Gods, Guns, Gales, and Gauntlets

Varien and Bob sought Siegfried out to confirm details of the party’s next steps. “So, we’re here because I was talking a lot of shit and Gruumsh wants me to say it to his face,” Siegfried said. “Turns out, a lot of what I’m saying is in line with Obould Many-Arrows, a sort of minor deity, who advocated for co-operation between races instead of confrontation – maybe Orcs could get a lot more done if we weren’t trying to actively murder everyone all the time. Which as you know is my whole thing – co-operating!” Varien snorted. Siegfried shot the paladin a look. “So, the Barghest that Erwen keeps trying to eat actually works for Many-Arrows, and has promised us an introduction. I hope to talk to Many-Arrows before I talk to Gruumsh, and sort things out with Gruumsh before we can go home, because if we just leave now he’s going to teleport us back here to face his judgment. Now,” Siegfried fixed the group with a grave look. “I just want to point out that I’ve helped you all a great deal with your deity Sune.” “It’s true,” Varien admitted. “So I’d appreciate it if you had my back while I sort things out with Gruumsh,” Siegfried said. “How long is this flight to Many-Arrows going to be?” Varien asked. He was gripped by a sudden impatience. “At most, a few hours at top speed,” Siegfried said. “Some of us need rest,” Varien said. “I’m absolutely fine to keep an eye on things,” Siegfried replied. The fatigue Varien was feeling was washed away by the adrenaline of Acheron’s bloodlust. Every moment that he wasn’t wielding Fiendsbane to run a devil through or cleave a hobgoblin soldier, he was being assailed by visions of violence and ruin. Varien found that he did not wish to shy away from these flashes of mayhem – in fact, he welcomed them. In his mind’s eye he was standing atop a mountain of corpses in a hellscape that stretched in all directions, interspersed with scenes of visceral trench warfare. Every inhalation of breath was full of decay and death, iron and blood. Bob didn’t notice the change in Varien’s countenance. Siegfried had turned to Lady Dejatha, who was rearranging her borrowed clothing into something more stylish, and said “when our business is concluded we’ll be plane-shifting to a much nicer, decent, civilized city of mortals, and we’ll take you along, when we do that.” “Siegfried, again, how long is this flight going to take?” Varien asked. “We’re still a couple of hours out from the Battle Cube,” Siegfried replied. “This whole thing is extremely, unnatural,” Varien said. “I cannot understand why I’m leaving all the devils on this ship alive. I gather you have an errand to run, and this is important to you, but they shouldn’t be allowed to live.” Siegfried’s eyes narrowed. He knew that Varien was a man with a moral code who was being put in a difficult position. “Varien, I’m thankful for your patience and I couldn’t do this without you,” Siegfried said. “However, we still need these devils alive to crew and fly the ship because we don’t know how to do it and we don’t know where we’re going. Once we get there, I’m happy to let these creatures get what they deserve.” Varien’s eyes widened. “Surely that’s injustice! You want to trick and use these devils before we kill them?” “Varien, they’re devils,” Siegfried said. “Who gives a shit?” “I know they’re devils, that doesn’t mean I should just abide them,” Varien said with increasing belligerence. “I live by my principles, and you’re suggested we force these creatures to labour and then kill them?” “No, they’re getting paid to do this,” Siegfried replied. “They’re not slaves, they’re soldiers climbing the ranks, happy to do their own thing to get ahead, and more to the point, we offer them a chance to turn to the good and ignore their evil impulses of devilry. And when we get to where we’re going, have at them. I just don’t know how to get to where we need to go if we do the butchering first.” Lady Dejatha watched the conversation, not understanding the language, while interpreting the speakers’ body language. “I am a gentleman, but my honour is hanging by a thread,” Varien said firmly, “That grows more precarious with every moment I spend on this plane.” “Okay,” Siegfried said. “Varien’s just speaking his truth,” Bob added. “I give you my most earnest thanks for your patience,” Siegfried said. “However, if you need to crash out on an imp or two in the meantime, I can smooth that over. I will ask you to leave the bridge crew, pilots and navigators alone but if you need to go apeshit on someone holding a mop, we can work something out.” “Is that what you think of me, Siegfried?” Varien