of attempting to liberate a small amount of coin from a nobleman." Vurp's eyes continued searching the room for a means of escape, even though his body was almost completely relaxed. Perhaps it was a nervous habit.
"So you're a wizard, eh?"
"Merely an apprentice, madam. I have yet a long way to go before I am able to do more than the simplest of spells, but I am learning the best that I can."
Porphyria paused for a moment, considering. "Well, you're welcome to stay here, Vurp. As long as you promise not to send any lightning bolts my way, that is."
Vurp's eyes widened, "Of course not, Lady Porphyria. Even if I could muster a lightning bolt, I would never dream of harming you. By the way, is there any food in here? I'm hungry."
"There's some in the pantry there, although I don't know how fresh it is. I usually go out to eat," Porphyria said, "You're welcome to anything you can find."
Vurp smiled happily, saying, "Thank you. I'm really hungry." The boglin climbed up on the countertop in the kitchen and began rummaging through the cabinets.
Porphyria watched as Vurp found some dried meats and fruits and began to unceremoniously devour them. Perhaps this little creature would prove useful. After all, the magi of the Ordo Zephyrius Mutatoris had potent magic when properly trained, and Porphyria felt that she could use the ally.
"How would you like a job, Vurp?" Porphyria asked the boglin once he was done shoveling a meager meal into his mouth.
"Eh? What sort of job, madam?" Vurp seemed slightly confused at the question, and appeared as if he was looking for some possibility for escape, although Porphyria assumed that this was just his general demeanor.
"You'll be helping me take over the world, of course," Porphyria laughed, only partly serious. "You'll be my assistant, and help wherever I need it."
Vurp thought for a moment, considering. The Ordo Zehyrius Mutatoris had been his life for the past dozen years, but Vurp felt that he might be able to learn much more through this infamous ELF agent and her adventures. "Fine. I'll come along with you, madam." Vurp felt that perhaps he was making a mistake, but assumed that things would work themselves out eventually, even despite the strong sense of foreboding within his gut.
A sudden crashing noise off to her left brought Porphyria out of her reverie and into a combat stance as she quickly engaged her psychic invisibility. Out of the darkness from the direction of the noise, a smallish, green-skinned creature came flying as it made a beeline for the door of the Discordian safe house. Damn, Porphyria thought, looks like someone's bringing trouble with them. Porphyria sighed. She had just gotten the safe house comfortable, as well. If she was forced to abandon it due to the antics of this creature, she would be quite annoyed.
Luckily, there was little sign of anything chasing the creature, as it made it to the door and quickly rushed inside, slamming the door behind it. Moments later, a pair of guardsmen came rushing around the corner, stopping and looking slightly confused as they peered around, searching for their quarry. They strolled down the road, poking piles of garbage and peering into shadows, but walked straight past the safe house without pausing. As the two guardsmen turned the corner at the other end of the street, Porphyria breathed a sigh of relief and turned to the door. It was time to see who this new guest was.
As Porphyria slipped in the door, she heard a strange, hissing voice chant in Enochian. Porphyria's future sense alerted her to oncoming danger, and she dove aside just in time to avoid an almost-solid gust of wind which screamed past her ear and slammed into the door behind her, causing it to shudder violently. In the middle of her dive, Porphyria applied psychokinetic energies to change her course and propel her towards the small figure in the darkness, who was already chanting another phrase in Enochian. Porphyria crashed into the short figure about waist-height, knocking the breath from it and disrupting its spell. Grabbing the creature by the neck, Porphyria stood and examined her catch, holding the creature at arms-length as it attempted to smile ingratiatingly.
On close inspection, the strange creature was obviously a boglin -- a race rumored to be a cross between a goblin and a slaan, which shared little of the redeeming qualities of either race. The boglin's green skin oozed a slimy moisture which reminded Porphyria unpleasantly of urine, and its homely, frog-like face showed an expression of terror behind its sickly smile. The boglin was dressed in a thigh-length, sky-colored robe that looked almost comical on the creature's skinny form. Porphyria felt little weight at the end of her arm -- the boglin obviously had the ability to levitate, and was doing so in order to avoid being choked at Porphyria's hand.
Porphyria looked into the eyes of the boglin, and threatened, "Now, there will be no more of that magic in here, understood?"
The boglin nodded cautiously, its eyes darting around, apparently searching for some means of escape.
"Good, because if I hear any language other than Anglic from you, I swear that you won't survive to get out more than two words." At that, Porphyria released the boglin's throat and smiled with amusement as it hovered in the air before her rather than dropping to the floor. "Now, I would like to know who you are, and why you came here."
The boglin gulped, rubbing its neck, "My name is Vurp, apprentice brother of the Ordo Zephyrius Mutatoris, and Discordian Legionnaire. And I'm sorry for attacking you, madam, but I thought you were a Hellhound."
Porphyria nodded slightly, replying, "No problem. My name's Porphyria, ELF guerilla," -- the boglin's eyes widened slightly as a flicker of recognition played across his face -- "Why were the Hellhounds chasing you?"
"A simple misunderstanding, mistress Porphyria. I was accused of attempting to liberate a small amount of coin from a nobleman." Vurp's eyes continued searching the room for a means of escape, even though his body was almost completely relaxed. Perhaps it was a nervous habit.
"So you're a wizard, eh?"
"Merely an apprentice, madam. I have yet a long way to go before I am able to do more than the simplest of spells, but I am learning the best that I can."
Porphyria paused for a moment, considering. "Well, you're welcome to stay here, Vurp. As long as you promise not to send any lightning bolts my way, that is."
Vurp's eyes widened, "Of course not, Lady Porphyria. Even if I could muster a lightning bolt, I would never dream of harming you. By the way, is there any food in here? I'm hungry."
"There's some in the pantry there, although I don't know how fresh it is. I usually go out to eat," Porphyria said, "You're welcome to anything you can find."
Vurp smiled happily, saying, "Thank you. I'm really hungry." The boglin climbed up on the countertop in the kitchen and began rummaging through the cabinets.
Porphyria watched as Vurp found some dried meats and fruits and began to unceremoniously devour them. Perhaps this little creature would prove useful. After all, the magi of the Ordo Zephyrius Mutatoris had potent magic when properly trained, and Porphyria felt that she could use the ally.
