“What did he do?” Tom asked.
“He took a page from the playbook of Sammael and several gods; he used subterfuge and misdirection to manipulate mortal agents into defeating the necromancer,” Darg-Krallnom told Tom.
“Very un-orc-like.” Arg-nargoloth said, sounding rather disapproving.
“But it worked so good, the alvar thought the world was safe and got on their stupid ships and sailed off to a different plane!” Tizzy chortled.
“First damn time we’ve ever been able to rid a plane of those vermin!” Darg-Krallnom said with a grin.
Tom was left pondering. This story sounded oddly familiar to him. However, he was pretty certain they couldn’t mean what it sounded like they were saying.
“I learned new respect for heartheans,” Arg-nargoloth said, chuckling. “Turns they are not just furry-footed vermin that eat all day long!”
“Eh,” Tizzy said.
“Eh?”
“Well, I don’t know. Still not that fond of them. They ended up getting a friend of mine killed,” Tizzy said.
“You had a friend there?” Arg-nargoloth asked suspiciously. “More importantly, you had a friend anywhere?”
Tizzy sneered at him. “Yes, I had a friend! He was former hearthean, lived in this cave. We used to spend hours trying to out-riddle each other! Really pleasant conversationalist. Sure, he was a tad paranoid, but then who isn’t?”
Tom closed his eyes. Was it too late to change his mind on whether this whole thing was real? He had been going on that assumption, but at times he really needed to question that decision. How could this possibly be his new reality? He shook his head and looked at the others. “Let’s head to the Oubliette.”
“So, you have news?” Bess asked Exador as she and Ramses sat down in chairs around Exador’s outdoor dining table on the patio of his Courts penthouse. Exador was pouring them Denubian Choco-CoffeeTM.
“I do,” Exador said. He finished pouring and gestured to the fruit assortment sitting on a chilling tray.
“From the Storm Lords?” Ramses asked.
“Storm Lords?” Bess asked, puzzled. “You mean the ruling Unlife in Nysegard?”
“Exactly,” Ramses nodded.
“Indeed, they have agreed to provide us with the forces we need to take Freehold, and thus the book,” Exador said, setting the Choco-CoffeeTM pot down on the table.
“How soon can they marshal the forces we need?” Ramses asked. Bess was looking back and forth between the two, seeming quite concerned.
“That, I fear, is the rub.” Exador sighed, sitting back to take a drink from his own cup. “They are currently preparing a cleanup exercise against one of the larger outposts of the Forces of Light in Nysegard. Once that is finished, they will be able to re-deploy on our behalf.”
“So we wait for them to clean it up?” Ramses asked. “Any idea how long this will take?”
“No, and it’s not exactly waiting; they’ve requested my assistance on the wizardly front,” Exador said.
“They have hundreds, if not thousands, of wizards. The liches are wizards; why do they need you?” Ramses asked.
Exador made a grimace. “They need assistance on certain technical aspects for certain types of wards. Apparently their previous expert turned to dust, quite literally, about a thousand years ago and some critical pieces of information were lost. They need my help in piecing it back together. I have actually been assisting them on and off for the last century, but push is now coming to shove, so to speak, as they ready their cleansing. ”
“Wait,” Bess ordered, interrupting. “Are you saying you have been negotiating with the Storm Lords, Unlife, for the army we need to seize the book?”
“Yes. That is what I am saying,” Exador replied, sounding quite pleased with himself.
“You seriously want Unlife anywhere near the book?” Bess shook her head. “Are you insane?”
Exador and Ramses both laughed.
“They know nothing of the book,” Exador explained. “We have convinced them that Lenamare is a threat to them. After all, it was at the hands of his minions that they suffered their latest defeat!”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.” Bess shook her head again. “However, I am a little surprised that you think you can trust Unlife…”
Exador grinned. “They are, I admit, unpleasant; however, we have a long-standing and mutually advantageous relationship. To date, they have always been trustworthy.”
Bess shook her head again. “I don’t know. I do not like Unlife, and I really do not like to even think about the possibility of them getting the book.”
Exador shrugged. “Do not worry, I have this covered. I shall be more than happy to go into detail.”
“Please proceed then,” Bess said, gesturing at him. “I want to hear this.”
“Enter,” Lilith commanded as someone knocked at her study’s door.
“Mistress?” Lilith’s senior facilitator, cron, asked hesitantly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.
“Yes, cron?” Lilith asked. cron was very old-school and incredibly detailed, and thus very sensitive to matters such as the case of his name. He always referred to himself in lowercase so as to indicate his subservience to his Mistress — who was always capitalized, even in pronouns.
“One fears that one has an unscheduled visitor of some import demanding to converse with Thy Worshipfulness. It is a baron or perhaps a baroness; the translation was unclear, Tartibsizlik.”
“Tartibsizlik?” Lilith said as her normally sour countenance soured further.
“One fears so, Mistress. (S)he is awaiting thy attention in the third green room.”
Lilith shook her head ruefully; she had been dreading this meeting for some time. She was actually surprised it had taken Chaos so long to respond.
“Very well, you may present hir to me in audience chamber forty-two in seven deminutes,” Lilith informed her facilitator.
Lilith settled herself in the casual throne in audience chamber forty-two. It was a chamber designed to host visitors of a distinguished, yet not peer level, rank. It was designed and laid out to project her strength, yet not be too threatening to the visitor.
Yshmael and Erenael, two of her more militant-appearing archdemon courtiers, were sitting to either side of her in chairs, acting as if they were engaged in casual parlor conversation. They were not, of course; it was simply for pretense. Both were quite familiar with their roles in such proceedings.
A small gong went off and the double doors to the twenty-foot-square chamber opened, admitting one of her butlers followed by Tartibsizlik. The baron(ess) was wearing hir typical-loose fitting garment. It was somewhere between a set of robes, bound at the waist and with legs that tucked into boots, and a military uniform. The color scheme varied by the deminute, flowing through a spectrum of colors and shades on a continual and seemingly random basis.
Lilith nodded politely at the baron(ess) as (s)he approached. Hir expression was, Lilith believed, quite serious, although given that hir face, not unlike hir robes, continuously morphed into different, mostly humanoid colors, shapes, bone structures and genders, it was more than a little bit difficult to be sure what hir expression was.
“Tartibsizlik. As always, a pleasure to see you.” Lilith smiled tightly.
“Greetings, Mistress of the Abyss,” Tartibsizlik greeted her in return.
“How may I be of service to the Lords of Chaos?” Lilith asked.
“You may recall that you recently pressed upon me for the use of a Chaos Maelstrom?” Tartibsizlik asked.
“Indeed. They seem to have encountered some difficulties,” Lilith replied carefully. “I assume by secondhand reports that they were defeated? I received no direct report.”