bellowed. “That I am an ape that needs to crash out?” “No, Varien,” Siegfried replied. “You are a good man in an awful situation and it’s hurting you.” “Killing them is not for my benefit,” growled Varien, “but because it needs to be done.” Amen , rattled Fiendsbane. “I don’t need to lash out on an imp, I’m just tell you that we need to hurry up here,” Varien continued. “Understood,” Siegfried said. “I don’t want to be any longer than we have to either. However, we do have an opportunity here to put an end to raiding, end Orc pillaging at home, to save a lot of lives, if I’m able to pull this off.” “Okay, fine,” Varien said. “I’m going to go pray.” The paladin stalked off. Erwen felt overwhelmed by his unnatural surroundings. Its bulkheads were cold iron and infernal steel, an affront to Nature as a creation of artifice and industry. In spite of himself, amid the clanking of machinery and vibrations of the gargantuan ship’s inner workings, Erwen could pick up the rhythmic sound of a corrupted heartbeat, as though the airship’s core was somehow organic and alive. “Alive…but not,” Erwen murmured, thinking of the gory protrusions of flesh spilling out between the armored plates of the airship’s rigid exterior. “This whole place is corrupted,” Erwen muttered. “I need to see the horizon.” Air-wen drifted from Rimmon’s chamber and headed south, towards an observation deck where a large, floor-to-ceiling curved viewscreen of exquisitely polished quartz afforded him a view of the void beyond the airship. The viewing window was being maintained by a solitary imp janitor who whistled to himself merrily while sweeping a squeegee back and forth across the quartz. His discordant melody made Air-wen smile despite himself. Then he saw what was beyond the viewport. Sliding beneath the shadow of the infernal airship was the angular surface of one of Acheron’s great cubes, lit up here and there by the ship’s dread spotlights, and countless fires that burned uncontrollably across the ruined surface. Given the ship’s speed, Air-wen was unsure whether a battle had raged below, or was still raging, catching only glimpses of trenchworks, tangles of razorwire that could have ensnared a giant, and shattered siege engines laying like discarded children’s toys. It was death and destruction as far as he could see. Beyond that, the endless grey of the sky. Suddenly, the landscape below disappeared as though it had been cut off by a cosmic knife, but Air-wen realized that it was just the leading edge of the cube dropping away at a 90-degree angle, leaving the airship’s shadow to hurl itself into the void. Air-wen felt the deckplates tilt beneath his wispy elemental paws as the great ship banked and put on extra thrust to the engines to escape the cube’s gravitational pull – otherwise, the Druid thought, the ship might have gone into an abrupt 90-degree dive to continue flying at treetop height over the vertical face of the cube below. For the briefest instant Air-wen could see the battle spill from one plane of the cube to the next, charging ranks of soldiers leaping from one side to the other to continue their suicidal blitzing rush, and tanks upending as though driving off a sheer cliff, but instead merely thumping back down as they pitched over the precipice. While Air-wen silently watched, the imp janitor began to sing softly to itself, timing his tune with each wipe of his squeegee.   When you’re wounded and left out on Acheron’s plains And cadaver collectors prowl for your remains Jest roll to your crossbow and blow out your brains An’ go to your gawds like a soldier Erwen dropped out of wildshape, approached the window, and put his hands on the glass. “Fuck this place,” he muttered to himself. There was a screech from the squeegee. “Hey!” snapped the imp. “I just washed that! Keep your grimy mitts off the glass!” Erwen smiled and turned back to the windscreen. He looked around and spied a small grate, likely an ingress/egress point for imp cleaning crews to move from one side of the glass to the other. He opened the grate and knelt to access the tube. “Hey! That’s for authorized personnel only!” shouted the Imp. “You’re not allowed back there.” Erwen looked over his shoulder and smirked at the imp, and then moved into the maintenance tube. It was double-doored like an airlock, presumably to prevent weird things from drifting inside the ship, but Erwen was clever enough to cycle the doors closed until he was faced with the cool nothingness of Avalas’s void before him. He was perched on a narrow ledge that ran the width of the observation window, with rails mounted vertically along each side to allow an