"How would you like a job, Vurp?" Porphyria asked the boglin once he was done shoveling a meager meal into his mouth.
"Eh? What sort of job, madam?" Vurp seemed slightly confused at the question, and appeared as if he was looking for some possibility for escape, although Porphyria assumed that this was just his general demeanor.
"You'll be helping me take over the world, of course," Porphyria laughed, only partly serious. "You'll be my assistant, and help wherever I need it."
Vurp thought for a moment, considering. The Ordo Zehyrius Mutatoris had been his life for the past dozen years, but Vurp felt that he might be able to learn much more through this infamous ELF agent and her adventures. "Fine. I'll come along with you, madam." Vurp felt that perhaps he was making a mistake, but assumed that things would work themselves out eventually, even despite the strong sense of foreboding within his gut.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Chapter 8 - Aftermath
Wyrena looked around at the walls of the Ivory Tower and sighed. The walls stank with the caked-on viscera of Justicars -- her brothers and sisters in arms, who had fallen protecting the tower from that demon. Attempting to protect it, anyhow, Wyrena thought to herself as she applied her rag to the formerly-white stone, scrubbing vigorously. By all indications, Porphyria had been after just one thing, the artifact that Coelwyn had been keeping and researching a way to destroy. And the ELF agent had gotten what she came for. Wyrena shuddered as she thought of what that artifact could do in the hands of someone like Porphyria. Whatever came next, it would likely not be very pretty.
And the thought that it was all her fault nagged Wyrena's conscience as she sat there amongst the aftermath of the previous night's battle. She could have warned the others long ago, if not for her shame in not being strong enough to resist Porphyria's tortures. The Justicars could have been ready, instead of having been taken off-guard as they were. And it was all her fault. Shame squeezed Wyrena's heart even harder now, and was even more terrible to bear now -- her temporary reprieve had come too late, and now the damage was done. If Wyrena confessed now, she would be kicked out of the Justicars, at best.
Wyrena looked at the new cracks in the wall she was scrubbing and cursed herself softly. Not all of the Justicars who had fallen last night would be coming back, even though the Justicars had more than enough -- if just barely -- to pay a priest to raise them. Some of those who had fallen had made their wishes clear long ago that they desired nothing more than to go to serve Tyr in the afterlife should they fall in battle, and the rest of the Justicars were honor-bound to follow those wishes. To Wyrena, it felt like a terrible waste of talent at a time in which the Justicars would need it most, but she supposed that her own faith might simply be insufficient to find solace in the idea that those who had fallen would be enjoying their richly-deserved rewards.
"Private, a word, if you would." The soft voice startled Wyrena out of her reverie, and she looked up to see one of the lieutenants, a sharp-featured half-elven woman, standing slightly behind her.
Wyrena nodded and put down her cloth, looking up obediently at the lieutenant. "Yes, madam?"
"Before he passed, Sergeant Upton wrote a memo detailing how admirably you stood against the raptorak raiders you met on your caravan duty. We found this note in his personal effects this morning. Additionally, we all saw how well you handled yourself against the orcish legion that assaulted the Tower last night. Had you not come when you did, many more might have fallen."
Wyrena shook her head at the lieutenant's words. An overwhelming guilt threatened to overcome her and force her to shout out the secret -- that it was her fault in the first place. Instead, Wyrena simply demurred, "I don't know what to say, madam. I simply tried to follow my duty."
The lieutenant smiled, replying, "And you did that very well. Far more ably than a simple private could have. So henceforth, you will bear the rank of corporal, and be entitled to all attendant privileges of your new rank. That will be all."
Wyrena lowered her eyes as the lieutenant turned to leave. Didn't the Justicars around here see that she shouldn't be rewarded for anything? She hung her head for a moment, and then returned to the scrubbing of the walls, hoping that perhaps there was some sort of penance in this simple act.
===
Porphyria looked around her with barely-veiled disdain. The city of Sanctuary was an oppressive place; the sort of city that touted itself as safe and orderly, but only achieved the semblance of safety by keeping nooses tightly-wound around everyone's necks. Public executions were distressingly common here, with the bodies being carted off to Kurd in the morgue so that further horrors and indignities could be perpetrated upon those who would tarnish the image of the city through thievery or murder.
A sigh escaped Porphyria's lips as she frowned her disapproval at the slave market when she passed it. Whatever distaste she might feel about staying in such a city, it was at least safe for her for the time being. The mainland of Almeria would likely be too dangerous for the time being, as the Justicars and their agents scoured the cities for Porphyria, seeking their revenge. And it wasn't as if this city was all bad, even despite the ever-present heat and humidity. There were still some small amenities here.
The Discordian safehouse was, like the one in Losthaven, almost conspicuously non-descript, presenting a facade of studied and deliberate squalor to the outside world, while being almost opulent inside. Porphyria knocked on the door, and then entered as no response came. The house had obviously not been used in a couple of months. Good -- the fewer people who knew Porphyria's whereabouts, the better.
Porphyria's eyes adjusted quickly to the inner gloom of the safehouse, and she let slip the small amount of concentration she had dedicated towards editing her presence out of the minds of onlookers. Porphyria looked at her new prize. The Apple of Discord, now masquerading as a ring on Porphyria's finger, promised great things to come. Unfortunately, while bearing the Apple provided Porphyria with increased favor with the forces of Chaos and some protection from Order, it would not protect her completely from the Justicars, and so she would hide away for a time, here in Sanctuary, while the Justicars exhausted their search and retired to their Ivory Tower.
Unlike the interior of the safehouse in Losthaven, this house was entirely mundane. There were no impossible angles or tricks of perspective, only cobwebs and dust. A cupboard full of preserved meats and fruits had been left behind by whoever had used the house in the past, but there was little else in the way of provisions. Porphyria was tired, and decided that she would sleep for the rest of the day, and then go out for something to eat at night.
===
Wyrena collapsed upon the bed in her new quarters. She had finished the arduous task of scrubbing the walls, and they again gleamed white. The corporals' quarters were a welcome relief from the closeness of the privates' chambers, which were little more than open bunk rooms. She would still be sharing a room with someone else -- another corporal -- but Wyrena felt that she now had more privacy than ever before in her life. This was almost the case, as Wyrena had spent nearly her whole life within the confines of the Ivory Tower, sleeping in a common room with a dozen or so other Justicars.
