Apostles of Doom

Talarius woke to midmorning fierdlight. His first thoughts were of concern regarding how late it was; he had slept half the morning. His next thought was that he really did not feel like moving. Nope, I really do not want to get up; I’d be good with lying in this pile of hay for the rest of the day.

That thought caused him to bolt upright. Vertigo kicked in immediately as the world swayed around him. What the hell is wrong with me? Am I under a spell by some dark magus? Where the hell am I? When am I? Why am I lying in a haystack? He was feeling extremely disoriented; it had to be some sort of confusion spell. He really could not get his bearings.

Who is that? Talarius thought, staring at the alfar lying next to him in the haystack. The fellow was half in and half out of his armor. Talarius looked down at himself. He was in the same state; it was as if they’d been trying to get their armor off in order to sleep more comfortably, but had not succeeded before falling asleep or passing out.

He knew the fellow; he was a Knight Magus. One of the El Ohîm? Stainsberry. That was it. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but that only made his vertigo worse. He was pulling it together now. He was on Nysegard, in a field, presumably somewhere between the henge and Krallnomton. What in the Abyss had happened?

“A D’Orcing,” Talarius muttered to himself, answering his own question. It was all coming back in a rush. He remembered it all now. What an incredibly surreal experience. Lord Tiernon! That unholy ceremony had been unlike anything he had ever witnessed. Utter paganism, drugs, dancing and excessively loud music. The lights, the colors, the sounds. The agonizing scream of the newborn D’Orc.

“A D’Orc, a demon orc; a demon created from a normal orc.” He now remembered Stainsberry’s words. “D’Orcs are just demons that come from orcs. There are also demons that come from humans, elves, dwarves and most other intelligent species.”

Chills raced down Talarius’s spine. He was not sure how to process this. It was well known that demons lured humans, all mortals, into acts of evil, consigning them to eternal torment and damnation. But they were consigned as victims of the demons’ perversions, not as a demon themselves.

People did not become demons due to their vile acts. It was not like virtuous people, who were rewarded with eternal life as a saint. More thoughts, discussions came as his memories returned slowly. For orcs, becoming a D’Orc upon death was the same as a human being canonized. D’Orcs were orc saints; yet they were demons.

Talarius suddenly felt nauseous. It was not from the vertigo, though; it was these heretical thoughts in his head. “Indeed, all demons have to come from somewhere. Other than the D’Orcs, very few demon races procreate frequently; therefore, they rely on wizards and other mana wielders to conjure mortals into the Abyss to resupply their ranks. Making a human demon is no different than making an orc demon; the only difference is the mortal race they started as.” Stainsberry’s words echoed in his head.

The horrifying implication was that wizards and their ilk were recruiting or kidnapping people and turning them into vile and despicable demons! He had always suspected there was something off, something utterly nefarious about those damn wizards. He had never really trusted them. Other than Stainsberry, who was also a knight, one of the El Ohîm and thus not a traditional, shifty wizard — he had a code of honor. Demons were created, not born, or something like that. Stainsberry had implied that some were born, or could be. Half-demons, most likely.

He had no idea what the implications of it were. It was a known fact that demons were by their very nature evil. Not so much the ones he was currently with, he had to admit. Tom and his crew had been crass and obnoxious, even threatening — at least, Tizzy was — but he had not seen them do anything particularly evil. All the torturing going on at Mount Doom seemed to be consensual. Odd as that seemed.