imp to secure itself to something while flying out to clean the exterior quartz. With a completely unobstructed view, Erwen could see a number of cubes of varying size floating in the fog, and his sharp eyes picked out two that appeared to be on a collision course. Each of the cubes dwarfed the airship by a factor of ten or more. Erwen was buffeted by wind, the only sign that the airship was moving at speed through the void. Erwen pulled out his heartwood relic , curious to see if his nature magic had any power here. Hurricane winds would be nice , he thought to himself. Maybe a hailstorm. The heartwood relic shuddered in his palm, and a sickly pallor came over its surface, but Erwen felt a tremendous swell of transmutation magic flowing from the artifact. The fog outside slowly began to swirl. Make it colder, and bring on the hail, and give me some strong winds at our back. The imp janitor had his nose and cap pressed up against the quartz as he tried to figure out what the Halfling was doing. Erwen fished out his pipe and lit it as he sat with his legs dangling off the ledge, turning up his fur collar against the cold. His smile was illuminated by the flare of the pipe.   Bob joined his co-high priest Varien in prayer. Both men felt further from Sune than they’d ever felt before. “Must be a poor connection,” Bob muttered.   “Optio!” Siegfried called out. “Bring me several barrels of firearms!” Optio Dundarth scratched one of his antennae quizzically. “Uh, firearms?” “Guns, my good devil!” Siegfried replied. “Boom sticks. Rifles. Capguns.” Dundarth’s segmented eyes sparkled. “We don’t really rely on small arms aboard ship, sir, that’s more of a Hobgoblin and Orc thing. But The Subjugator is well armed with scorpion rays, batteries and cannons. We go in for lightning and ioun stones – you know, high tech!” “Ooo, point me in that direction!” Siegfried said. “Would you like to visit one of the turrets?” Optio Dundarth asked. “I was thinking more along the lines of souvenirs,” Siegfried said. “Ah,” Dundarth said. “Well, these are capital ship weapon systems we’re talking about here, sir. Air-to-air and air-to-ground weapons, they’re not really, uh, portable, unless you’re very…” then he trailed off as he re-evaluated Siegfried’s pit fiend stature. “Well…I mean, it would be awkward for someone even of your size to walk around with one of those….” “Big-ass arbalests?” Siegfried said. “I want one.” “Well, we can take you one of the weapon bays, and you can inspect them, that’s your right,” Optio Dundarth said. “Indeed,” Siegfried replied. “Then let’s decamp for the Upper Perch,” Optio Dundarth said brightly. “They might have something that works for you, like the scorpion guns.” He chuckled to himself, thinking of a scorpion gun in action. “Let’s wait until we are closer to our destination,” Siegfried said, his mind working. Grabbing one of the massive cannons was something that had best be done right before things went to hell on board. “I would be very interested in flying around with one of those things in my hands.” “I’m not going to lie, they’re pretty tremendous,” Optio Dundarth said. “I cut my mandibles on a gun crew when I was just starting out on board as a mere Tiro. Worked my way up to Optio in record time, I did.” “Of that I’m sure,” Siegfried murmured, half-listening. Dismissing the Optio, Siegfried cast protection from evil and good on Lady Dejatha. Just keeping you safe from any further planar nonsense, he explained telepathically. You have my thanks, Lady Dejatha replied. The longer that Lady Dejatha sat on the edge of one of the studded chairs in Rimmon’s apartment, the more of her station she seemed to recover, in both posture and countenance. Her borrowed clothing was now expertly folded, creased, and tucked into a prim and proper ensemble, and she was alert and observant. May I ask what it is you are planning to do? She asked Siegfried. Where are we going? My true form is that of a half-orc prince, my mother’s line is of human royalty of a city called Neverwinter, and my father’s line, I believe, are clan chieftains in the Kingdom of Many-Arrows. I seek to unite these two kingdoms who have been at war for countless generations, into one that can work together. I’ve been summoned to this Plane by Gruumsh, God of the Orcs, along with my companions who serve Sune, the Goddess of Beauty, and I hope to negotiate a better way for my people to be with the gods who have previously demanded a more cruel fate of their worshippers.

