Sowing Desolation
Twenty Sixth Day of the Second Month 294 AC
Azema had fought devils before. Not often, and not being mad she did not seek it out, but in the company she kept it was easy to forget that often it was the devils who should know fear. The dragon breathed black fire, filling the hall and slaying men by the dozen yet weaving between allies deft as a thread through the needle's eye. Tyene summoned winds to whip away gas and send devilish bolts flying off course. They 'wounded' the black knight, if one could be said to wound a husk already dead, but it was the old man, one oft forgotten, whose eyes gleamed at the thought of prizes not battle, who worked the most fearful magic to the alu demon's eye.
One thing to cast black leeching sand below the enemy's feet and summon tendrils of false flesh to hold the enemy tight, another by far to conjure a mass of pulsating flesh beneath infernal armor that grows and squirms until it threatens to
devour the mind of the very devil who rules this place. The devil did not flee bolts or dragon's stings, but it fled the old man in white stained more by his own blood than the enemy's.
Azema marked the old man well as one to watch. He would go far on roads few mortals would dare walk.
After breaking the choke point, striding over the corpses of their enemies, under deadly portcullis and thinnest faults in the stone above that might have brought the upper city all too close, they came at last to a new made hall delved deep into the native sandstone and guarded by carved effigies of the Lady of Spears on either side, each so lifelike that Aradia kept her bow on them until Tyene and Wisdom Qyburn verified that there were no servitors poised to attack.
Inside they found surgeon's tools polished to a shine, baths of strange salts and vitriol, and half-empty jars of alchemical concoctions that smelled foul to Azema's nose in ways that blood and rot, even pitch and brimstone, did not. A devil's workshop as much as a goddess' holy place alright.
A moment later, summoned by one of the little dragons, Lady Melisandre and her company walked in by shadow paths that she had not dared take before for lack of an obvious end point.
"The spirit has left this place, but the remains can perhaps be useful," she sighed, looking in askance at the corpse knight. She might be able to bear its company, but she obviously didn't have to like it. Then she opened her mouth to speak to it and Azema had to change her mind all at once. "Can you desecrate this place, make it anathema to the divine."
"Yes..." the mold hissed through dead lips. "Your god would give you greater strength in the magic."
"I do not wish to give the enemy a hallowed place of R'hllor to make their own again once we are gone, better to leave naught but bitter ash behind."
By the time they left the hall, it was as empty of gods as it was of discoverable loot.
Some things, Azema contemplated,
never changed.
What next?
[] Do a minor action
-[] Write in
[] Receive a report
-[] Write in
[] Write in
OOC: I was struggling to give the battle a proper gravitas with the Apostasy Devil being able to run, so I just glossed over a bit and rolled through so we can finally get out of Slaver's Bay and on to the new and improved world with less 'monster of the week field'. On the plus side, the major devils surviving means they can eventually redeem themselves narratively into being proper characters with goals and objectives of their own. Not yet edited.