Apostles of Doom

“Given this, and we’ve all reviewed the data several times over,” Trevin said, “we must decide whether this lead is worth pursuing to Najaar and then to Natoor, or should we be paying more attention to the D’Orcs?”

“The closest of the major temple ruins in Najaar is approximately eight hundred leagues, about three and a half days’ travel for the Nimbus,” the captain informed them. “Four days, if we are a bit more circumspect in our path.”

Gastropé shook his head. That sort of speed was simply unimaginable. He still could not get over how fast this cloud could move. “And how many ruins will we need to be investigated there?” he asked.

“There are, I believe, a great many,” Elrose said. “One would hope that if any of them are in use at any level, we would be able to detect sympathetic reverberations.”

Maelen shrugged, indicating doubt. “I suspect that many of the sites will be too ruined, too desecrated to function at any level. We will probably need to check several sites to find the least damaged.”

“The other side of the coin is that things are getting quite tense in the United Federation, and from what I hear secondhand, in Kel Femaer as well,” the captain said.

Aêthêal nodded. “I hear that the priests of Nét are arguing for preemptive strikes against various orc tribes.”

Captain Ehéarellis glanced towards his first mate with a small grin. “So the aetós are now paying attention to alfar priests?”

“When they seek war?” Aêthêal nodded. “Then we do pay attention. In particular, my people living near Jötunnhenj have spotted alvaran sky patrols.”

“Near Jötunnhenj?” Trevin asked with grave concern as she sat up in her chair.

“Indeed.” Aêthêal nodded.

“That is not a good sign,” the captain noted.

“That is the heart of orc and jötunnkind territory,” Trevin said. “They could only be more provocative if they sent patrols circling Mount Orc!” She shook her head. “What are they thinking?”

“I suspect they are thinking that the D’Orcs may try to reopen their base of operations in Astlan,” Captain Ehéarellis replied.

“Their base of operations?” Jenn asked. “They had a base in Astlan?”

“Indeed, or so the stories go. This is all before my time, but I know the stories. My grandfather fought them at Mount Orc and near Jötunnhenj, where their base of operations was.”

“I have never heard of any of these locations,” Gastropé said. “Where are they?”

The captain tilted his head from side to side. “Mount Orc is the ancestral home of the orcs in Astlan, or so the legends go. It is an extremely large mountain rising out of the middle of the plains with a fortress on top, capping perhaps the largest labyrinth on the planet. It is about ninety leagues northeast of Murgatroy. Jötunnhenj is said to be the ancestral home of all jötunnkind in Astlan. It is about two hundred and seventy-plus leagues from Murgatroy.”

Maelen frowned. “So this Jötunnhenj is quite a bit closer to us then the closest ruins in Najaar?”

Aêthêal nodded. “Less than half the distance.”

“So which has the more likely payout?” Elrose asked.

Trevin sighed, shaking her head. “I am thinking that preventing a war between orcs and the alfar takes precedence. We need to convince those sky patrols to stand down. It will infuriate the tribes on the plains.”

Aêthêal nodded in acceptance of Trevin’s decision. “We shall conclude things here, load the ship and chart our course. We should be able to leave by midnight.”

Etterdam, Nart Camp: DOA + 10, Early Sixth Period

Ragala-nargoloth checked her runes one last time. They were solid. Actually, there wasn’t as much to check with these runes as she would for most summonings. It was no dark spirit or long-lost soul she was summoning that might require protection. No, this was a demon summoning.

She chuckled to herself. Obviously, anyone in their right mind summoning a demon would want to have protections upon their protection to the highest degree. It was well known to all that a summoned demon that broke through the summoner’s projections would perform unspeakably abhorrent and depraved violations of the flesh upon the summoner.

In this case, Ragala-nargoloth was hoping for some unspeakably abhorrent depravity to be performed upon herself. She grinned in anticipation as she looked around her travel tent, ensuring that all was in place. Nodding in satisfaction, she poured a small sack of crushed herbs upon the fire in the brazier to her right. Smoke and the scent of the burning herbs began to fill the tent.

“Ackrotha tor-norgomonos. Vechkt bratzlaven copen doorscht. Vasloning gbharghostvertung, nas dicht trofflachtus.” Uracai, the highest language of the orcs, could get very complicated to speak. She personally did not enjoy speaking it, but for many rituals it was a necessity.