Hmm, he thought, I should have brought Morthador. This place was so dark and dank, the greater shadow would have felt right at home and no one would have noticed him. If things went badly, he could have fought soul-draining darkness with soul-draining darkness. Damn. Exador silently cursed himself while not allowing his normal, naturally displeased facial expression to betray his inner thoughts.
The thirteen Arch-Storm Lords, or whatever these council members called themselves, were arrayed on a raised dais around the back third of the rotunda. The dais was fronted on the outside by a seamless raised wall, behind which the thirteen Arch-Storm Lords sat on identical decaying thrones, in all resembling a court or tribunal, Exador supposed.
Naturally the lighting was abysmal — meaning poor, not red like in the Abyss. This served to highlight the disturbing embers glowing in the eye sockets of the liches. Theater, Exador silently snorted. These poor fools were amateurs at courtly theater compared to the full pomp of the Court of Princes when it was in session.
Exador and Ramses stopped at the obvious focal point of the chamber, a short circular podium in the center of the room with a lectern to speak from. Clearly a courtroom setting; that was now confirmed. Exador stepped up onto the podium, Ramses following. Exador moved to the lectern and bowed in acknowledgement to the Arch-Storm Lords.
“Exador,” hissed Praelgeis, the self-titled “Lord of the Night” and head of this council. Exador had met with him on numerous occasions.
“My Lord Praelgeis, may I present my colleague, Ramses the Damned,” Exador said, gesturing towards Ramses, who was in human form and wearing his Time Warrior regalia. There was a small hiss from the right side of the dais, but Exador ignored it.
“Ramses, your legend precedes you,” Praelgeis hissed.
Ramses nodded. “Thank you, your lordship.”
“It was not a compliment,” came a sharp hiss from two seats left of Praelgeis. Exador recognized Baba Smert', a hideous old — Exador didn’t know a word sufficient to describe her.
Ramses smirked at the old bag of bones. “Then I am even more grateful.” He chuckled softly.
“Enough pleasantries,” Praelgeis hissed. “We summoned you here to discuss the information you provided us.”
Exador suppressed a grimace of annoyance at the lich’s use of the word “summoned”; they both knew the lich meant it as an intentional slight against him. “Yes, my information,” he said, twisting his head slightly in puzzlement. “Was it incorrect? Did not the Nimbus leave the Grove even as I said it would?”
“Yes, but you neglected to inform us of its reinforcements,” Baba Smert' hissed.
“Reinforcements?” Exador asked, truly puzzled. “I know of no reinforcements. I don’t believe they’ve upgraded their ships for over a decade, if not more.”
“Mortal reinforcements,” Daerth Tromlane hissed from the right. “Very powerful reinforcements.”
Exador shook his head. “As far as I know, they would only have their standard contingent and some passengers they were trying to ferry out of Freehold to avoid the Rod of Tiernon and the Oorstemothian Sky Fleet. None of whom I would consider a serious threat.”
“Oh, really?” Baba Smert' snarled. “Show them the scrying we made of the encounter.”
Within a few moments a scrying, most likely a balling, appeared between the dais and the podium, and they were able to watch the encounter. The Storm Lords were able to rapidly close on the cloudship and get off a number of good, damaging blasts before the carpets scrambled.
Exador shrugged. He wasn’t that familiar with Grove cloudship tactics, but it looked pretty routine, and given the number of Storm Lords and ice dragons, it looked like the cloudship would soon be taken. He could not imagine how the liches had been defeated.
“There,” Baba Smert' hissed. She pointed towards what appeared to be a robed man walking — not flying but walking — in the air towards an ice dragon and its rider. The scrying zoomed in on this man and his opponent. Exador blinked, recognizing one of Lenamare’s lackeys, Elrose, a master of enchantment and sorcery. It was not clear to Exador what the Natooran wizard would be able to do. One didn’t seriously consider enchanters or sorcerers when talking combat magic.
Exador’s eyes soon widened in surprise as Lenamare’s flunky quickly proved him wrong. He would have to seriously reconsider his opinions of those disciplines. As a master of water, Elrose had melted and steamed the ice dragon without heat, and then he dispersed the ice dragon using a high-pressure region. But the truly inspiring piece of wizardry was tossing a vial of water at the dismounted lich and using it to open a portal to Water, then allowing the lich’s own frozen nature to turn that outpouring of Water into ice, thus entrapping the lich in a giant ice cube plunging towards the ground.
Exador had to restrain himself from clapping in admiration. It was truly inspired. He really should have recruited the man. Argh. Hindsight!
“That wizard was dangerous and annoying, the other one even more so,” Praelgeis hissed.
“The other one?” Exador asked. He wasn’t aware of any other master-level wizards of any sort within the group, other then Trevin D’Vils. Praelgeis nodded and let the scrying expand to its full scope before focusing in on one of the marginally more effective, if smaller, flying carpets.
“The one in the turban,” Baba Smert' hissed.
Exador took another look as the scrying zoomed in. He blinked. It was that imbecile Gastropé, who had escaped with the girl, the book and the greater demon. He gritted his teeth. He should have vaporized his former employee immediately, rather than having toyed with the idea of polymorphing him into something unpleasant. In the future, no more mister nice guy.
Exador shook his head. “I know this wizard; he is barely qualified to be a wizard. I hired him as a low-level combat wizard and he failed quite spectacularly!”
The scrying stopped as several liches snickered. “If so,” Praelgeis hissed, “then you are a terrible judge of talent. Watch.”
The scrying resumed. Several carpets were in trouble, going down. The one with his former employee was zooming around and being somewhat effective, but they were clearly outgunned and going to wear out soon. Gastropé stopped launching attacks and seemed to go into a trance. He sat out at least one pass against the lich and ice dragon. His colleagues were all staring at him; clearly the nitwit had panicked and frozen.
Suddenly Gastropé said something and used his Wand of Fire to create a short, sustained blast, as if lighting wood in a fire pit. Exador blinked and Ramses coughed beside him. That moron was somehow using a Wand of Fire and mere verbal components to summon not one, but three demons while on a wildly veering flying carpet! Exador had known the boy was simple-minded, but insane?
Three fiends, type II demons, suddenly appeared and instead of eating the occupants of the carpet, they sped off and attacked the nearest lich and ice dragon. Exador’s jaw dropped. There was no way in the Abyss even a truly talented wizard of Gastropé’s experience should have been able to pull that off.
All three would have to have been previously bound to Gastropé and even then, no pentagrams, no protection? The level of bindings on those demons needed to make this safe would likely be more than even a master conjuror could easily cast. Someone like Damien? Yes. But he was one of the most gifted conjurors in Astlan, and thus the multiverse.
They all continued to watch the rest of the battle. It was, quite frankly, humiliating for the Storm Lords. Between Elrose, Gastropé’s demons and the Grove’s normal fighting prowess, the Storm Lords were clearly outmatched.