Wyrena stretched out on the bed, examining the small specks of blood she had been unable to remove from under her fingernails. Idly, she wondered how much more blood she would see in her life, and how much more she would be called upon to spill in Tyr's name. Wyrena knew the need for Order and the dangers presented by Chaos, but couldn't help feeling that there was little anyone could do to really tip the scales in the favor of either. Certainly, the influence and nearness of the Justicars had helped to keep the lands of Andala somewhat safe from the forces of Chaos, but then again, this was also a land where raptorak could raid caravans and good people could be lost fighting against some terrible and frightening demon that had invaded their home.
No, Wyrena thought to herself, it is important. People should be able to know what to expect in life. To know that there are rules, and that the universe isn't simply run on idle whim and random occurrences. As she drifted off to sleep, Wyrena could only hope to herself that her convictions were true, and not some idle fantasy.
===
Porphyria walked down the streets in a darkness lit only by the light of a barely-waxing moon. The street lamps were few and far between, almost absent from this run-down portion of the city. Porphyria strolled down the street almost completely alone. Although Sanctuary had no official curfew, few wandered its streets at night, for fear of being either robbed, or being mistaken for a thief by an often over-zealous guard force. Porphyria had passed less than a dozen people by the time she had walked to the spot she had been looking for -- a small tavern from which a strange and disquieting hissing spilled, being almost completely silent otherwise.
As she stepped inside, Porphyria was greeted by almost absolute blackness, and allowed her eyes time to adjust to the interior of the room. Shadowy creatures surrounded nearly half the low tables in the room, their legless lower halves reclining upon cushions on the floor. As Porphyria entered, many of the creatures looked up with suspicion evident in their glowing eyes, and the whispering sounds of their conversations muted slightly as a few more nylocs turned to stare.
Porphyria made her way to a table near the center of the room, and sat down cross-legged on the floor, gingerly folding her wings so that she might accomplish this feat with some measure of grace. Most of the suspicious gazes had left Porphyria, although furtive glances continued, and a more regular level of conversation resumed. A pudgy-looking nyloc came out from behind the counter, gliding gracefully and coming to a hover by Porphyria's left arm.
"Greetings, madam. I am Zerifelxis, your host. Please do not take offense, but are you certain that you are in the right place?" At the tavern-keeper's question, several of the nylocs nearby chuckled their amusement, raising an almost-disquieting hiss.
"Yes. I'm certain. And I'm very hungry, so please bring a bowl of whatever's on special tonight." Porphyria's eyes looked into those of the tavern-keeper, and she could almost feel the Golden Apple working its charms upon him.
The nyloc blinked in momentary confusion, and he responded, "I'm very sorry, madam, for my previous rudeness. Of course, your meal will be on its way immediately, and it will be on the house." The tavern-keeper quickly glided back behind the bar, and Porphyria smiled with satisfaction. She had been able to manipulate the nyloc as effortlessly as breathing, and could feel the glances of the others in the room slowly moving away from suspicion as the Apple worked its charms upon them.
Zerifelxis soon came back with a bowl full of blood, with curds of congealed blood floating in it. To Porphyria's nose, it smelled as wonderful as any other food she had smelled, and she began to think that perhaps being a blood-drinker might not be the worst thing in the world. The soup was hot, and as she bit into one of the congealed lumps, Porphyria savored flavors that non-sanguivores had little conception of and no real description for. The resulting sensations were delightful and heady, and Porphyria had almost eaten half her meal before she paused to regard a small glass canister on the side of her table. She sniffed the container quizzically, and was surprised at the scent of hot chili peppers wafting from inside. Similar canisters stood upon all of the other tables, and Porphyria wondered at that -- wouldn't a sanguivore have difficulty digesting the chili? Then again, others eat all kinds of indigestible things, like corn, Porphyria thought as she sprinkled her soup with a pinch of chili pepper. The spice livened up the dish considerably, making it all the more delicious. Porphyria quickly finished.
Looking around, Porphyria saw that the occasional glances in her direction had changed tone to respect and acceptance, although she could not tell whether the change was because of the Apple, or because she had finished an entire bowl of nyloc cuisine while appearing to enjoy every spoonful. She supposed that really, the reason for the change in demeanor hardly mattered. The tavern-keeper glided back over to her table, and Porphyria smiled pleasantly. It had been a long time since she had had a good meal, and she thanked the nyloc as he cleared her table. Porphyria offered a small silver coin as a tip, but the tavern-keeper waved her off casually saying, "It was a pleasure to serve you, madam. And please, do come back soon."
Porphyria nodded her agreement, and stood back up. As she walked back out the tavern door, Porphyria had the strange experience of being nearly dazzled by the bright light of a nearly moonless night. The interior of the tavern certainly was dark. Full and happy, Porphyria slowly wandered back in the direction of the safehouse, enjoying the dark, peaceful night.
And the thought that it was all her fault nagged Wyrena's conscience as she sat there amongst the aftermath of the previous night's battle. She could have warned the others long ago, if not for her shame in not being strong enough to resist Porphyria's tortures. The Justicars could have been ready, instead of having been taken off-guard as they were. And it was all her fault. Shame squeezed Wyrena's heart even harder now, and was even more terrible to bear now -- her temporary reprieve had come too late, and now the damage was done. If Wyrena confessed now, she would be kicked out of the Justicars, at best.
Wyrena looked at the new cracks in the wall she was scrubbing and cursed herself softly. Not all of the Justicars who had fallen last night would be coming back, even though the Justicars had more than enough -- if just barely -- to pay a priest to raise them. Some of those who had fallen had made their wishes clear long ago that they desired nothing more than to go to serve Tyr in the afterlife should they fall in battle, and the rest of the Justicars were honor-bound to follow those wishes. To Wyrena, it felt like a terrible waste of talent at a time in which the Justicars would need it most, but she supposed that her own faith might simply be insufficient to find solace in the idea that those who had fallen would be enjoying their richly-deserved rewards.
"Private, a word, if you would." The soft voice startled Wyrena out of her reverie, and she looked up to see one of the lieutenants, a sharp-featured half-elven woman, standing slightly behind her.
Wyrena nodded and put down her cloth, looking up obediently at the lieutenant. "Yes, madam?"
