“When at his lowest, man will do one of two things; the good will fall upon the graces of the gods; the evil will fall upon each other.”—Arynn Forthright, Of Good and Evil
Twelve figures stood in a circle around an ornately designed series of magical figures detailing the patterns of the twelve constellations, one for each of the patron gods. The faces of the assembly were set as flint, determination firing their resolve. Too long had man suffered under the demonic ruler who demanded they sacrifice their unborn and newborn children to sate his vile appetite. Yet in spite of their constant prayers, the gods did not answer. Enough was enough. If the gods wouldn’t come to them, they would go to the gods. Barracca, priest of Llieb and Nesama stood at the head of the circle, flanked by Jeannien the Valkyrie and Annwdyn the Asarlamancer on either side. Next to each of them was Amadeus the Elementalist and Karathiel the Archdruidess, respectively, followed by Blaise the archer and Daubin the Assassin, then Dwrryn the Paladin and Beorn the Warrior. Jameson the Swordsman and Grawn the Battlemage followed them, with Syndramora the Duromancer at the foot of the circle.
Of the three thousand who had stood against Molaugh Ba’ahl’s legions, these twelve were all that remained; Annwdyn’s magic was the only reason they survived. Now, it was his magic and the magic of the Amsermancy focused Valkyrie that would be used for the ritual. Barracca watched each of the companions, noting the looks of determination on all except Amadeus who seemed bored, maybe even a little annoyed with everything. Amadeus wielded the powers of the Sky Titan and didn’t hold with arcane rituals. His wife, Karathiel the elf, was resigned though it was an affront to the Earth Titaness she served.
It couldn’t be helped. Barracca thought savagely. Llieb and Nesama had refused his prayers demanding they smite down the Demon and his minions. They had forced his hand in the matter. He would have an audience even if he had to charge the gates of Neahma itself.
“Let us begin.” He intoned, his eyes closing, as he lifted his hands to the sky, chanting a prayer to Llieb.
Annwdyn and Jeannien raised their weapons, channeling their power through them towards the center of the circle. The remaining nine companions watched with baited breath as thin tendrils of purple mana twined with silver tendrils, twisting and binding together, reaching towards the altar at the center of the circle. The magic energy twined round the altar, causing the stone to glow and pulse with the sheer power of the two remarkable arcanists. The magic grew in power, rising up in a pillar to the heavens, piercing the black clouds that had long covered Gallia for over a thousand years. The clouds did not part, but the light reached high above them, widening to nearly six feet in width forming a sort of double-sided doorway that split the group in two.
“It is time,” Barracca called. “We pass through to the heavens.”
It was a mark of desperation that not a single member of the double party hesitated in stepping into the magic force, despite the fact that they were about to violate the sanctity of the heavens. In each of the twelve minds, certain death awaited them for crossing boundaries forbidden by the gods, but staying behind meant certain slavery and death for countless millions more. It must be done. As the last of the twelve passed through the pillar of light, it contracted, and vanished, causing the altar to Llieb to shatter and crumble.
Darkness greeted the party, a darkness that had neither form nor feeling. Barracca looked about to find himself and his eleven companions standing on nothing, yet not falling. No ripple of wind nor breath of a breeze could be felt; neither sound nor sight was present save for the bodies of his comrades and the beating of his own heart, which seemed to echo in the deafening silence. This was Nu’evna, the passageway from life to afterlife, he recognized it from the scriptures of his order, and yet it was strangely empty, devoid of the Nnwllyne who guided souls to either the four heavens or the nine hells. They were on their own, with no indication of where to go. Then again, the only way to go, when one didn’t know the path, was forward. He stepped forward, the others following behind him in pairs with Syndramora bringing up the rear.
For what seemed like an eternity (though it might have only been a matter of seconds) time was meaningless here, they walked forward in the blackness, no sight of an exit to indicate that they were going in the right way. A nagging doubt assailed Barracca’s subconscious, needling him, laughing at him for his foolish attempt to reach Neahma before he died.
Foolish mortal. It mocked him. Did you think I would let my prey go so easily?
I do not fear you, Phantom, He thought. You are nothing to Llieb or her Scion.
Llieb has no power here. You have passed from one hell to another.
This is no hell. If it were, I’d be in torment.
This is Oblivion.
Oblivion is a place of nothingness. Barracca answered. If this were it, I wouldn’t see my own companions.
Those are not your companions. They are your imagination. Turn around and give up this foolish quest.
I will not listen to you, fiend.
And then, the darkness was gone; he felt the breath catch in his lungs. Walls of solid gold that stretched higher than any wall he had ever seen before rose into the sky, above white clouds that obscured their true extent, though he imagined they could not be endless. Gates made of a single solid pearl stood before him, glistening in bright morning light, the cool breeze stirring the green grass beneath his feet. High overhead, winged creatures few, wheeling about. Barracca couldn’t tell if they were birds or some other creatures, as they flew just under the clouds a hundred miles above them. Not that it mattered. For, at that distance, the winged things would be much larger than anything they’d encountered on Cædwr. Looking at the size of the walls, even Molaugh Ba’ahl would appear insignificant standing before these gates. He glanced for the first time at the base of the gates, and a momentary spasm of qualm struck him. Something stood before the gates.
