"Wow, the place has changed since we were last here," Chris commented. He, along with the rest of the Wards, were sitting in the guest house that a bunch of dwarven craftsmen had constructed while they had some idle time. "And this looks like it'll withstand a siege."
The room they were sitting in was framed with heavy timbers and the walls were made of stone cut so expertly one had to look closely to see the seams. Likewise, the windows were deep, and the glass was triple-paned. All the metalwork was expertly done, and would be considered works of art back home. While most of it was iron or steel, there were decorative splashes of copper, brass, bronze, chrome and silver.
Considering the potential for magic and exotic materials, the whole thing might be a lot stronger than glass, hardwood, common stone, and metal.
And the furniture inside was equally well built and sturdy. Again, expertly crafted and like the stonework, so well joined one could not easily see the individual pieces of wood.
Taylor nodded. "The crew that did this does very good work, and I'm glad they did it as a favor to one of my patrons, because I doubt I could have afforded them on my own. As for sieges, I've managed to stock some preserved food in the pantries here." She looked around the room. "The utility spellwork here is something else, too. We've got lights, heating and cooling, running hot and cold water, and waste disposal."
"So no having to chop wood, or get water from a well," Mizuchi said. "Or pooping in a ditch." At the looks from everyone else, she shrugged. "My father described his trip in ancient Japan. Things were kinda… icky."
"Yeah, none of that here," Taylor said. "Anyway, we might as well kick back for a while. I don't think we're going to be allowed back for some time. And as I can't think of any other way to do it, I still need to decide how to get in touch with Hlal to have her tell Armsmaster we're OK."
"You could simply tell me," Hlal, in her guise as Hailey, smugly stated from where she sat at the table with a flagon of wine in hand. "Tia's got some good taste." The reactions of everyone were predictable, everyone staring at the woman for a few seconds before facepalming.
"I'd ask how you keep doing that," Taylor said. "But then you might actually tell me. So instead, I'll ask, how did you know we were here?"
Hailey gave Taylor a smirk."You show wisdom beyond your years," she stated, taking another pull from the flagon before answering. "As to how I know? Did you forget that my boyfriend is in the Protectorate? At a comment from Armsmaster, he asked me to check if you were here."
"Since when did Dennis become the responsible one?" Dinah asked. "I mean, yeah, he's smarter and more observant than most give him credit for, but being responsible?"
"People grow up, Dinah," Missy said, kicking back and putting her feet on the table. "Even Dennis."
"Noooooo!" Takara added, with a look of mock horror on her face, hands on her face. "Say it isn't so!"
Before Missy could bop Takara gently on the head, Hailey did, getting a stuck out tongue in return. "Ah,
Mage Hand is a wonderful toy," she said smugly.
"Pass on to Armsmaster that we're safe," Taylor requested. "We'll probably stay overnight here, and pop back to the flight deck in the morning around 0600. And Chris?"
"Yeah, Taylor?"
"Break out those Hostess™ cupcakes." Soon a box was tossed to her. "How many do you want for carrying the message?"
"Nah, keep 'em," Hailey answered. "You're not the one who needs to pay.
Dennis does. And half the payment's already been made." She paused. "Do you – keep those here?"
"No, we brought them. But I've got an oven and ingredients."
"Beyond your years," Hailey repeated.
= = = = = = = = = =
"What are they?" Battery, aka Karen, asked. "Besides slimy, fish-like, and suicidal."
Armsmaster paused in his task of examining the bodies of the creatures that had tried to storm The Rig and failed miserably. And it would take days, literally, to get the fishy smell out of the complex, because they'd gotten into the ventilation ducts and run afoul of some of the countermeasures there.
"Kuo-toa," Armsmaster stated. "Subterranean dwelling icthyoids who are, as a race, insane fanatics."
"Is this something out of your old gaming materials?" Triumph asked. "Sure seems like it." His lion-themed costume had been torn up by some of the creatures successfully grappling him and trying to drag him down with a man-catcher. There was a little blood, but he was otherwise unharmed.
"Yes, they are," Armsmaster answered. "Usually not much of a threat. The problem is that they are encountered in large groups, and they are always looking for surface dwellers to sacrifice to whatever being they happen to be worshipping.
"They also look for loot and plunder to take back to wherever they came from," he finished.
Assault looked slightly confused, then snorted. "Ain't gonna find anything like that here," he finally said. "Maybe at some coin collector's house, but not here. We're poorly paid civil servants, after all."
Armsmaster simply nodded. He'd make note of the fact he confused Assault, because that rarely happened for whatever reason, and he could count the times he'd done it on one hand. He also didn't intend to point out that what Kuo-toa considered "loot and plunder" probably didn't match human standards.
"So how many are still alive?" Miss Militia asked. "We've just finished clearing out the last ones that got electrocuted in the ventilation ducts."
"There's a few," Velocity added. "The cook in the main cafeteria knocked some out with that massive skillet of hers while they were distracted by the food. Supper will be available after she finishes cleaning."
From across the bay, there was the sizzle of high voltage electricity as it arced over the hull and superstructure of HMS
Prince of Wales. In the flickering light, one could barely make out the stunted forms dancing an impromptu jig as the ship dealt with boarders in its own fashion.