"Before he passed, Sergeant Upton wrote a memo detailing how admirably you stood against the raptorak raiders you met on your caravan duty. We found this note in his personal effects this morning. Additionally, we all saw how well you handled yourself against the orcish legion that assaulted the Tower last night. Had you not come when you did, many more might have fallen."
Wyrena shook her head at the lieutenant's words. An overwhelming guilt threatened to overcome her and force her to shout out the secret -- that it was her fault in the first place. Instead, Wyrena simply demurred, "I don't know what to say, madam. I simply tried to follow my duty."
The lieutenant smiled, replying, "And you did that very well. Far more ably than a simple private could have. So henceforth, you will bear the rank of corporal, and be entitled to all attendant privileges of your new rank. That will be all."
Wyrena lowered her eyes as the lieutenant turned to leave. Didn't the Justicars around here see that she shouldn't be rewarded for anything? She hung her head for a moment, and then returned to the scrubbing of the walls, hoping that perhaps there was some sort of penance in this simple act.
===
Porphyria looked around her with barely-veiled disdain. The city of Sanctuary was an oppressive place; the sort of city that touted itself as safe and orderly, but only achieved the semblance of safety by keeping nooses tightly-wound around everyone's necks. Public executions were distressingly common here, with the bodies being carted off to Kurd in the morgue so that further horrors and indignities could be perpetrated upon those who would tarnish the image of the city through thievery or murder.
A sigh escaped Porphyria's lips as she frowned her disapproval at the slave market when she passed it. Whatever distaste she might feel about staying in such a city, it was at least safe for her for the time being. The mainland of Almeria would likely be too dangerous for the time being, as the Justicars and their agents scoured the cities for Porphyria, seeking their revenge. And it wasn't as if this city was all bad, even despite the ever-present heat and humidity. There were still some small amenities here.
The Discordian safehouse was, like the one in Losthaven, almost conspicuously non-descript, presenting a facade of studied and deliberate squalor to the outside world, while being almost opulent inside. Porphyria knocked on the door, and then entered as no response came. The house had obviously not been used in a couple of months. Good -- the fewer people who knew Porphyria's whereabouts, the better.
Porphyria's eyes adjusted quickly to the inner gloom of the safehouse, and she let slip the small amount of concentration she had dedicated towards editing her presence out of the minds of onlookers. Porphyria looked at her new prize. The Apple of Discord, now masquerading as a ring on Porphyria's finger, promised great things to come. Unfortunately, while bearing the Apple provided Porphyria with increased favor with the forces of Chaos and some protection from Order, it would not protect her completely from the Justicars, and so she would hide away for a time, here in Sanctuary, while the Justicars exhausted their search and retired to their Ivory Tower.
Unlike the interior of the safehouse in Losthaven, this house was entirely mundane. There were no impossible angles or tricks of perspective, only cobwebs and dust. A cupboard full of preserved meats and fruits had been left behind by whoever had used the house in the past, but there was little else in the way of provisions. Porphyria was tired, and decided that she would sleep for the rest of the day, and then go out for something to eat at night.
===
Wyrena collapsed upon the bed in her new quarters. She had finished the arduous task of scrubbing the walls, and they again gleamed white. The corporals' quarters were a welcome relief from the closeness of the privates' chambers, which were little more than open bunk rooms. She would still be sharing a room with someone else -- another corporal -- but Wyrena felt that she now had more privacy than ever before in her life. This was almost the case, as Wyrena had spent nearly her whole life within the confines of the Ivory Tower, sleeping in a common room with a dozen or so other Justicars.
Wyrena stretched out on the bed, examining the small specks of blood she had been unable to remove from under her fingernails. Idly, she wondered how much more blood she would see in her life, and how much more she would be called upon to spill in Tyr's name. Wyrena knew the need for Order and the dangers presented by Chaos, but couldn't help feeling that there was little anyone could do to really tip the scales in the favor of either. Certainly, the influence and nearness of the Justicars had helped to keep the lands of Andala somewhat safe from the forces of Chaos, but then again, this was also a land where raptorak could raid caravans and good people could be lost fighting against some terrible and frightening demon that had invaded their home.
No, Wyrena thought to herself, it is important. People should be able to know what to expect in life. To know that there are rules, and that the universe isn't simply run on idle whim and random occurrences. As she drifted off to sleep, Wyrena could only hope to herself that her convictions were true, and not some idle fantasy.
===
Porphyria walked down the streets in a darkness lit only by the light of a barely-waxing moon. The street lamps were few and far between, almost absent from this run-down portion of the city. Porphyria strolled down the street almost completely alone. Although Sanctuary had no official curfew, few wandered its streets at night, for fear of being either robbed, or being mistaken for a thief by an often over-zealous guard force. Porphyria had passed less than a dozen people by the time she had walked to the spot she had been looking for -- a small tavern from which a strange and disquieting hissing spilled, being almost completely silent otherwise.
As she stepped inside, Porphyria was greeted by almost absolute blackness, and allowed her eyes time to adjust to the interior of the room. Shadowy creatures surrounded nearly half the low tables in the room, their legless lower halves reclining upon cushions on the floor. As Porphyria entered, many of the creatures looked up with suspicion evident in their glowing eyes, and the whispering sounds of their conversations muted slightly as a few more nylocs turned to stare.
Porphyria made her way to a table near the center of the room, and sat down cross-legged on the floor, gingerly folding her wings so that she might accomplish this feat with some measure of grace. Most of the suspicious gazes had left Porphyria, although furtive glances continued, and a more regular level of conversation resumed. A pudgy-looking nyloc came out from behind the counter, gliding gracefully and coming to a hover by Porphyria's left arm.
"Greetings, madam. I am Zerifelxis, your host. Please do not take offense, but are you certain that you are in the right place?" At the tavern-keeper's question, several of the nylocs nearby chuckled their amusement, raising an almost-disquieting hiss.
"Yes. I'm certain. And I'm very hungry, so please bring a bowl of whatever's on special tonight." Porphyria's eyes looked into those of the tavern-keeper, and she could almost feel the Golden Apple working its charms upon him.
The nyloc blinked in momentary confusion, and he responded, "I'm very sorry, madam, for my previous rudeness. Of course, your meal will be on its way immediately, and it will be on the house." The tavern-keeper quickly glided back behind the bar, and Porphyria smiled with satisfaction. She had been able to manipulate the nyloc as effortlessly as breathing, and could feel the glances of the others in the room slowly moving away from suspicion as the Apple worked its charms upon them.
