BECMI Chapter 362 – Shadows Moving
I continued my words to the Shaden elders who wished to immigrate en masse to the surface. “Idiot wizards of Zanzyr for some reason don’t like such a happy, merry land as the hyn Shires, nor their lack of wizards as a people, and so think the hyn are easy prey for uncouth experiments. You will earn the undying love and respect of the Shires just by keeping such unrepentant bastards away from them, and more certainly, for putting them in the ground when you find them.”
They all blinked at me and the cool venom on my tongue. “Yes? I call treacherous scum what they are. King Ershultaen is a total bastard willing to expend thousands of Shaden lives for a kingdom he wouldn’t even be able to keep, the first elven kingdom to make war on another for his own hollow glory, and his house and inner circle went right along with him.
“There are great and noble souls among humans, there are quiet folk who endure, and there are utter filth who deserve only a forgotten grave to feed the Land. Were Ershultaen a human, the Shaden would already have executed him for the treachery he espoused and promoted.” They averted their eyes in embarrassment at my words, for they stung at the heart of community which were Shaden beliefs.
“You are not emigrating to the surface just to escape Gaebrel’s Curse. You are also doing it to escape our faithless and treacherous king, because you cannot bear to judge him as you would a non-elf who has done what he did,” my mother finally spoke up with quiet conviction.
They all flushed at her words, for they were brutally true. By any measure, King Ershultaen’s lies had cost hundreds of elven deaths, both Shaden and Sidhe, for a benefit that could never be. He deserved death, but he was the king. In the light of the Great Revelation, he had lost a great deal of his power, and all support from the Priestesses of Gaebrel, who despite all things still commanded great respect for the Divine magic they wielded.
But the king still commanded the military, and they still functionally obeyed him to defend the Shaden from the constant threats of the Deeps, but the people’s respect and love for him was utterly gone now, and any edicts or policies he presented were basically ignored on the face of things by the Shaden as a whole.
Shaden society was fracturing as it prepared to head to the surface, and no, he would not be king there. Instead of claiming an elven kingdom on the surface, all he had done was destroy his own and splinter the Shaden in every direction as they sought their own way to a better day for their children.
“How do you think we should proceed with this? It would be strange if the humans did not panic when we start appearing in their midst in such numbers…” the captain asked carefully.
“Ah, well, that is simple.” My smile was utterly humorless and made them flinch back. “We shall simply have Princess Brittabelle present a motion in the Zanzyran Council that a population of elves will be moving to here to begin working on a new trade road south to Federyn and the Shires. The squabbling Princes here shall fall all over themselves to approve the move, and the rest of the Princes will not care or will approve of it, for a trade road benefits them as well, and this one would lead to a faster route to the sea.
“We will simply neglect to inform them of the numbers of elves involved, and that they are Shaden who intend to found an entire Principality there.” I flipped a blindingly-white formal document out of my sleeve, laid it on the table with an inkwell and precisely engineered fountain pen, and asked, “Would you like me to help you draft a formal letter of intent to immigrate?” I inquired with dry irony.
They very much did.
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Kemperzelz got the big moment, hefting the rebuilt Hammer of Life they’d managed to track down and reassemble. The brawny young Moorish dwarf wound up the rather crudely made two-handed Hammer in the smooth motion of a rock-breaker, and pounded it down with full force on the smelly, ugly glowing travesty of a boulder that was the Deathstone.
There was a crunch as the Hammer bit into the previously unbreakable stone like it was made of sand. Light flared, and the darkly red-skinned dwarf Artificer hopped quickly backwards, leaving the Hammer sticking there as light flared and expanded within the blackness of the rock.
The ugly green-yellow rotting radiance of the Runes on the thing slowly changed hue, advancing towards yellow-white and brightening a shade and level with every heartbeat, while the fuming blackness raging up off of the thing sparked and sputtered and ignited into a clear white flame that began to rage up for the sky.
Like a mound of coal building towards its highest heat, the rock pulsed and grew brighter and hotter. Up above them, the Deathcloud hanging over the Barony of Twinlakes Vale ignited, and a circle of hot white flames exploded in all directions, wiping the greasy black layer of filth clear of the skies and exposing a quickly cheering population to the sun once more.
Seemed to clean off his eyeballs, too, Grimbol reflected with a relieved sigh.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
There were slapped hands and fists all around at the successful conclusion to the mission.
“Well done, lad. Saved us two, three days of tromping around in the muck of the swamps with that trick,” he congratulated the younger dwarf, who swelled at the praise.
They’d had word from the locals that there was a big hydra and a herd of gorgons in the swamps near the lakes, likely targets, but the creatures moved around and nobody knew if they had a central lair.
While Grimbol and his charges clucked their tongues at the mere thought of such powerful creatures being allowed to remain near human settlements, they also had to sweep the swamps looking for the ‘Hammer of Life’ that was the only weakness of this Deathstone thing.
