The nameless heroes stand firm and resolute in Gormly Keep. The reign of the Wraith would end that night-- they would give their lives to ensure it if need be. Though fear plagues their hearts, it is overpowered by their confidence. They have fought, bled, and in one instance, died together. They have trained for this, and by sunrise, the wraith shall lie dead.
Elsewhere...
“You are certain of this..?” The words slithered from Omadon’s lips like a serpent from a crack in the earth. He had listened to the man’s report quietly, enjoying how fearful the scout was of offending him in any way. The transport of unpleasant tidings is never an easy task, and far less so when the recipient has a reputation for cruelty.
“Yes, m’lord. Two devils, two half-elves, a dragonman, and a gnome,” came his mumbled reply. The man, a hunter, had not been in the employ of the Red Wizard for long. Indeed, it had scarce been over a week since the Wizard had contacted him and relayed his first set of instructions. The hunter was loathe to follow through, but knew well enough not to challenge someone as powerful as a wizard. Grimsbeak and all of its guards and walls could not protect him from such wroth, and thus, he submitted to Omadon’s will and had his family moved to Edren.
Omadon raised a thin and wrinkled hand to his jaw, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
“I, of course, have been made aware of these... adventurers. These ratcatchers who meddle in the affairs of the mighty. How funny that the same group of urchins who meddled at the tower of the fool Carolinus were the same who slew the goblins I had stationed at Eldin Bastion... I had assumed it to be disparate groups,” he said ponderously. “And these, ah... meddlers. They are stationed in Grimsbeak still?” asked the wizard, his flowing red robes like spilled blood in the dimly flickering firelight.
“Yes, m’lord. They’ve been given a room at the tavern, and are bumpin’ elbows with the Mage’s Lodge, as well as with the guard captain, Karla,” replied the hunter, wringing his cap in his hands nervously. The wizard always made his skin crawl. The hunter had little experience with magic of any kind, let alone dark magic. Everywhere the wizard’s cold eyes cast seemed to crackle with latent arcane energy, and whenever Omadon’s baleful gaze fell on the hunter, he felt his heart drop into his stomach.
“I care not about this Karla-- she will kneel easily, as will the rest of the townsfolk. But the Mage’s Lodge... idealistic fools though they may be, there are a few among their ranks that boast... greater allegiances. Tell me, know you of who specifically at the Lodge they speak to?” The hunter thought for a moment.
“A dragonman, sir. Gold scales. I can’t remember his name, m’lord, V-something. Vernon, or some such.” Omadon’s eyes narrowed.
“Verniclex?” The hunter cast his gaze to the floor of the tower, unwilling to meet Omadon’s glare.
“Might’ve been, sir.”
“Verniclex... I have heard tales. Though these were from his younger days... he shouldn’t cause much trouble,” Omadon grinned, his yellowed teeth gleaming in the firelight. “And yet...”
Omadon’s smile faltered. He cast his mind back, far back, to the time of his father, and of the stories he had been told. In each of his fathers failures, he recalled, was a common thread.
The underestimation of adventurers.
Omadon set his jaw. He would not fall prey to the same traps that his forebears had. His mission was far too important. “Very well, then. These ‘heroes’ of Grimsbeak shall be my foes, and as such, shall be crushed utterly. I shall leave no chance of foul play. Already they have vexed me in halting my search at Carolinus’ tower--” Omadon stopped short. His eyes widened, and he looked on the hunter anew.
“Tell me... you say you were quite close when you released the Cockatrices I supplied in the square. Close enough to see each of them eye to eye. Did any carry with them a bracer, or bracelet of some sort? Some special equipment upon their arm?”
The hunter thought hard.
“Now that you mention it, sir... aye. The dragonman had a golden band wrapped about his arm. It was tarnished, somewhat, and dented as well-- that’s why I noticed it. The rest of his dress was richer than any I’ve ever seen, so such a poorly aged bauble stood out.”
Omadon’s mind raced. Could it be..? Bulgorn, the half-dragon who had been dispatched to the tower, had found nothing. A simple casting of ‘Speak With Dead’ had revealed that much, before the body was sold. And yet... the oaf had never been known for his attention to detail. It was possible that the very object of the search had been right under his scaly nose all along.
“It didn’t look to be a fancy thing, m’lord... truth be told, it was rather beat up. Is it important?” asked the hunter, forgetting himself. Omadon glanced up from his thoughts.
“Indeed, peasant. That trinket hides a far greater power than any other present in your entire measly village.” Omadon’s fingers trembled. The trip to Eldin, it seemed, would not be in vain after all. “Go, fool. Your payment awaits at the foot of the tower.” The hunter did not wait, and immediately turned and fled down the stairs, dashing past the open and ruined walls of the tower.
On the roof of the tower, a massive shape shifted. A voice rushed through the open window like a hot wind.
“Are you quite sure you want the man-thing to know so much, Omadon?” The voice was deep like rumbling stone, and carried with it a sense of sadistic levity.
“...no. No, I should think not. He’s yours,” Omadon replied. There was a low cackle from the rooftop. As the massive shape began to move once again, Omadon called out: “Inform the Orcs. Weapons ready, and they are not to eat or rut until I give the order. Any who disobey are yours to do with as you will. I want them hungry.”
“As you wish,” came the slow, sonorous reply. Wind rushed about the tower, and the roof lay bare.
* * *
The hunter walked along the road quickly, thankful for the bright moonlight guiding his way. He dared not carry a torch, for fear of the questions he would be asked should a guard sight him. He kept the fat purse the orc had handed him clutched tightly in his hands, feeling the weight of the coin, and trying to ignore the weight of his betrayal. Grimsbeak was not the finest of towns, but it was far from deserving of what was coming, of that he was sure. He squinted against the darkness, unable to see the road. The moon had vanished... a cloud? He turned his gaze skyward.
The hunter screamed, then fell silent. His tracks in the earth ended abruptly in the middle of the road, before the duststorm that had appeared covered them entirely. Against the crickets and owls, the sound of massive wingbeats faded into the night.
2087
origamiaround
dededos
dailybridgerton
izzy806
blakekathryn