Zerifelxis soon came back with a bowl full of blood, with curds of congealed blood floating in it. To Porphyria's nose, it smelled as wonderful as any other food she had smelled, and she began to think that perhaps being a blood-drinker might not be the worst thing in the world. The soup was hot, and as she bit into one of the congealed lumps, Porphyria savored flavors that non-sanguivores had little conception of and no real description for. The resulting sensations were delightful and heady, and Porphyria had almost eaten half her meal before she paused to regard a small glass canister on the side of her table. She sniffed the container quizzically, and was surprised at the scent of hot chili peppers wafting from inside. Similar canisters stood upon all of the other tables, and Porphyria wondered at that -- wouldn't a sanguivore have difficulty digesting the chili? Then again, others eat all kinds of indigestible things, like corn, Porphyria thought as she sprinkled her soup with a pinch of chili pepper. The spice livened up the dish considerably, making it all the more delicious. Porphyria quickly finished.
Looking around, Porphyria saw that the occasional glances in her direction had changed tone to respect and acceptance, although she could not tell whether the change was because of the Apple, or because she had finished an entire bowl of nyloc cuisine while appearing to enjoy every spoonful. She supposed that really, the reason for the change in demeanor hardly mattered. The tavern-keeper glided back over to her table, and Porphyria smiled pleasantly. It had been a long time since she had had a good meal, and she thanked the nyloc as he cleared her table. Porphyria offered a small silver coin as a tip, but the tavern-keeper waved her off casually saying, "It was a pleasure to serve you, madam. And please, do come back soon."
Porphyria nodded her agreement, and stood back up. As she walked back out the tavern door, Porphyria had the strange experience of being nearly dazzled by the bright light of a nearly moonless night. The interior of the tavern certainly was dark. Full and happy, Porphyria slowly wandered back in the direction of the safehouse, enjoying the dark, peaceful night.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Angels
Found out a few days ago that angels are a playable (at level 200+) race. Almost changed Porphyria's race on the spot, but figured that it'd contrast pretty badly with her basic theme. Still, if there was any race that I've been really wanting to play over the years, this would be it.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Chapter 7 - Apple
It was a little-known fact that the Golden Apple of Eris was neither an apple nor truly golden. In truth, the Apple could easily be said to be the physical embodiment of desire, as its form was completely malleable, and the Apple became what each viewer most craved in the world. As such, the Apple was one of the perfect mediums for creating conflict and discord, the desires of sentient beings being powerful enough to override their own common sense. Throw the Apple into a room, and soon each and every creature who viewed the apple would be battling to possess it.
If only for that one aspect of the Apple, it would perhaps be the most feared artifact in all the world. But in other hands, such as the hands of a skilled xotimancer who was high in the favor of the forces of Chaos, the Apple became a much more fearsome object. Such a person could, at will, force the Apple to become just about any object the person could imagine, whether that item was a sword of unearthly craftsmanship, a beautiful garment, or some other thing. The real power of the Apple in such hands, though, lay in its ability to impart its aura of desirability upon the xotimancer wielding it. Such a person, in possession of the Apple, would find their personal magnetism and their abilities to manipulate the hearts and minds of anyone around them increase beyond imagining. Such a possessor of the Apple could easily become the most favored advisor of a king, the leader of a revolution, or even the goddess of their own religion.
Of course, the Apple could not entirely influence the hearts and minds of all people, and those who were high enough in the favor of order could often see through the glamors of the Apple, as their minds were often too clouded by the desire for perfect order. The Justicars, in particular, were fanatical enough in their devotion to Tyr to be nearly immune to the effects of the Apple, and they had been able to capture the ancient and fearsome artifact from one of its owners, a small-time conman who used the Apple to seduce and murder his victims. But the Justicars could not quickly find a way to destroy the Apple, and so they kept it in their Ivory Tower, researching ways to destroy the implement of Chaos once and for all.
Porphyria caressed the artifact in her hands, entranced by its potential. To her, the Apple showed its true form -- the potential for unbridled power, and Porphyria knew in her heart that that was the thing which she truly craved most of all.
If only for that one aspect of the Apple, it would perhaps be the most feared artifact in all the world. But in other hands, such as the hands of a skilled xotimancer who was high in the favor of the forces of Chaos, the Apple became a much more fearsome object. Such a person could, at will, force the Apple to become just about any object the person could imagine, whether that item was a sword of unearthly craftsmanship, a beautiful garment, or some other thing. The real power of the Apple in such hands, though, lay in its ability to impart its aura of desirability upon the xotimancer wielding it. Such a person, in possession of the Apple, would find their personal magnetism and their abilities to manipulate the hearts and minds of anyone around them increase beyond imagining. Such a possessor of the Apple could easily become the most favored advisor of a king, the leader of a revolution, or even the goddess of their own religion.
Of course, the Apple could not entirely influence the hearts and minds of all people, and those who were high enough in the favor of order could often see through the glamors of the Apple, as their minds were often too clouded by the desire for perfect order. The Justicars, in particular, were fanatical enough in their devotion to Tyr to be nearly immune to the effects of the Apple, and they had been able to capture the ancient and fearsome artifact from one of its owners, a small-time conman who used the Apple to seduce and murder his victims. But the Justicars could not quickly find a way to destroy the Apple, and so they kept it in their Ivory Tower, researching ways to destroy the implement of Chaos once and for all.
Porphyria caressed the artifact in her hands, entranced by its potential. To her, the Apple showed its true form -- the potential for unbridled power, and Porphyria knew in her heart that that was the thing which she truly craved most of all.
Chapter 6 - Raid
A silvery sphere came into existence in Coelwyn's study, disappearing as quickly as it came and leaving behind a pair of gogtzulu and two invisible figures. Coelwyn leaped to her feet at the sight of the gogztulu, but was quickly laid low as Porphyria, unseen, swung the handle of her flux spear into the back of Coelwyn's neck, rendering her unconscious with a satisfying thud.
"Gogtzulu, guard the door. Kill anything that attempts to enter." Porphyria's order in the alien language of ngaathgl rang harshly against the alabaster walls of the tower, and the two gogtzulu went to stand by the door.