Lady Dejatha folded her hands in her lap and leaned forward with interest. Gruumsh? I’ve heard this name. Among all the gods of the Orcs, Gruumsh rules this plane, from what I understand, Siegfried replied. Interesting, Lady Dejatha said. Gruumsh…Gruumsh had a quarrel with another god, as I recall. Corellon, I believe, Siegfried said. God of the Elves. Yes, Corellon! Lady Dejatha replied. My grandfather would tell me stories at bedtime until the candlelight ran low. But we knew Corellon as Anansus. My grandfather spoke of this trickster god who took pleasure in leading Gruumsh on a wild boar chase across the universe. Maybe my grandfather was exaggerating, after all it was a bedtime story. I’m interested, Siegfried replied. This isn’t what I’ve heard. Oh! Well, let me tell you. My grandfather used to say that stories are like a river: they will take you wherever they flow, for they know their own way. Now then, Anansus was ever apart from the other elder gods. She (when she decided she was a she) cavorted and danced through all of creation, existing here as a flock of birds, there as a lightning storm raging across the sky, now and then a golden tortoise, or a twinkle of light from the Evening Star, or the sigh of a lover’s last kiss (although my grandfather used to skip over that part). And he (when he decided he was a He) delighted in teasing the gods, playing merry pranks. And so it was that one day old Anansus spied Gruumsh hunting a boar in the vast forest. “Now here is some sport!” He thought to himself. When Gruumsh had lost sight of his quarry for a moment, Anansus changed the boar into a tuskberry bush, the first tuskberry bush, in fact, which is why to this day…of course you wouldn’t know tuskberries, not being from Telisar. I digress. And Anansus made himself into a wild board, just like the one Gruumsh had been tracking, and he led poor Gruumsh on a merry chase through the forest for a hundred years, a century, until his belly was so empty and his legs so tired he threw down his spear Itk’sha in frustration, howling with rage. Seeing this, Anansus appeared before him in her true form, laughing and dancing. “I won! I won! A hundred years and you could never catch me, Gruumsh.” And she became the wind and danced away, laughing all the while. Which is why in Elvish, Anansus is called Corellon Larethian, the Laughing Wind. This made Gruumsh furious, and so he picked up his speak Itk’sha and followed Anansus, stealthy as a grass rat, silent as rage. And wherever Anansus went, Gruumsh would spring out from behind a rock, or leap from a tree, or rise from the river and attack Anansus, hurtling his mighty spear. And should Itk’sha ever find its mark, Anansus would screech with pain and disappear, cursing Gruumsh and swearing revenge. But Anansus is too changing to keep to a blood oath, and soon enough would forget, and be drawn back to Telisar by one thing or another. And there Gruumsh would be again, and there was the barbed hook of Ituk’sha. So for an age, Gruumsh would ambush Anansus wherever he appeared, and wherever Itk’sha struck true, a drop of Anansus’s blood would touch the earth. And from that blood rose the Seldarine, the first of the Elves. In the forest rose Rillifane; in the sea, Deep Sashelas; in the mountain tops, Aerdrie Faenya; and all their brother/sisters. And to each of the Seldarine was granted a full measure of divinity, for they were of Anansus himself. And like Anansus, these first Elves were ever-changing, as mercurial as Corellon, as they called him, and as full of joy. For a time, the Seldarine made their homes here, on Telisar, and held dominion over the sea and the forest and the desert and the air, and they sired all the races of Elves. This was long ago, of course, before the coming of Lolth and her Drow. But that is another story. In the end, Anansus tricked Gruumsh into turning his great spear Itk’sha into a snake, and the snake put out Gruumsh’s eye. And as the blood flowed from his ruined eye socket, thick and hot and black, it splashed upon the ground and from it the race of Orcs was born. And thus is the story my grandfather told me while my parents thought I was fast asleep, the fire but embers, and the candle a puddle of wax. I miss my Papum. This tale was similar in broad strokes to religious lore Siegfried had encountered in his studies and research, but he’d never heard it told quite in that way before. In some tellings, Gruumsh and Corellon were twin brothers, but regardless the two had a legendary confrontation lost in the beginnings of time, clouded in legend and confusion. This was yet another version of the story explaining why Gruumsh and Corellon did not get along, if indeed it was true that Anansus and Corellon were the same god. Your story provides a closer, intimate