The rest of the commanders simply stood around rather awkwardly, since D’Orcs were not known to just stand there when things were happening. Of course, Tom was also “just standing there,” but he was trying to follow through the Rod what his people were doing on the consoles.
“I am mighty glad you showed up, Lord Tommus!” Roth Tar Gorefest stated as his hands manipulated controls on his console. “Nothing remotely interesting, other than Darflow, of course”—he nodded to his former enemy—“has happened here for thousands of years. You show up and we get a feast, Knights of Chaos, Darflow and his crew, and now the potential for a Titan to escape and destroy a couple worlds before we can defeat it and recapture it.”
Several other D’Orcs hooted in shared appreciation.
Tom just shook his head. A downward spiral into insanity, indeed.
Vaselle made his way down to the tavern attached to the inn. It was quite late, Damien was asleep, yet slumber eluded the warlock. He was simply too excited by the ongoing events. Things were going incredibly well. He and his master were getting along quite well, and they were all now hard at work on the master’s plan to conquer the multiverse. Or at least, he thought that was the plan. The orcs and D’Orcs pretty much assumed that was the plan. His master, however, seemed oddly vague on the point. Vaselle could not really “feel” or “see” any thoughts from his master in this regard.
True, the master wanted to restore the former glory and freedom of the orcs; that was his new purpose. However, despite that, Vaselle was not getting a strong world domination vibe off the master, let alone a multiversal domination vibe. Of course, defeating Lilith was going to be a clear priority, and then, who knew? Perhaps the master would settle for being a Cofactor of the Abyss.
From what both the D’Orcs and the new demon recruits had said, it wasn’t like the current Cofactors ever slept together. They could barely stand to be in the same room with each other, let alone the same bed. So that shouldn’t be an issue. But was it? Did demons have sexual preferences? From his studies, he knew they were quite indiscriminate in their raping. Vaselle was sure no self-respecting demon would ever let the gender of their victim influence or abend the planned physical, sexual, mental and spiritual degradation and demise of their subject. That would be extremely unprofessional. Plus, he was pretty sure Boggy had confirmed this fact in one of his drunken stories.
Vaselle smiled to himself, thinking of the good times he’d been having at Mount Doom. To be truly part of a united team, working at a common goal. The comraderie around the campfire, like the previous evening when Edwyrd had returned after the battle. They had all eaten dinner together — everyone, including Gastropé, and Tom had shown them the balling of the battle.
That battle! It was absolutely insane! Vaselle could barely understand much of the magic that had been used. What was a gravity cannon? Sekhmekt’s super-heated breath? He laughed when he remembered Gastropé’s shock at discovering that Tom had battled alongside an actual goddess. The funniest part was that when they’d explained who she was — the Nyjyr Ennead goddess of war — Gastropé had almost fallen over. It turned out that they had been, and in fact still were, searching for signs that another Nyjyr Ennead goddess, one Bastet, was active in Astlan and possibly working with Exador. Vaselle shook his head. What an amazingly small multiverse!
Gastropé had filled them all in on what he was doing, what the Nimbus was up to, and how the alvar had all been freaked out by a simple shopping trip. The shamans had nearly split their sides laughing at the overreaction of the alvar. Those alvar were seriously paranoid. Vaselle shook his head in amusement, but then he tried to shove all of that to the back of his head. It was time for a drink, and he didn’t want to accidentally blurt something out while tipsy.
He entered the tavern room, which was not crowded but still busy enough at this time of night. There was an open spot at the bar, on the end next to a priest of some sort. As he got closer, Vaselle easily recognized the rather shabby robes of an itinerant priest of Tiernon. He’d certainly spent enough time with them to recognize one.
Up until he’d met his master, Vaselle would have studiously avoided being anywhere near a priest. The reminder of his personal shortcomings made the situation too uncomfortable. However, now that he was the servant of a great master capable of defeating the greatest Knight of Tiernon and able to steal Tiernon’s mana at will, he felt no shame. In fact, he was on a first-name basis with his master and the master’s avatars. There was no way this ugly priest would have gotten with a thousand leagues of one of Tiernon’s avatars, let alone Tiernon himself. So Vaselle was actually feeling pretty good about pulling up a bar stool next to the priest.
Vaselle sat down on the stool and gazed at the very sorry back bar. While he really couldn’t afford to go the fancy taverns in Freehold, he could afford, and did visit, good upstanding middle-class taverns. This tavern, with its serious lack of selection (there appeared to be only two ales, “light” and “dark,” if the symbols were correct, plus a single barrel of wine of the day) was decidedly not up to his normal standards.
He assumed they must have some bottles in back, but there were none up front, nor did there appear to be any hard liquors. Of course, those could also be hidden; he wasn’t really sure of dive bar protocols and inventory security. He did understand magical retail security, of course, being a merchant himself. However, the vast majority of his work was bespoke; his inventory was primarily example devices. Rarely did he sell prefabricated items; the cost of creating and maintaining such an inventory was expensive, at least for his specializations. Not that there weren’t plenty of merchants that did, but then they were generally only retailers and not craftsmen as well.
Hmm. That got him thinking. With access to Doom’s gems and precious metals, he would have the resources to make more arcane devices than ever. Of course, his service to the master came first, but with the need to provision shamans, warriors and others with arcane devices, he could be of great service with his skills in arcane device construction.
And thinking of inventory security, he would have to ramp up security if he were going to have lots of gems and metals around. Perhaps he should relocate to Mount Doom? With Phaestus and Völund around, surely there were going to be excellent laboratories there.On the other hand, Vaselle thought to himself, working out of Mount Doom would make it difficult to be the master’s servant in Astlan. Clearly, I need to discuss this with the master, so that we can determine the best way for me to serve.
Vaselle shivered with happiness, thinking about the joy of serving his master, of being his master’s tool in the upcoming restoration project. A loud cough woke him from his reverie. He discovered the barkeep staring him in the face.
“You toasted already? Or can I get you something?” The barkeep growled.
“Light ale, if you please,” Vaselle said.
The barkeep grabbed a clay mug from below the counter, turned and stalked to the light ale barrel without saying anything.
Vaselle shook his head. He really should not let himself get so distracted in such an unsavory environment. He had no way of identifying them, but he was certain the back corners of the tavern held ethically challenged patrons seeking to exploit the less ruthless drunken patrons.
Vaselle chuckled. Such individuals would be in for a big surprise if he was forced to summon his master to protect him. That would be a joyous thing to see, and probably a very smelly bowel-emptying event. He shook his head slightly, however, realizing that that would be a frivolous reason to summon his master. In fact, it might possibly anger the master. Vaselle frowned. No, as enjoyable as it might be, it would be unworthy of a good servant to summon his dark lord to a bar fight.