Porphyria quickly searched the prone form of Coelwyn for the artifact she sought. Porphyria longed to put the Justicar to death, as the death of this important figure in the Justicars' organization would no doubt diminish their capacity, but she stayed her hand -- if she could not find the artifact, she might have to take Coelwyn with her and attempt to extract that information forcefully. Nothing was to be found on the body of the Justicar. Porphyria swore under her breath. This would not be as easy as she had hoped, apparently.
"Work fast, agent. I hear someone coming. There must be some sort of ward here to alert the Justicars of intrusion." Even as Lethik spoke the words, Porphyria could hear the footsteps outside the door. As she looked over at the door, it opened, and a trio of armed figures came bursting in, their weapons glowing with the power of Tyr.
"Lethik, now!" Porphyria gave the order, extending her psychic senses so as to perceive the interplays of chance and to see the near future. Porphyria felt a slight feeling of vertigo as her psychic senses opened up to the dim echoes of future possibilities. In her mind, Porphyria could see the possibilities for each moment in time coalesce into a single concrete probability an instant before the moment passed, and she focused her attention slightly beyond that, so as to be able to react to the most likely possibilities even before they arrived. At the same time, Porphyria felt herself gaining an almost instinctual insight into the various unknowable factors which affected her destiny, and how to insert her own actions into any given situation for the best possible outcome.
At the same time, Porphyria created a field of psychokinetic energy around herself to turn aside blows, giving her added protection beyond the impenetrability of her chaos-forged armor. The psionic fields within Porphyria's matrix strained to keep up with the new demands put upon it, but held admirably.
The two gogtzulu had moved to block the way of the three Justicars, even as Lethik raised his ring-hand and pointed at the closest Justicar. A bright bolt of energy came bursting from Lethik's ring, striking its target with a small concussive force and knocking him back. At the same time, ripples of disruptive energy radiated from the Justicar at the point at which he had been struck. Porphyria felt for a moment as if the air had left the room as the local aether became strained to the breaking point and finally snapped. The Justicars' weapons ceased glowing. Porphyria smiled, hoisting her flux spear and subvocalizing its activation word, a faint feeling of glee filling her as the glowing blue blade sprang to life. For the next few moments in this space, the calls of the Justicars upon their god would go unheard, the aether too wounded to carry their pleas to the ears of Tyr.
"This is goodbye then, agent. I look forward to learning whether or not you survive this, as I have a few bets out on the issue." With that, the ringwielder sprang through the wall of the tower and into the night.
The two gogtzulu fell upon the Justicars with vengeance, and Porphyria could see pain cross their faces as the gogtzulu channeled mental energy flux into their minds, all the while attacking with their sharp claws. Satisfied that the gogtzul would be able to handle this wave, Porphyria went back to her search, tossing items around the study carelessly. Porphyria's frantic search turned up little but useless knick-knacks, books, icons of Tyr, and other personal effects of Coelwyn. The ELF agent fumed -- time was running out. Even if the anti-magic field did not give way soon, the army of orcs below could lose their nerve at any moment, sending the bulk of the Justicar defense force up to meet with her.
Soon, the sound of more fighting distracted Porphyria from her search, and she looked towards the door to find six more Justicars fighting against the two gogtzulu, delivering severe wounds to her servants. Although the Justicars could not call upon their god at present, they were still heavily-armed professional soldiers who could take their toll upon the raiders, and they were doing their best to take down the two gogtzulu, scoring several hits upon the two horrendous creatures. Porphyria decided that it was time to get her hands dirty.
As Porphyria strode into the fray, one of the gogtzulu took a mortal wound to its neck, the sword of a Justicar striking nearly clean through and spraying the strange green ichor of the gogtzul onto the wall. Porphyria ducked a mace blow fluidly, sensing it coming. In the next moment, Porphyria used her psionic senses to guide her spear between the Justicar's mace and shield, and caused the Justicar to scream in agony as she jammed her flux spear into the Justicar's chest, disrupting the nerves around his heart and causing him to die in the most incredible pain imaginable. Porphyria found herself exposed to the wild swing of another Justicar's sword, unable to dodge, but she turned the blow aside with her psychokinetic field at the last moment, feeling the force of the blow as a strange pressure somewhere in her mind that was quickly dissipated. Porphyria reversed her flux spear's direction and skewered the Justicar's leg at the kneecap, disabling him.
Although only four Justicars remained, Porphyria could see that her remaining gogtzul would not be enough to aid her, as one of its arms had been disabled and its wounds were causing it to slow down. At the same time, Porphyria was forced to the defensive as three of the four Justicars focused their attention on their invisible foe, and while she was able to ensure that none of their wild strikes landed on her, Porphyria could not focus enough attention on finding an opening. Porphyria felt a sense of urgency, as the Justicars would soon have the upper hand if she didn't find the artifact soon, and get out of there.
Making up her mind that the gogtzul was as good as lost, Porphyria built up her feelings of anger and hostility and in the next moment released them into a burst of psychokinetic energy. The energy radiated in a single solid burst, causing the air to ripple as it was compressed by the wave of explosive force. The stones on the wall near Porphyria cracked slightly but held, while the same could not be said about the four Justicars and the gogtzul, all of which grotesquely twisted as the shockwave hit them and their internal organs and bones ruptured. Blood and ichor leaked from strange places as the five lifeless figures slumped to the ground.
Satisfied that the immediate threat was over, Porphyria went back to her search, looking around for the artifact. The psychic shockwave had not penetrated too far into the study, but it still left a mess of strewn papers and books. Porphyria scanned the study, looking in drawers and stacks of papers for the object. She could almost feel its presence nearby, but there was no true hint of the artifact to be found.
Porphyria was so engrossed in her search that she did not notice the subtle feeling of the local aether repairing itself and bringing the forces of magic back into the small study. It was too late to react when Porphyria heard the chanting of a litany to Tyr behind her and turned to see a Justicar raising his shield to the heavens.
Porphyria felt a brief pang of terror as her psionic senses confirmed what she already knew, and all possibilities converged into one concrete, unavoidable moment which filled Porphyria's future-sense with a blinding certainty, beyond which she could not see. She stood as if frozen in time as the Justicar's shield flashed briefly and burst with silvery light. The next moment, a burst of silvery light engulfed Porphyria, and she felt the eye of Tyr upon herself.
