Good and ill have not changed since yesteryear.

- Aragorn



10. The Pantheon Menace

Majestic mountains, streaked with spectacular waterfalls, sprawled away on Eronia's horizons. Situated more immediately amongst gardens that were especially vibrant and lush, almost humming with life, even by the standards of this layer of Elysium, was the great marble palace of Morninglory, its polished white stone glowing with reflected sunlight that flooded the palace.

In a great hall, deep within the palace but open to the baby blue sky, surrounding a great table whose surface was patterned both like a chessboard and a detailed and contoured map, sat three figures in ornate chairs of gold.

One was a tall, athletic young man of exceeding beauty, his skin and hair golden and his eyes piercing blue, in robes of cardinal and gold, with a rosy disc over the chest. One was a beautiful human woman with dark, flowing hair and radiant skin, partially covered by a flowing pinkish robe that bore seven stars and radiated magical power. One was a lithe and muscled woman with intense ruby eyes, long dark braids, wearing crimson full platemail like a natural exoskeleton, a knight chesspiece in relief upon the breastplate.

Above the table, patterns of light glistened off swirling mist, revealing a three dimensional image of a young man fencing a ghastly armored figure upon a bridge, red and blue swords humming and clashing.

"The Faith is strong with that one," Lathander spoke.

The armored figure drove back the young man, cleaved off his swordhand, and sent him tumbling off the bridge.

"Use the Faith, Onyx," Lathander called as the maimed youth gripped on.

Mystra merely shook her head and frowned. A moment later, the youth in the image fell. With a wave of Mystra's hand, the image vanished, and turned to another scene, of a small auburn-haired girl skipping through an endless field of pink flowers.

Mystra smiled. "Her." The Lady of Magic waved her hand again, and in the swirling image, a unicorn galloped up to the girl. The three gods watched as the girl mounted and flew off upon her winged equestrian, sailing through void, catching the young man as he fell through the image.

Lathander nodded, but looked skeptically at Mystra. "You believe it will be this girl?"

Mystra laughed. "Look beyond. She transcends this struggle."

The Morninglord looked sidelong at her, and folded his hands. "You refer to the prophecy of the one who will bring balance to the Weave?"

The Red Knight looked across the table at her as well, but Mystra smiled and nodded to the fourth side of the table. A swirling golden mist coalescended into an unlikely figure - a small, gnarled man with wrinkly green skin, pointed ears, leaning feebly on an oaken staff.

"Mmmmm," the little figure hummed through pressed lips, "Presume much, you do! Yes!"

"Aoda," Mystra sternly addressed the emissary-manifestation of the Overfather, "We are not..."

"But you are!" Aoda croaked. "Interefere you must not! Leave to mortals this struggle should you, yes!"

Mystra scoffed. "Amalthea may go where I please."

"Hmmpf!" Aoda grumbled, and shook his staff at Lathander. "Bestowing much power upon the brave squire, you are!"

Lathander politely shook his head. "He is attuned to the Faith, and learning to shape it."

"Hmmmmmp," Aoda reiterated, and plunged his staff onto the marble floor, looking back into the swirling mist of light.

The Red Knight leaned forward in her chair as as image solidified into a scene of a stone ruin under a sky of fire. Two women, similar except in age, dueled with sword and spear past columns and over stones.

"Check," the Lady of Strategy whispered calmly when the girl battle-cried and sprang forward, impaling her foe. She clenched her gauntlets when the woman dug her claws into the girl.

"...mate," Mystra smirked as the girl was tossed into the void.

"You overlook the Black Wizard," the Red Knight retorted matter-of-factly.

"Mmmm," Aoda scratched his knobbly chin as the image swirled, and reformed into a blonde boy skipping over a field of bones. "Hard to see this is. The dark one clouds everything."

Lathander held his jaw tight as a quasit swooped down and conversed with the boy. "You know who this is, Aoda. It is him ."

------

"Who, me?" shrieked the chalk-skinned man with blazing dark eyes; sinewy muscles rippling beneath his dark, tattered tunic.

"Yes, you!" cackled the lithe woman with dark hair, barbed chains and spiked leathers strapped over a miniscule fraction of the pale flesh of her unnaturally libidinous form. She reeled back with her seven-headed flail and lashed the man across the chest, tearing what was left of his tunic and drawing blood which she licked off the links of the heads as she drew them back again.

