Apostles of Doom

Of course, with this small, momentary break, she could think about the mind-numbing conclusion to her mission. This was not at all what she had envisioned; not in a hundred million years. To be honest, she had been so preoccupied with her links that she hadn’t been able to fully process what had been said. What had registered made no sense. She desperately wanted to have a meeting with the local team still here — Stevos, Timbly, Teragdor, Rasmeth and Inethya — and go over what had been said. Teragdor and Rasmeth, in particular, would have understood the details better than she had been able to follow. So much of what she thought she had heard could not conceivably be correct; that’s why she needed to corroborate with the others. At a minimum, they needed to get their story straight and get some answers from Beragamos.

Beragamos knew Orcus! Hilda shook her head. That one D’Orc had even claimed to have worked with Beragamos in the past. How in Tierhallon could that possibly be? And why had Beragamos never mentioned that he knew the demon they were chasing personally?

A demon that Sentir Fallon had slain? Did Sentir Fallon know that Beragamos had worked with Orcus and his D’Orcs? Was that why Beragamos had said nothing? Hilda’s jaw suddenly dropped. She was suddenly remembering Orcus and his big D’Orc saying that Sentir Fallon had conspired with Lilith, the Queen of Demons, to defeat Orcus!

Hilda put her head in her hands. Saints did not normally get headaches, or at least not very often, but it certainly felt like one was coming on. Sweet Lord Tiernon, do I ever need a drink! she thought to herself, chuckling at the thought. Thankfully, it was impossible for a saint to be physically addicted to alcohol, but the act of drinking — the taste, the smell of the wine — that was what relaxed her, allowed her to be objective, to look at the big picture, and that is what she needed now.

She took a deep breath and tried some calming exercises. She needed to focus. At the moment, the abrupt culmination of her mission had yielded more questions, more confusion than she had started the mission with. If she took time to follow the logic of the conversation in the command center, her world would be on very shaky ground. There was a battle at hand. Now was not the time for questions; now was the time for action.

Hilda gritted her teeth, resolutely trying to smile. The most important thing to keep in mind was that she had the opportunity to put her questions and uncertainty to the side and do what she’d been wanting to do since arriving in Nysegard. She was going to go kick some vampires in the fangs! She would don her Saintly Plate Armor and go forth to wreak Holy Havoc among the Unlife. Her blows against the Unlife would, hopefully, act as blows against her own uncertainties and anxieties.

Tierhallon

Tiernon was reviewing the latest reports from Nysegard when Beragamos’s link suddenly came back online. He had actually been shocked when the Supreme Archon’s link had first disappeared; he had noticed that well before Sentir Fallon had reported the outage.

Beragamos? Tiernon sent down the link. He very rarely communicated this way with anyone, but the urgency of the situation dictated a change of protocol.

One moment, my lord, I must reshuffle a good number of links, Beragamos said. Tiernon was not completely sure what Beragamos was speaking about; however, he could imagine that with so many links cut, Beragamos was busy restoring them.

It took several minutes but eventually Beragamos responded. Apologies, my lord, but Dashgar and I are relaying all the links from Inethya, Hilda, Stevos and all of our priests in the Citadel; it’s a bit complicated to get the routing reset properly, Beragamos said.

So you are not at the Citadel? Tiernon asked.

No. We and the attending archons of the other Siblings are on the Isle of Doom, Beragamos replied to Tiernon’s immense shock.

The Isle of Doom? With the demon? Tiernon asked.