After a day of wading over and through the muck, Kemperzelz had the novel idea of using a Locate Object Infusion on Grimbol’s own Hammer, looking for another Hammer nearby.
It took some concentration and fine effort, but they managed to track down the head of the Hammer, which for some inane reason ws worked into a studded collar on the scaled herd of earth-cows who were feeding in the swamp.
Now, approaching a herd of gorgons was a fine way to get a load of petrifying gas in the face, but such a matter was easily overcome by wearing a simple torc made of telstang. As the locals seemed to want the gorgons to stick around and prevent anything more dangerous from lairing in the swamp, it only remained for Emser the Dawn-Priest to lay a Hold Monster on the collared bull gorgon, have him walk up there over the water, totally ignoring the petrifying breath of the entire herd without a scratch, and then remove the collar from the paralyzed lead bull while the rest of the clearly dismayed herd retreated from the invulnerable human.
Once they had the Hammer’s head, finding the haft in the lair of the hydra over there was more entertainment than difficult. It seemed to be out as they followed the magic directly to the mass of bedding and food remains that was the lair of the thing, and if there was a whole lot of hissing and protests as they Water-Walked and Disk-rode away with everything valuable in the place, at least the hydra was still alive.
Seemed to have torn apart at least one small company of undead who got ideas about moving through the place, too, so maybe there was some merit in leaving the thing alive. Grimbol wasn’t living there, so it wasn’t his call.
“We bin all clear in the Vale now, Commander Briggs. You should bin able to see the Deathcloud Burning away, expect the last of it will bin gone in another few minutes.” Grimbol murmured under his breath as he eyed the distant cloud of cloud-eating white fires doing its job. “Deathstone is Burning down to powder with the Hammer, too. Expect it all bin a mound of ash when it’s finally done,” he finished with satisfaction.
-Good job, Grimbol. We’ll leave it to King Taravon to appoint a lord with more sense or Resurrect the idiot on his own cognizance.-
Grimbol had known his erstwhile instructor in matters of both Smithcraft and Hammerwork long enough to know Briggs didn’t think this matter was over with. -Other problems, sir?- he /asked silently, frowning as he continued to watch the distant display with everyone.
-Some remarkably familiar clouds are hanging over the hills on a volcanic island across the Dawnbreak and blowing this way… sometimes against the prevailing winds. Also, we’re starting to get some very disconcerting reports up the Saber River that something is poisoning the waters there,- came the irritated /reply quickly.
Grimbol snarled into his beard. -You think it bin the same people?-
-Pretty damn sure of it. Edge confirmed Immortal-level weather fuckery going on, sending these clouds right towards the mouth of the Great Bay. They’ll hit the coast within the day at the speed they are moving.-
-Delpha bin not take responsibility?- the dwarf /asked, clearly expecting a negative answer.
-’Wild magic effects from a volcanic island, documented frequently throughout all history, and the reason nothing settles there.’ They can’t sense the Immortal hand in the weather, so it’s just natural effects, and we’re the unlucky sots to be on the receiving end,- was the grim /response. -As for Saber River, we don’t know what’s going on with that, but the druids in the area are all in a panic, and it’s a good thing there’s no dominions in the area, because things would be getting pretty bad, so I’ve heard.-
Grimbol bared his teeth. -So, you bin needing a good team o’ hardened investigators, aye?-
-Yup. Assessment, knowledge, discovery, then kill everything that needs the killing.-
Grimbol turned his eyes on his team of dwarves and Priests, who were basking in the glory of the moment and a job well done. -Aye, I think I bin able to help with that problem, sir. How did things go bin the elf-horses?- he /asked calmly.
-We sent five Hostage teams in after their clan-mates and loved ones, got them all out and evacuated to Eistree, left three wizard towers on fire, a dark temple in ruins, and quite a few cultists of Delphax as white smears on the landscape,- Briggs /answered with grim pride.
-Five!- Grimbol was impressed. The reputations of the Hostage Retrieval teams from Darkmoor had carried over to the present. Being worthy of being recommended for one was one of the aspirations of many Moorians, and that had brushed off on those who fought alongside them. Getting in seamlessly, getting the people out alive and safely, and then utterly fucking up those who had taken them just set off all the noble bells and whistles and was the hallmark of a true operator in the Eismark special forces.
Five teams was a big move. The enemy must have likewise been powerful. -The lovely ladies didn’t get involved?- Grimbol had to /wonder.
-They have been cooking up something rather horrifically debilitating to that abandoned and desolate volcanic island which has no surprises lurking beneath it whatsoever,- Briggs /answered with grim satisfaction. -There’s going to be a reply to what they are attempting to do, but again, that’s going to be cover for what is really happening. We’ll see how things shake out.-
Grimbol reflected on what ‘horribly debilitating’ might be to the numbers of undesirable folk hiding inside that mountain, and privately wrote them all off. Grandmaster Sama and the Lady Edge would definitely kill them all…