"Guilty!" Cyric laughed. "I plead guilty!" With unjust speed, his clawlike left hand drew forth a razoredged longsword from his belt, and slashed it across the bare midriff of Loviatar, whose moan sounded more pleasured than pained as she was wounded and thrown backwards, through the flickering misty image of the boy and the quasit, falling over the map-surfaced table within Cyric's castle in Pandemonium.

"Then you shall be punished!" the Painmaiden leapt up with a feral snarl, wrapping her flail around the sword of the Prince of Lies, and sending both weapons flying. "Succor my pain!" She slashed deep into his face with her cruel black fingernails and gouged out his eyes, while he punched her hard in the chest and stomach, causing immediate bruising and the sounds of cracking ribs.

"Succor the desecration of all who stand in my way," Cyric roared, wrapping his thick arms around Loviatar's waist for a backbreaking bear grip, but pulling her close enough to let sink her gleaming teeth into his neck. She chewed upon the flesh and slurped the crimson blood as he squeezed and felt her vertebrae grating between his abs and forearms.

Loviatar's wicked gaze turned to the holographic image, and her drinking lips smiled as the scarlet-haired girl plummeted through the fiery air. "Yes, my girl..." she giggled evilly. When the green-robed boy, borne by the quasit, swooped into view and snatched her up, she cooed, "Ooh, you beast, you shouldn't have,"into Cyric's ear, which she then bit into.

"Oh, stop it!" Cyric laughed, beating his fists against her back and bruising her kidneys.

"I meant it..." Loviatar snarled, spitting out his ear and scraping the flesh from his face with her fingernails, "You shouldn't have!"

A golden mist coalesced near the struggling pair of evil deities, forming a withered green elf-gnome-like figure.

"Aoda!" Cyric spat blood, and stared with his gouged eyesockets, his mutilated visage more like a grinning skull splattered with blood and meat than a human face. "Sorry! We don't want to buy any Overlord Scout Cookies today! Try Talos's next door, you meddling..."

Aoda merely waved one finger, and Cyric and Loviatar went flying back onto the cold stones of the floor. "Trickery and deceit are your ways, yes, but interfere you must not, young Cyric."

Cyric sat up and raised one fist in an attempt to uncurl the middle finger, but Loviatar had earlier bitten it off, anulling the intended effect.

Loviatar sat up and pouted, folding her blood-soaked hands over her bruised chest. "Oh please! We know what that Bychtra-fied Midnight is up to," she shot Cyric a wink, "Not to mention Boringlord Limpthander and the Red Nightwalker!"

"Sillyvanus has already crossed their path," Cyric hissed through his blood-dribbling mouth as he stood, "It is not hard to foresee Phlegelm, Gimpus, or Mil-make-me-ill!"

"Nor Melancholikki, the Nightscreecher, or Lady Firewhore!" Loviatar wrinkled her bleeding nose as Cyric yanked her to her feet by the barbed chain running over her bare shoulder.

"Watch you all I will," Aoda waved his staff, "Interference leads to imbalance. Imbalance leads to cataclysm. Cataclysm leads to...suffering."

"I fail to see the problem," Lovitiar giggled innocently.

"Be mindful, Loviatar!" Aoda wiggled his stubbly fingers with no subtle intent, "Revealed, your intent is. Watched hard will you be now, hmmp! For begun, this throne war has."

"And I will end it," Cyric snarled, and his ten fingers splayed forth, lightning erupting from them and flying across the room. Aoda held forth one hand, and the bolts deflected harmless around him. Cyric motioned, telekinetically breaking a stone column from the floor and ceiling, and sending it flying at Aoda, who sent it crashing back into a wall with a dismissing wave. The Prince of Lies then opened his palm, and his razoredged longsword left the floor and zoomed into his grip. Aoda summoned an etheral green shortsword and levitated himself into the air as Cyric charged, flying about him and parrying a blizzard of slashes with his own supernatural airborne acrobatics.

Loviatar shrieked with laughter as the entities dueled, and cursed when Aoda plunked back to the floor and sent Cyric sprawling with one gesture. "Enough foolishness this is!" the small emissary croaked. "Ever vigilant of you will Ao and Helm be now, Prince of Lies, yes!" With that, Aoda faded from Pandemonium.

"Get up, you worthless oaf," Loviatar snarled, kicking Cyric as he got to his feet. "Your death shall please me like nothing else, but you've other whims of mine to satisfy in the meantime. As entertaining as that was, even you are no match for the hand of Ao."

"It matters not, harpy," Cyric knocked her away with his arm as he rose. "We shall bide our time while our enemies destroy each other. Everything is proceeding as I have foreseen."