Forgotten Realms:
Angels and Demons
Part XXIV
Kirann stumbled, feeling the exhausting effects of using his abilities throughout the night. Raven came up to him, propping his up. He didn't miss the look of concern on her face and questioned how bad he looked. Her warmth was welcome though, as chills ran across his body. His price for pushing his limits, the rewards were to be seen.
"Come on, let's get you to a bed," she said with the utmost concern in her voice.
He nodded, "To the mansion, we must go."
"What? You must really be tired, you're talking funnier than usual," she ribbed him.
Despite being exhausted he laughed, "No, one of my teachers talked like that. Always, 'To find what you need, search within.' Same teacher loved my spartan speech."
"Sounds like an interesting place," Raven guided him towards where their belongings were.
Kirann agreed, "It was my home for many years. Destiny guides me towards a new one."
"Can't say I know that feeling," a deep sadness filled Raven with that admission.
He pulled her closer to him, "A home, a family, is more than a place and people that share blood. You have both with us. You belong."
They found his bag, opened the door to the mansion. Jeeves and Loralei were here to help the monk to his room. Loralei came back, pulling Raven off to hers. At first, she objected, but the thought of a warm bed won her over. Her last musing before falling asleep was a simple one. If you could choose a family, she would choose the one she had none.
Manheim was resting in his room at the inn. The Changeling was seeing to his every need. After a long battle, for which he was instrumental, he deserved the rest. He was also deserving of the other requests he was to make of the Changeling. The thoughts of which brought a smile to his face.
A knock at his door evaporated those thoughts, and the wizard sent her back into the container. Stiffly walking over to the door, he opened it. Standing there was Bruce Robertson, the court wizard for Lord Wallace. Dressed in his battle robes, the wizard looked tired but oddly dapper. Manheim hated the other man for that.
"What do you want?" Manheim growled.
Wizard Robertson disregarded the rude greeting, "You did well on the wall last night. Is there anything you require? I can have someone bring some food and drink up."
"I have what I need," Manheim rolled his eyes and turned away from his visitor. "Anything else?"
"Yes, it would be good for you and the other wizards to be in sync," the court wizard replied. "I would like you to practice with them, show them some of the better spells you have found. We are stronger together than apart."
Manheim answered back, "I care not for the inept magic hurlers you call wizards. They can either keep up or keep from holding me back. They should be following my lead anyway."
As politely as possible Bruce Robertson put the man in his place, "These wizards are under my command. They are well trained, and good people. The only lead they follow is mine. Though I appreciate what you have done, I'd take all of them and their dedication to Altamar, over self-interest. I offer resources, as a courtesy and thanks for your service. I'll be at the keep, if you require anything, wizard."
Manheim watched in shock as the other wizard marched away, like he wasn't a threat, turning his back on him. He wanted to throw a fireball at the other man, make him treat him as the power he was. Soon this idiot and all the like him would know the real power which Manheim wielded, and they would give him the respect he deserved. If not, they would soon be obliterated.
"Why do you fight with these imbeciles?" came a voice from the back of his room.
Manheim let out a prepared spell, magic missiles blasting towards where the voice had come from. Pieces of the wall and a table were hit, sending splinters and grit flying into the air. From his right, the voice laughed at the damage. Manheim cast a web spell, thinking to trap the intruders. All he managed was to damage more of the room. The voice had moved to his left.
"Such power you have collected, but nobody gives you the respect you deserve," the voice said. "To think I nearly commanded your power, that was my mistake. I should have allied with you instead."
Manheim pulled a rod from his robes, but didn't use the prepared spell in it, "Who are you?"
"Many call me 'Boss,' but you can call me, Tyrannus," the voice answered and became visible as a shadowy form. "I serve a lord in the Hells that has ambition, as do I. So, the trade is thus. You help us break this defense and allow us the DuValls. You'll find items to increase your power, make those who hold you back regret doing so."
Manheim lowered the rod, "Devils make a lot of promises, why should I believe yours?"
The Boss snarled, "I am no demon, fliting about murdering without reason. I am a devil, a maker of deals and must honor those deals. However, I can see you are smarter than the rest of these oafs. A taste of the power you can wield will suffice then?"
Manheim's magic book opened up, the pages moving on their own. Flipping page after page, one could see the arcane symbols and words that made up his collected power. On a blank page it stopped. Writing began on the page, slowly revealing a new spell. Manheim looked it over and read the words.
Instantly his mind flashed to a rocky desert. There a whip of fire snapped in the air, releasing currents of flame. Enemies, faceless and dark writhe in pain before becoming ash in the wind. The terrible figure unleashing this fury is finally seen, and it is Manheim. Behind him a plethora of beings kneeling in reverence to him.
"So, all you want is the city and the DuValls?" Manheim said, coming out of the vision.
The dark figure answered, "The DuValls first, their progeny can not be born. The city is secondary, though a jewel if conquered."
"I think we can come to an arrangement," Manheim said, visions of future power and glory running through his head.