As the silvery wave encompassed her, Porphyria felt incredible pain as her metabolic processes slowed and the entropy was driven from her body. Porphyria could feel many of the molecules of her body attempt to self-organize into crystalline lattices, causing many of her cells to die as they were choked with foreign structures. Nerve impulses slowed and were disrupted, and Porphyria could feel her focus on her barrier of invisibility slip and falter. The flux spear in Porphyria's hands became brittle and shattered under the incredible power of Tyr's judgment upon Porphyria.
The moment of horror passed, leaving Porphyria wounded and battered, but still standing. Porphyria could see several more Justicars rushing towards the study, some of the higher-ranking ones preparing to bring down the wrath of Tyr upon Porphyria again, their shields raised in defiance.
"No. My turn now." The words were only whispered by Porphyria, but she echoed her spoken words with a wave of telepathic energy, startling many of the surrounding horde and causing them to falter in their prayers to Tyr. In the next moment, Porphyria drew a long, black steel dagger from her belt, and threw it to the ground at her feet.
"Lord Kalkin, undefeated in battle, binder of demons, lord of lightning, manifest your indomitable power, I beseech you!" Porphyria's invocation rang out against the walls of the Ivory Tower, and she could feel herself being transfixed by the awesome presence of the god of lightning. The dagger at Porphyria's feet arced with electrical energy and vanished in a bright blue flash, causing a sphere of arcing electricity to form in its place.
The sphere of arcing lightning expanded in an instant, passing through everything in its path. Porphyria was somehow unharmed by the passage of the awesome power, but the Justicars bore the brunt of a fearsome electrical shock, several of them being knocked from their feet, others simply collapsing in place. The awful smell of smoldering hair and flesh filled the air of the small study quickly, emanating from the mass of figures now lying prone on the scorched ground around Porphyria.
Once she ascertained that there were no further threats from the Justicars near her, Porphyria returned to her search for the artifact, engaging her astral senses so as to hopefully gain some glimmer of the artifact's presence. The whole area of the study was encompassed by blinding silvery light in Porphyria's eyes, revealing the astral imprint of the vile consecrations to Tyr. But at the same time, the monochrome silvery pallet of the tower's astral presence gave stark relief to the glimmer of shifting chaos that presented itself from the crack in a small wooden box, heretofore unnoticed in the corner, and likely blown there by the incredible forces that had been unleashed.
Porphyria sprang upon the box, grabbing it from amongst the rubble and checking to see if it contained the artifact she sought. Inside, she could see through her astral sight the most powerful of chaotic emanations, and so satisfied, she made herself ready to make her escape, affixing in her mind an image of her dwelling in the mountains of Korindim. As she began to recite the invocation to Yog-Sothoth that would deliver her from the Ivory Tower, Porphyria saw a familiar face -- a young elven Justicar who had just reached the top of the stairs outside the door, her gaze falling upon Porphyria a moment before the ELF agent vanished into the silvery form of Yog-Sothoth. Poprhyria smiled at the look of horror upon the Justicar's face as once again, the world around Porphyria erupted into a confusing flurry of concepts.
"Gogtzulu, guard the door. Kill anything that attempts to enter." Porphyria's order in the alien language of ngaathgl rang harshly against the alabaster walls of the tower, and the two gogtzulu went to stand by the door.
Porphyria quickly searched the prone form of Coelwyn for the artifact she sought. Porphyria longed to put the Justicar to death, as the death of this important figure in the Justicars' organization would no doubt diminish their capacity, but she stayed her hand -- if she could not find the artifact, she might have to take Coelwyn with her and attempt to extract that information forcefully. Nothing was to be found on the body of the Justicar. Porphyria swore under her breath. This would not be as easy as she had hoped, apparently.
"Work fast, agent. I hear someone coming. There must be some sort of ward here to alert the Justicars of intrusion." Even as Lethik spoke the words, Porphyria could hear the footsteps outside the door. As she looked over at the door, it opened, and a trio of armed figures came bursting in, their weapons glowing with the power of Tyr.
"Lethik, now!" Porphyria gave the order, extending her psychic senses so as to perceive the interplays of chance and to see the near future. Porphyria felt a slight feeling of vertigo as her psychic senses opened up to the dim echoes of future possibilities. In her mind, Porphyria could see the possibilities for each moment in time coalesce into a single concrete probability an instant before the moment passed, and she focused her attention slightly beyond that, so as to be able to react to the most likely possibilities even before they arrived. At the same time, Porphyria felt herself gaining an almost instinctual insight into the various unknowable factors which affected her destiny, and how to insert her own actions into any given situation for the best possible outcome.
At the same time, Porphyria created a field of psychokinetic energy around herself to turn aside blows, giving her added protection beyond the impenetrability of her chaos-forged armor. The psionic fields within Porphyria's matrix strained to keep up with the new demands put upon it, but held admirably.
The two gogtzulu had moved to block the way of the three Justicars, even as Lethik raised his ring-hand and pointed at the closest Justicar. A bright bolt of energy came bursting from Lethik's ring, striking its target with a small concussive force and knocking him back. At the same time, ripples of disruptive energy radiated from the Justicar at the point at which he had been struck. Porphyria felt for a moment as if the air had left the room as the local aether became strained to the breaking point and finally snapped. The Justicars' weapons ceased glowing. Porphyria smiled, hoisting her flux spear and subvocalizing its activation word, a faint feeling of glee filling her as the glowing blue blade sprang to life. For the next few moments in this space, the calls of the Justicars upon their god would go unheard, the aether too wounded to carry their pleas to the ears of Tyr.
"This is goodbye then, agent. I look forward to learning whether or not you survive this, as I have a few bets out on the issue." With that, the ringwielder sprang through the wall of the tower and into the night.
The two gogtzulu fell upon the Justicars with vengeance, and Porphyria could see pain cross their faces as the gogtzulu channeled mental energy flux into their minds, all the while attacking with their sharp claws. Satisfied that the gogtzul would be able to handle this wave, Porphyria went back to her search, tossing items around the study carelessly. Porphyria's frantic search turned up little but useless knick-knacks, books, icons of Tyr, and other personal effects of Coelwyn. The ELF agent fumed -- time was running out. Even if the anti-magic field did not give way soon, the army of orcs below could lose their nerve at any moment, sending the bulk of the Justicar defense force up to meet with her.
