Apostles of Doom

“There are definitely advantages to not needing sleep,” Arch-Vicar General Barabus observed as XO Stevensword finished his status report. The crew had been working around the clock to repair the ship and they had just received welcome news of these efforts.

“Sleep?” Sir Samwell asked Barabus with a wry grin. “Do you have any idea how long it has been since I had a good night’s rest?”

“I would assume one thousand, four hundred and eighty-six years, give or take a few months,” Heron replied.

“Yes, that would be correct.” Sir Samwell nodded to the wing arms master. “More or less.”

“In any event, while we are now mobile and our defenses much improved, we are still unable to plane shift,” Captain Cranshall said. “Wing Arms Master? Is it your desire that we resume our searching while we continue repairs?”

Heron nodded. “We might as well continue. Arch-Vicar General?” Heron looked to Barabus.

Barabus nodded. “Temerlain and his priests have scanned this area, so I would suggest we proceed as we had been for now.”

“Yes, back to searching for a small, eighth-of-a-carat diamond on a very large beach.” Sir Samwell smiled as he unhelpfully reminded them of the task at hand.

Ithgar, West of Orcopolis

Rupert grinned, as did Fer Rog, as they watched Aggfred and Snoggard reel on their D’Wargs as they flew through the morning air. Their two new friends were still glarghvosted from last night’s leave-taking party. The two had foolishly re-challenged Rupert and Fer Rog to another drinking contest, trying to recapture their honor.

It had worked out about as well as two nights before. He supposed at some point they would have to tell their new friends the truth, maybe. He shook his head; it was good to be moving again. The last two days had been spent in boring planning sessions.

Apparently the location of Ithgar’s Doomalogue was in the middle of a desert with some generally disagreeable tribes. It was for this reason that the Deathfingers were sending twenty of their own, including the Deathfinger heir, Orcag’s son, Aggfred, and his shield-mate, Snoggard, to negotiate passage.

Additionally, one of Orcag’s most trusted generals, Farsbargodden, and seventeen other Deathfinger warriors were accompanying them. It had been a bit of a rough take-off, given that they were all so heavily armored. After a few false starts that caused everyone to look away to avoid shaming any warriors, Hespith decided that, given their proximity to Orcopolis and that they would be in secured territory for several days, they would get everyone skilled in D’Warg riding wearing light armor. Fortunately, they had requested additional D’Wargs to carry gear. In total there were five D’Orcs, thirty orcs, including Beya, Rupert and Fer-Rog, and forty D’Wargs.

Beya had soothed potentially wounded egos by admitting that everyone in their party had started in hunting leathers rather than full armor. That helped to alleviate an otherwise potentially awkward situation with their new allies.

Even so, their new allies were also having a good time mocking Aggfred and Snoggard’s reeling and periodic retching. Their altitude and the D’Warg’s motions were clearly not agreeing with the two.

This should be an interesting trip. He had never been to a desert, unless you counted the Abyss, which he supposed was technically far worse than any normal desert. Perhaps it would remind him of home.

Nysegard, Krallnomton: Early Fourth Period

Valg Death Cheater, wandering down into Krallnomton, noted his mother rapidly toting a bucket of water towards his parent’s home. She seemed more rushed than usual. Valg headed over to the house, knocking briefly on his way in. Even before entering, he could smell the incense burning and the teas brewing. His stomach lurched as he saw his father sweating feverishly in his bed. Valg shook his head; his mother noted his motion and nodded.

“Your father here is now paying for his strength and energy spells. Not only did he use them when we thought we were under attack, but he continued to use them to be active and observe all the ceremonies.” She sounded quite angry.

His father issued a raspy chuckle. “There is no way I would miss this great occurrence! It is the fulfillment of everything I have worked for my entire life!”

“He assured me he was not using the rituals for the ceremonies, that it was only natural exuberance. He told me a lie, and now I must worry that he is about to die!” Valg’s mother scolded his father.

“Do not worry, my dear. There is no need to worry, for it is a surety. I am dying, and am not much longer for this world. All I ask is that you heed my instructions for medicine to ease my passing,” Valg’s father told her.

“Father!” Valg slid over and carefully grasped his father’s hand.

Mount Doom: Mid Fourth Period