The Twice Fallen King
Fourteenth Day of the Twelfth Month 293 AC
The three of you return to the sound of screams and the clash of steel on steel. You had expected to need spells of finding and of warding, you had expected to fight a battle. A battle there was indeed unfolding beneath you, but not against you, not against the ones who had set afire the sanctum of the Risen Nine. Instead, you watch in horror as the dead slaughter the living, skeletons held together by sorcery and the will of the necromancer cutting down living men with the dreadful efficiency, arrows of withered vinewood rain down upon those few living soldiers trying to stem the tide. It seems the Once Tyrant of Tyrosh had decided he could trust no one and nothing but his puppets.
"My knights," Liomond says urgently. "I have to go to them..." For a moment you think he had meant to stop the carnage, and perhaps he does mean that in some distant secondary regard, but his next words reveal the true source of his worry. "With me vanished, Maelys and Silvertongue will think them tainted by treachery also. They'll be put down like dogs."
"Where is Maelys?" Tyene asks angrily turning her gaze this way and that in search of the black armored 'king' of the damned. "He should be stopping this."
"Alas, I do not think one mad Tyrant will be much more likely than another to care about those under his rule," Malarys says coldly as Vee sends her storm spirits to sweep aside a trio of hungering ghouls swept up in the blood madness before they could break down a storage room door.
"Face me, Craven!" the words bellow above the din of battle, two voices speaking as one and even before your eyes can find the misshapen figure among a company of scarred madmen frothing at the mouth, you know that Maelys the Monstrous had taken to the field. He charges through the bloody courtyard cutting down all who stand in his way be they living or dead. Of all his sins, at least no one would ever accuse him of cowardice, though folly is another matter.
Good that you will not have to chase him down.
"Does he mean us or the the corpse-raiser?" Vee asks, disgusted.
"We can kill him even if he doesn't ask us for it," Ser Richard says, in a moment of rare humor in the midst of battle. You suppose a few hundred feet of air between you and enemy with no wings in sight would satisfy even him that you have the time to speak. "It would be my honor to bring you his head, Your Grace."
"We don't know where the others are," Malarys points out.
"They are not warded against divination," Tyene replies swiftly, as below you Maelys slices the arm off of something halfway between a stitched together corpse and a golem. Appropriate as it might be for your enemies to kill each other in their own madness, every moment passing could be another life senselessly lost.
A shard of
amber flies from your hand. For a moment the dead warrior's gaze catches yours and you see more than rage, you see ambition at legacy lost and hopes for a kingdom that never will be. He almost shakes off the spell, but Lya whispers a
command to turn his fate darker and so it is.
His guards begin to rip and tear at their master's prison, seeking to free him, knowing even in their rage that they must free him beyond even the siren call of battle.
They are not fast enough. They die by fire, and they die by light, and they die by lightning from the clear blue sky.
What do you do next?
[] Try to secure the town
[] Try to track down Silvertongue, he is the only one you cannot find by divination
[] Write in
OOC: Tiamat was a little tired after yesterday to help Maelys as much as she would have preferred (low roll for her intervention). Not yet edited.