detail of how these troubles began, Siegfried said to Lady Dejatha. His mind was already churning over how he might be able to use this new story to his advantage. It does fit the narrative that the chase, the pursuit, and the stabbing – every successful strike with the spear merely creates more pain and suffering, furthering the enemy’s agenda. And once again he is being led by the nose without realizing it. Thank you for your tale, Lady Dejatha. This has been most enlightening. Lady Dejatha blushed and averted her eyes. Better that I am able to tell a story than to become one myself , she said, running fingers up one parchment-thin stretch of skin on her other arm. Isn’t that the truth, Siegfried replied. I shall write my own story when I am free of this forsaken place , Lady Dejatha said. A sound reached Siegfried’s ears – the plinking sound of metal on metal. Quiet and irregular at first, the sound began to increase in frequency and volume, an overlapping drumbeat of steel. “Are we being shot at?” Siegfried called out. Suddenly there was a much louder sound – the buzzing of the sounding horn on Rimmon’s writing desk. “Come on lads, back to the bridge!” Siegfried called to his friends. He looked around for Erwen and found him talking to an imp in the forechamber. The janitor was quite upset and was shaking his fist at the Halfling. “This isn’t over!” he screeched as Siegfried picked up Erwen by the scruff of the collar. Lady Dejatha took Bob’s proffered arm as though it were the most natural thing in the world. These men are far more handsome than the devils I’ve been surrounded with of late, she said telepathically while batting her eyelashes at Bob. It’s a welcome change. Siegfried chuckled.   As the party moved towards the bridge, they quickly surmised that the airship was encountering some manner of turbulence – the deck pitched beneath their feet, and alarm klaxons began to blare. They reached the bridge and found a scene of controlled chaos. The bridge had been squared away, all corpses and gore puddles removed by the imp caretakers, and battle damage battened down by technicians and low-level imps. Imps were manning battle stations, while others flitted about to deliver messages. The chain devil was standing astride the clockwork navigational dais, hauling on the chains that disappeared into the deck in an effort to keep the airship level. Through the bridge viewscreen the void of Avalas had been replaced with a maelstrom. Razor-sharp shards of rusted metal were assailing the hull of the airship at supersonic speed, pitting the hull and viewscreen alike. “Report!” growled Siegfried. “Storm, sir!” shouted Zuvok above the percussive din. “It seemed to come out of nowhere, dredging up shards of rusty steel, glass and ice from the depths of Ocanthus. I wouldn’t want to be caught in the open out there.” “We’re getting damage reports from all over the ship!” an imp officer called out. “At the same time, it’s given us quite a speed boost,” Air Marshal Zuvok said. “We’re almost at our destination.” “You say the storm seemed to appear from nowhere, in our vicinity?” Siegfried said. He eyed Erwen, who had a cheese-eating grin on his face. Sighing, Siegfried stretched out his hand and shouted “cease!” to the storm, casting dispel magic. There was a chorus of wonderment from the bridge crew as the storm began to slowly recede. The scything sound of icy shards ripping the hull began to subside. “A real miracle worker he is,” Erwen grumbled. “Orders, sir?” Air Marshal Zuvok asked. “Where are we most vulnerable?” Siegfried asked. “Which damaged area makes the ship most vulnerable to destruction?” Varien’s eyebrow raised. “Damage report!” Zuvok barked at the imps. The imps huddled around a stuttering machine that was spitting out a ream of paper upon which was imprinted with blocky Infernal text. They whispered to each other before one of them flew up to Zuvok’s shoulder epaulet and hissed in her ear. “The soul intake has been partially crushed and torn during the storm and has weakened the armour around the engine room,” Air Marshal Zuvok said. “We’re still airworthy, but the armour around the engine room has sheared. We’re still airworthy but we’ll need to visit a dry dock after this adventure.” “What is a soul intake and what happens to the souls that don’t make it to the engines?” Varien asked. “I think this warrants an inspection by my chief engineer Varien,” Siegfried said. “Optio Dundarth, can you please escort Varien to the engine room so that he may make his inspection?” Optio Dundarth saluted. “Roger that, sir!” “Please notify him when we’ve landed,” Siegfried