Soon, the sound of more fighting distracted Porphyria from her search, and she looked towards the door to find six more Justicars fighting against the two gogtzulu, delivering severe wounds to her servants. Although the Justicars could not call upon their god at present, they were still heavily-armed professional soldiers who could take their toll upon the raiders, and they were doing their best to take down the two gogtzulu, scoring several hits upon the two horrendous creatures. Porphyria decided that it was time to get her hands dirty.
As Porphyria strode into the fray, one of the gogtzulu took a mortal wound to its neck, the sword of a Justicar striking nearly clean through and spraying the strange green ichor of the gogtzul onto the wall. Porphyria ducked a mace blow fluidly, sensing it coming. In the next moment, Porphyria used her psionic senses to guide her spear between the Justicar's mace and shield, and caused the Justicar to scream in agony as she jammed her flux spear into the Justicar's chest, disrupting the nerves around his heart and causing him to die in the most incredible pain imaginable. Porphyria found herself exposed to the wild swing of another Justicar's sword, unable to dodge, but she turned the blow aside with her psychokinetic field at the last moment, feeling the force of the blow as a strange pressure somewhere in her mind that was quickly dissipated. Porphyria reversed her flux spear's direction and skewered the Justicar's leg at the kneecap, disabling him.
Although only four Justicars remained, Porphyria could see that her remaining gogtzul would not be enough to aid her, as one of its arms had been disabled and its wounds were causing it to slow down. At the same time, Porphyria was forced to the defensive as three of the four Justicars focused their attention on their invisible foe, and while she was able to ensure that none of their wild strikes landed on her, Porphyria could not focus enough attention on finding an opening. Porphyria felt a sense of urgency, as the Justicars would soon have the upper hand if she didn't find the artifact soon, and get out of there.
Making up her mind that the gogtzul was as good as lost, Porphyria built up her feelings of anger and hostility and in the next moment released them into a burst of psychokinetic energy. The energy radiated in a single solid burst, causing the air to ripple as it was compressed by the wave of explosive force. The stones on the wall near Porphyria cracked slightly but held, while the same could not be said about the four Justicars and the gogtzul, all of which grotesquely twisted as the shockwave hit them and their internal organs and bones ruptured. Blood and ichor leaked from strange places as the five lifeless figures slumped to the ground.
Satisfied that the immediate threat was over, Porphyria went back to her search, looking around for the artifact. The psychic shockwave had not penetrated too far into the study, but it still left a mess of strewn papers and books. Porphyria scanned the study, looking in drawers and stacks of papers for the object. She could almost feel its presence nearby, but there was no true hint of the artifact to be found.
Porphyria was so engrossed in her search that she did not notice the subtle feeling of the local aether repairing itself and bringing the forces of magic back into the small study. It was too late to react when Porphyria heard the chanting of a litany to Tyr behind her and turned to see a Justicar raising his shield to the heavens.
Porphyria felt a brief pang of terror as her psionic senses confirmed what she already knew, and all possibilities converged into one concrete, unavoidable moment which filled Porphyria's future-sense with a blinding certainty, beyond which she could not see. She stood as if frozen in time as the Justicar's shield flashed briefly and burst with silvery light. The next moment, a burst of silvery light engulfed Porphyria, and she felt the eye of Tyr upon herself.
As the silvery wave encompassed her, Porphyria felt incredible pain as her metabolic processes slowed and the entropy was driven from her body. Porphyria could feel many of the molecules of her body attempt to self-organize into crystalline lattices, causing many of her cells to die as they were choked with foreign structures. Nerve impulses slowed and were disrupted, and Porphyria could feel her focus on her barrier of invisibility slip and falter. The flux spear in Porphyria's hands became brittle and shattered under the incredible power of Tyr's judgment upon Porphyria.
The moment of horror passed, leaving Porphyria wounded and battered, but still standing. Porphyria could see several more Justicars rushing towards the study, some of the higher-ranking ones preparing to bring down the wrath of Tyr upon Porphyria again, their shields raised in defiance.
"No. My turn now." The words were only whispered by Porphyria, but she echoed her spoken words with a wave of telepathic energy, startling many of the surrounding horde and causing them to falter in their prayers to Tyr. In the next moment, Porphyria drew a long, black steel dagger from her belt, and threw it to the ground at her feet.
"Lord Kalkin, undefeated in battle, binder of demons, lord of lightning, manifest your indomitable power, I beseech you!" Porphyria's invocation rang out against the walls of the Ivory Tower, and she could feel herself being transfixed by the awesome presence of the god of lightning. The dagger at Porphyria's feet arced with electrical energy and vanished in a bright blue flash, causing a sphere of arcing electricity to form in its place.
The sphere of arcing lightning expanded in an instant, passing through everything in its path. Porphyria was somehow unharmed by the passage of the awesome power, but the Justicars bore the brunt of a fearsome electrical shock, several of them being knocked from their feet, others simply collapsing in place. The awful smell of smoldering hair and flesh filled the air of the small study quickly, emanating from the mass of figures now lying prone on the scorched ground around Porphyria.
Once she ascertained that there were no further threats from the Justicars near her, Porphyria returned to her search for the artifact, engaging her astral senses so as to hopefully gain some glimmer of the artifact's presence. The whole area of the study was encompassed by blinding silvery light in Porphyria's eyes, revealing the astral imprint of the vile consecrations to Tyr. But at the same time, the monochrome silvery pallet of the tower's astral presence gave stark relief to the glimmer of shifting chaos that presented itself from the crack in a small wooden box, heretofore unnoticed in the corner, and likely blown there by the incredible forces that had been unleashed.
Porphyria sprang upon the box, grabbing it from amongst the rubble and checking to see if it contained the artifact she sought. Inside, she could see through her astral sight the most powerful of chaotic emanations, and so satisfied, she made herself ready to make her escape, affixing in her mind an image of her dwelling in the mountains of Korindim. As she began to recite the invocation to Yog-Sothoth that would deliver her from the Ivory Tower, Porphyria saw a familiar face -- a young elven Justicar who had just reached the top of the stairs outside the door, her gaze falling upon Porphyria a moment before the ELF agent vanished into the silvery form of Yog-Sothoth. Poprhyria smiled at the look of horror upon the Justicar's face as once again, the world around Porphyria erupted into a confusing flurry of concepts.
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