Apostles of Doom

“What the — is that Tizzy?” Boggy asked in consternation, pointing towards the outermost ring of unofficial dancers.

They all turned to see the octopodal demon down in the crowd, his pipe clenched between his teeth, puffing like all get out, and all four hands pounding away on two sets of two bongos strapped to his front. He was walking on all fours, or rather dancing, rather weirdly.

“He seems to be having fun!” Estrebrius noted.

“Let’s go join him!” Antefalken said, ceasing his playing. The full volume of the drums and the crowd suddenly hit them in full force.

Reggie jumped in surprise, feeling the rather amazing beat starting to move him. “Let’s go!” he shouted.

~

Vaselle suddenly realized that it was getting dark faster than it should this early in the evening. He looked up to the sky to see that very dark storm clouds, much darker and lower to the ground than Krallnomton’s normal Doom clouds, had moved in. He examined them with his wizard sight, which he had activated at the beginning of the ceremony so he could observe the process.

Interesting; they were mana-driven storm clouds. This was something he had read about, but never actually seen. Intense levels of mana and animus churning could create storm clouds, which, like all storm clouds, were accumulations of air, water and fire in the form of lightning. He shook his head, suddenly realizing something that should have been obvious. The storm clouds that surrounded Doom! That was what those were; he simply had not realized it.

Vaselle blinked as the first flash of lightning lit the sky. He tipped his head back further, reveling in the power. Wizard spells were so contained, so packaged and tight in their use of mana and animus that the storm clouds rarely had time to gather. It was the raw, excess mana and animus that attracted the storm clouds. Only during times of war, when wizard battled wizard on a large scale, did you typically see these clouds.

He giggled slightly, more than a little bit affected by his mortal stash and Tom’s own demon weed flowing over the link. Storm clouds in a battle would make throwing lightning bolts very easy. Probably one reason they were so much more popular in a war. Easier to call down upon a target from the storm clouds, and much more targeted than a fireball that might roast your allies.

He had to imagine that the soldiers on the ground hated it. Nothing like being mired in mud, muck and pouring rain, poor visibility and the threat of lightning strike. It was good to be a wizard… and better to be a warlock.

Vaselle closed his eyes, feeling the intense beat of the drums and the wailing of the horns. The entire henge area was very hard to look at with wizard sight. It was bright, very bright. There was so much magic, it was more than a little overwhelming.

The dance of protection created a cloudy, glowing shield that seemed very primitive compared to that of Lenamare’s wards, yet these wards seemed far more natural, rawer and perhaps at some primitive level, even more awe-inspiring. It was the fine-weave artistry and taut control of Lenamare’s wards that in some ways was deceptive. They had immense power locked within them, hidden. Here the power was fully on display. He had to admit it was every bit as inspiring in its own very different way.

Suddenly the drum beat shifted and several of the dancers changed direction, chants rhythmically shifting. Vaselle opened his eyes to see the pentacle flashing brightly. With a sudden twist, through his link with Tom he found himself with Tamarin, in the Astral Plane.

The region outside the inner ring was very hazy, and he could see nothing outside of the drum circle; simply the vast colorful nothingness of the Astral Plane. Tom began his chanting. Vaselle could feel Tamarin with him inside Tom’s brain. This was surreal. Superficially, it was not technically dissimilar to a three-wizard link for spellcasting. Viscerally, however, it was much different. This was far more intimate; similar to possession, yet with three people. He could feel, experience the shaman links to Muzga and Usgash, and then to the other shamans on secondary levels. Those shaman links were the equivalent of wizard links.

They were, however, to Vaselle’s wizard-trained sensibility, far more raw, more ad hoc, free-form and loose than he was used to. He supposed that made sense. He needed to stop analyzing this, though, and focus on Tom and the summoning.

“Karth Mauhur Lugdog Gahsagr, son of Lukil Agral tal Veng Death Cheater, I, Lord Tommus, Master of Doom, summon you by your true name. I demand that you attend me to swear your obedience and demonstrate your obeisance.”

Vaselle blinked. While he understood what Tom was saying due to their link and rehearsal, he was not speaking Universal. It was some other language, a very harsh one that he was unfamiliar with. It sounded something like Orcish, but it had a different cadence, different inflections.