"Wonderful," Armsmaster growled. "International incidents are annoying to deal with."
"If these things aren't Americans, it's already an international incident," noted Assault. "Assuming anybody wants to claim them."
"Instructions for the prisoners, sir?" one of the troopers asked.
"Disarm and place them in the holding cells," Armsmaster instructed. "Every hour or so, turn on the fire suppression system in those cells on mist. They are amphibious. We will figure out dietary requirements later."
"So, what are we going to do with them?" Dauntless asked.
"We are going to turn them over to the military as unlawful combatants," Armsmaster stated. "First we should finish cleaning up out here and then sweep The Rig. Make note of any damage you find." His communications gear indicated an incoming call.
"At least we won't have to deal with the Youth Guard," he said quietly.
"They make it someplace safe?" Miss Militia asked.
Armsmaster nodded. "Naurelin's lair, as I expected. They have lodgings there and will stay overnight, returning in the morning."
"About as safe as anywhere," Miss Militia commented.
"I wonder what problems others are having?" Assault asked before getting on with making sure no more of those googly eyed things were lurking on The Rig.
= = = = = = = = = =
Off in some gods forsaken pit, a certain yugoloth sat in thought. He'd had this existence inflicted on him by some unprintable being who was utterly nihilistic. That being wanted to destroy everything and reduce this universe to something cold and empty. Something that would naturally occur according to some theories in ten billion trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion years.
No, he didn't know the actual estimates, it wasn't important.
But Falazure was an impatient fuck for someone who had nearly all of that time to plot, plan and execute those plans. Supposedly, he'd tried to end everything once before, to be stopped for a thousand years when his sister sacrificed herself and glassed an entire continent on a dead world to end his plans.
It was an important lesson to learn: Do not fuck with a dragon, and especially do not fuck with their progenitors, who were their gods. And of course, the same applied to the originator of dragons, Io, known to some as Asgorath, currently 'sleeping' away his imprisonment in a perfect crystalline model of the universe, crafted by an ancient race of primitive mystics.
Sleeping? Bah. He knew better. Io wasn't asleep, just biding his time. He'd found the chamber where his hated master kept the crystalline prison, and the image of the dragon opened his eyes, smirked, winked at him, and closed his eyes. At that moment, a seed had been planted. Knowledge was almost as dangerous as hope when sent into a being's heart (or what passed for one in his new body).
An image of a hidden library and how to access it had been placed in his mind. It didn't take him long to find it, and then gain access to it and the treasures it contained. Like the amulet he wore, which kept others, even his hated master, from scrying him, reading his mind, and otherwise using any form of divination to find him. And in that library, he learned a number of useful things.
Like how to tap the mystic ring that Falazure had crafted to charge an item that would shatter the sphere of perfectly balanced metaphysical, arcane and physical properties. A shattering that would allow Io to leave his prison and deal with the moronic dracolich. If there was one being his master feared, it was the being who gave him power. Deprived of his native power, the spells holding what was left of Falazure's spirit to the wreck of a body he inhabited would be gone, and the vessel that had held it would crumble to dust.
The creature who had been Thomas Calvert wasn't expecting a reward for what he was doing. From what he'd read, Io only concerned himself with dragons and draconic affairs, not a lowly, scheming what-ever-he'd-become. His reason for doing this was completely selfish, to pull the rug out from underneath his master's schemes and get revenge for grabbing him before he could proceed to whatever awaited him in the afterlife.
If he didn't believe in it before, he most certainly did now. And he had no delusions about what awaited him. He just wanted to be
there instead of
here.
= = = = = = = = = =
In another pit, Falazure went over how his various schemes were proceeding. His plan to remove all dragons save himself from Creation had been mostly successful, though on one world the numbers of them had recently been slowly increasing.
That simply would not do. Still, in the end, it wouldn't matter, as his goal was to end everything, leaving nothing behind. Even his hated father would fade into nothingness when he enacted the ritual to merge this universe with its opposite, the two canceling each other out.
At the edges of his perception, he could almost hear the sound of laughter.
Whose laughter remained the question, as the being had never identified itself. The suggestion of noise annoyed him, laughing at his alleged weaknesses and inferiority, at the futility of his efforts to end everything so a new First World could be born.
And this time, keep it.
He had driven a wedge between his older brothers and sister, so that no single group would ever trust the other enough to do more than slow him down. However, by removing one of the original twelve dragons from the equation, he'd opened up the First World so that other, lesser beings could infest it.
When Io had discovered this, he had shattered the First World, its shards becoming all the worlds, and the dragons cast out to the myriad splinter worlds created by that act. One that had angered several of the children of Io. Drove one of them mad. And he had to rebuild his schemes as he sought to learn both his place in the new worlds he found himself in, and how those worlds worked.
Almost immediately he came into conflict with his slightly younger sister, Tamara. Fortunately, she had chosen to keep things as indirect foiling of his followers' schemes to spread death, undeath and decay across multitudes of worlds. The one time she did intervene directly, she'd almost destroyed him completely.
If his phylactery had been any closer, it would have been destroyed in the blast. He decided to check on the safety of the vessel which still held his spirit…
And was rather concerned that he couldn't find it.