said. Siegfried turned to Bob. “You’ve got to keep our rescue here alive no matter what happens,” he whispered, indicating Lady Dejatha. The storm began to clear, and emerging from the fog was a vast cube, the largest one they’d seen so far. As they approached, they saw that its surface was shot through with vast, intricate trench systems, open pit mines that seemed to have no bottom, and complicated earthworks that would put the walls of Waterdeep to shame. The airship was pulled into the gargantuan cube’s orbit and soon they were drifting soundlessly overhead, following a massive array of pipelines that drew gods-knew-what from the ground and carried it for hundreds of miles in steel tubes big enough for the airship to fly into, if the pilot were feeling foolhardy enough. It took some time, but the flat horizon of the cube ahead showed some variation, as though they were approaching a mountain range. However, as they drew closer they saw it was not a mountain but a massive tower that rose in defiance of gravity and all defensive positions about it. Massive cannons were arrayed like porcupine quills around the central tower, tracking the airship as it approached. “The Iron Fortress,” Air Marshal Zuvok breathed. “I never thought I’d get this close to it without paying a bloody price.” “This is the base of operations for Obould Many-Arrows?” Siegfried asked. From beneath a console, Gnash the Slash poked his head out. “Yup,” he said. Air Marshal Zuvok fixed Siegrfried with a strange look and leaned in. “Should I prepare my air crews for a quick departure from the Subjugator ?” she asked in a low voice. Siegfried said nothing, his bulging arms crossed across his barrel chest, but his partially obscured hand gave the Hobgoblin a discreet thumb’s up. The Air Marshal blinked and raised a hand to adjust the peaked cap atop her head in a minute salute. “Understood,” she mouthed. She turned on her heel and marched from the bridge. None of the fiends on the bridge were any the wiser. Gnash was replacing a sounding horn on its receptacle. “The Orcs are giving us a window – they’re not going to open fire on us with their batteries while you’re parlaying with the Aspect of Gruumsh or until they know exactly what we’re about for some reason. I think we’ve got a clear approach, Captain.” “Excellent, Gnash. Now, stay within grappling distance.” “Oh, I wouldn’t think of leaving your sight, boss,” Gnash said uneasily. “By the way, where’s the nearest scorpion turret?” Siegfried asked the nearest bridge officer.   Optio Dundarth escorted Varien down the corridor, barking at subordinates to get out of the way as they travelled. “Make way! Escorting a VIP here!” I’m immortal on this plane, Varien thought to himself. Literally no power in the ‘Verse can stop me. A sound reached his ears. A sound of marching boots. Ahead of him, a bulkhead door cycled open, and a legion of fiendish infantry began marching forward in double file. Varien recognized them as merregons, low-level devil infantry who had iron masks affixed to their faces, wiping away all forms of personal identity – they were the lowest rank of legion devil, armed and armoured well enough, but expected to fight and die for their shouting masters. Speaking of which, a hulking gelugon squeezed through the bulkhead door in between the companies of marching merregons. He was the biggest ice devil Varien had yet seen. In Infernal, Varien asked the gelugon where they were marching these troops. Optio Dundarth made a sucking noise with his mandibles as though some protocol had been broken. “This is Iseddon, the Executive Officer of the Subjugator ,” he hissed at Vairen. The gelugon leader’s carapace was polished to an ice-blue sheen, and radiated deep cold, frosting the armour of the troops as they marched past. The deckplates froze beneath his clawed feet. The gelugon paused and looked down at Varien, then back at his troops. “Did you hear the sound of a mortal asking me a question? Because I didn’t.” Varien reached out a gauntlet and stayed the gelugon’s step. “If you’re talking about mortals, you must not be talking about me. I’m asking you again. Where are you going, because it looks like you’re going to the helm, and you sure don’t look like helm operators to me.” Iseddon fixed Varien with an icy glare, glancing at Varien’s gauntlet and then back to the paladin. “One more impertinent remark and your soul will be fueling this ship before you can say anything further. We are re-taking the ship. Does that satisfy you?” Varien sighed and a slow smile crept across his features. “I was concerned you might say that.” He drew Fiendsbane from his scabbard.