Lord Wallace was exhausted. He had stayed appraised of the forces defending his land, and waited with held breath at incoming reports. As such it had been a long night, but a good one. He was proud of his forces, of them holding out against the invasion. He also knew that there was more to go. He was just so tired, and wanted this whole thing to go away.
"You look worse than the decaying monsters outside," Captain Reynold told him. "You should get some rest. I've got the walls under control and our people can handle the Orcs for a little while."
Lord Wallace shot him telling look, "My place is leading my people."
"To which sir, you have done a fantastic job. However, what they don't need to see is their leader falling over from exhaustion," Captain Reynolds argued. "Don't make me get your attendants to carry you back to your chambers!"
Lord Wallace through up his hands in mock surrender, "I know when I've been beat, Captain. Send for me, if there are any changes."
The objects of all this strife sat in the Church of Tyr. Clark and Kennison were afraid. Attacked by these brutes of beasts, they had fled with the Challengers to this city. They had hoped for safety, but they had overheard the soldiers talking. They knew a horde of Orcs was outside the wall, looking for them, wanting to kill them. The only reason they were given, was because of something they hadn't done yet.
Prophesy had a way for destroying lives, because new lives were made in their wake. The child of a farmer could go on to be a legendary knight of all that is holy and good. A simple sickly child, to the champion of a nation, if not the world. An orphan could become a dark avenger, protecting the weak from those who prey on them. Each one had a life before, and it was destroyed. From the rubble of those lives, something grand arose.
"One has to wonder if a prophecy is a road map or a comfort," Leilani said as she sat down beside the DuValls. "Sorry to intrude, after last night, I felt the need to be in some place quiet."
Kennison said, "We owe you our lives, you aren't intruding."
"I'm just glad to help," the sorceress replied back.
Her mind wandered back to thoughts of prophecy, even as her body began fall asleep. Her dreams processed those thoughts, allowing her to explore them fully. The nature of things fascinated her, probably because her nature allowed control of the arcane. She saw things differently than others, and she wondered once more how much she saw was different.
The enemy behind the Orcs was trying to break prophesy, to stop the person who will be the end of them. While Kirann and Altamar fought to keep those in the prophecy safe. Did they fight for the prophecy too, or just to protect those in it? Did knowing that a savior would be born give strength to those who fought, or fill them with false courage?
"Daughter of mine, you are taking your first steps into a larger world," a voice said. "You are more than you know, and know that great power is yours to take. Do not be afraid of it, it is a part of you."
"Who are you?" She asked to the ghostly voice.
"I am part of you, as you are part of me," the voice replied. "Know that I am very proud of you, Daughter of mine."
While Leilani slept, the DuValls were attended to by the priest of Tyr. They prayed for them, and kept them company. Their message of the God of Justice watching over them, made the couple feel slightly better. They were still in the middle of a war that they didn't ask for, but were surrounded by those who cared. It couldn't last forever, and both looked forward to returning to a semblance of normal.
"I wish I could do more to help out around here," Clark said. "I feel useless just waiting here for something to happen."
One of the priests had an idea, "You have the look of a smith about you."
"Yes, I am one," Clark responded.
"Many of our soldiers could use their equipment repaired," the priest advised. "Mostly they have damage from arrows and magic. The city's blacksmiths would probably welcome an extra hand."
"It is settled, come Kennison, we'll help out with fixing the broken arms and armors," Clark instantly felt better with a task to do.
His wife normally helped him out in his shoppe, they worked the best as a team. He would form the metals and his wife would make and place the jewels. Together they made beautiful jewelry, ornate armor and weapons. They had also done their fair share of repairs, tending to the armors of the passing through adventurers.
Outside the horde once more attacked Altamar. Captain Reynolds led the defense, and soon the battlefield was littered with the corpses of more Orcs. This time more Altamaran forces fell too. A few lucky strikes from Orcish bows and well placed blasts from Orc magic. Just a few, but considering the number difference between the two forces, the Altamaran casualties would be felt more.
The day continued on with the attackers unable to breech the defenders' defenses. They had more siege machines on the way, and crude trebuchets were being constructed. It would have been moving along faster, but a harassing force of defenders had slipped outside the walls. This small band had caused major havoc amongst the Orcs, and the Boss had sent smaller parties out to take care of them. None had returned with their corpses.
The Boss wasn't worried though. Even if he wasn't able to just strut in and take what he needed, the Orcs would serve their purpose. So would the wizard, that one would be easy enough to turn. He was all about power, being respected and doing what he willed because he willed it. The Boss saw great promise in that wizard and looked forward to the day that the Hells would reap him from this world. A great devil he'd make, but only with the proper tutelage.
For the moment his visage as the Boss would serve him. At some point he wished to turn back to his true form. He wanted to let these mortals flee in terror from Tyrannus, and even more he wanted the title of Archdevil as his own. That would require either his master's rise or fall, either would suffice for him.