Apostles of Doom

Talarius exited the new permanent portal from Krallnomton to Agnothnon. Phaestus and his avatar craftsmen had been working overtime. Apparently his avatars did not need to sleep, even in the material planes. He shook his head in wonder at their hard work as he headed toward the Good Knight’s Rest, which was the local inn and tavern in town. He had to admit these portals between towns were rather amazing, even if they were not the original permanent portals that the island had possessed in the old days.

The Rod should really consider more widespread usage of runic gateways between its fortresses, he thought. One would think if a motley mix of orcs, dwarves, humans and heartheans were smart enough to come up with the idea of permanent portals for rapid mobilization, the Church and Rod should have been able to do the same. He shook his head; it would not be the first thing he had found that the Nysegard Doomers had come up with in terms of military readiness that the Rod had overlooked.

Being at permanent war against an implacable foe did, surprisingly, have some advantages, as did a lack of tremendous magical resources. After the fall of Doom, these folk had really needed to improvise and Talarius had to begrudgingly admit that they had come up with some very interesting tactics and solid long-term strategies to defend their island. He had spent most of his free time, when not training himself or others, trying to learn the nature of war on Nysegard. Having access to teachers with thousands of years of experience was extraordinary.

At first he had been hesitant to engage the local D’Orcs in conversation; however, none of the D’Orcs here knew of his extremely ignoble first encounter with their leader. Not many of them even knew his history at Doom, but they all knew he was a hostage, not an ally or partner. He had — rather selfishly, he admitted — not gone out of his way, or even within his way, to bring this small fact up to anyone. Thus, they treated him as a brother in arms. One who had fought beside Lord Tommus and the goddess Sekhmekt against Knights of Chaos, in fact. He had to admit that it felt good to have something to be proud of after his defeat at the hands of Lord Tommus. A small moment of partial redemption for his shameful behavior during that duel.

He still had no excuse for his dishonorable behavior. Even if — as was now questionable — Lord Tommus had been the vile, despicable and dishonorable creature that Talarius had assumed him to be — as one might reasonably expect any greater demon to be — that was still no excuse for lowering himself to the same standard. He, himself, should have maintained his honor and held to his oath. He should have fought fairly; he had not. The ends did not justify the means if it required one to abandon one’s sworn principles.

Enough. He needed to get away from such thoughts. He also needed to get away from the thoughts that were currently preoccupying his sword, Ruiden. Tamarin had agreed to sharing her knowledge of the demon- and D’Orc-making process with his sword. Since they were both telepathic, they seemed to hit it off rather well. Talarius shook his head in dismay. His sword was making friends of its own. Had the multiverse turned upside down?

Rather than focus on such thoughts, he had been more than happy to accept Stainsberry’s invitation to dinner and drinks at the Good Knight’s Rest. For one thing, it was nice to see that there were some trappings of normal life on Nysegard, such as inns and taverns. Even if, Talarius thought as he entered the tavern, said tavern had a very odd clientele. He glanced around the tavern to see tables with a mix of alvar, orcs, humans, heartheans and dwarves eating and drinking together. This intermingling was a common enough sight in Krallnomton, and several places in Astlan; however, the fact that about twenty percent of the people in this particular bar were alvar while nearly a third were orcs? And they were sharing tables and laughing and drinking together? That was, to say the least, extremely odd. In rougher quarters where the two races might be forced to comingle, they typically grouped together by race, staying away from the others while bartenders cast wary eyes upon their patrons to ensure their establishments suffered no collateral damages.

“Talarius!” Stainsberry’s voice called from the far side of the large, crowded main room of the tavern.

Talarius turned his head and spotted the knight waving to him. He made his way over to the knight’s private table. As he reached it, he was somewhat surprised to see an older dwarf wearing what appeared to be priestly robes sitting at the table with Stainsberry.

Stainsberry gestured to the third seat at the table.