The creature, for it couldn’t be called anything but, was unlike anything the twelve had ever seen. It had the face and body of a gorilla, a creature found only in the lands of Sudana, the mane of a male lion, the hindquarters of a six-legged horse with the feet of a cat, a serpent’s tail, and four beefy, lizard-like, arms. It was not unlike the centaurs from Greca, and yet so utterly bizarre as to be unlike the creatures. Its skin was forged from iron scales, making wearing armor moot. In its four arms, however, it carried massive scimitars, the kind the men of Bidossoan wielded in combat. This must be Charryn, one of the guardians of Neahma, a fearsome opponent if the stories were true, but by no means the deadliest guardian. The creature’s black eyes watched the group impassively, though Barracca had the feeling that, should they at all move to attack, its demeanor would change instantly.
Chymerataur. That was what the creature was: a hodgepodge of creatures that were a blending of Chimeras and Centaurs. Barracca exhaled the breath he had been holding. Now was not the time to retreat, even if that was still an option.
“State your name and business.” The creature boomed, its deep bass voice carrying across the mighty gulf that spanned them. “Or die where you stand, mortals.”
Barracca blanched slightly. Intimidation from the get-go was not a good sign. “I am Barracca, Priest of Llieb,” he answered, his voice steadier than he felt. “I demand to see my patron and know why she does not answer my prayers.”
“You demand?” the Chymerataur boomed, a note of derision in his voice. “Who are you, puny human, to demand anything of the Life Goddess? Turn back before you face her wrath and perish.”
“Better to perish at her hand than to live a damned slave at the hand of Molaugh Ba’ahl,” Barracca answered, his companions stirring behind him, whether in agreement or disagreement he was uncertain. “I demand that Llieb answers my prayer and destroy the foul demon who plagues our land.”
“I cannot.” It wasn’t the creature who spoke, rather it was the tall and stately woman who wasn’t there and then was there.
Barracca felt his legs weaken at her presence, weaken to the point that he simply collapsed upon his knees and look up at her, dumbstruck. The woman was tall, stately, with light olive brown skin, dark brown hair and brown eyes. Her figure was stately, slender but womanly. There was an air of command about her, demanding respect yet offering comfort. Her face was gentle, but touched with sadness like one who had suffered. Behind her stood another woman, gold hair, gold eyes, and fair skin that shimmered like light on metallic scales. There was little doubt who these two women were.
“Barracca, son of Runyon, son of Deramor, I have heard your plea, but I cannot do what you ask,” She repeated. “I’m sorry, but it is not for me to save you from the demon. That is your task. Yours and your companions.”
“How can we fight such a monster?” Barracca demanded, lifting his head to gaze upon his patron, moved by anger and desperation. “Our thousands were as nothing before his legions, and for all our power we couldn’t save those who looked to us for protection. How then can we fight him?”
“You don’t lack the power to stand up to Ba’ahl. You simply lacked the right weapons to focus your power.” Llieb answered. “I shall grant you the weapons, but it will take time, even for a god amongst smiths.”
“And what are we to do while you dally? Stand here and let our people die? Do you not care about those who suffer?”
“Do not mistake my mercy for license to insult,” Llieb answered, her eyes flashing dangerously. “I care for every living creature, but this is not something that can be rushed, or it will be your undoing, rather than your salvation.” Her expression softened somewhat. “Know that I have heard your plea, and will grant you my aid, but you must return to your world. This land is not fit for mortals who yet cling to life.”
“We will not leave until we get what we came here for,” Barracca answered, stubbornly. “And if you send us back, we will return.”
“You have no choice,” Llieb answered. “That ritual will not work a second time for you.”
Everything grew black, and the twelve companions found themselves once more in Gallia, though not in the same place they had left. It was a grove of trees, untouched still by Molaugh’s demonic minions, a small shrine at its center. Barracca knew it to be a shrine of Nesama. It must have been she who sent them back to Cædwr.
“What now?” Amadeus asked, a trace of bitterness in his voice. “Are we to wait like obedient dogs for your master to help us?”
“We wait,” Barracca said heavily. “We have our answer.”
***
“To think he actually managed to open a portal here,” Nesama sounded amused. “Mortal humans never cease to amaze me.”
“They bear the touch of Tameuidan Himself,” Llieb answered. “Such weakness, yet such resolve.”
“What do you plan on doing, now that you promised to give them aid?”
“Assemble the other Dragan,” Llieb answered. “I will need their help.”
“As you wish, my liege,” Nesama said, bowing and vanishing.
In the meantime, Llieb had another person to visit. She vanished and reappeared in the workshop of Corryn, master blacksmith of the gods. The sounds of metal beating metal, accompanying the smell of sulfur and hot metal immediately assaulted her senses as she arrived. She cast a spell to mitigate the effects of the divine forge, before stepping into the small building that the red-haired, muscular youth worked in. The gods never aged, so Corryn was forever twenty-eight by human standards while Llieb was a motherly woman of about forty-five. Corryn glanced up at her advent. He didn’t say anything, instead he took the bit of metal he had been hammering and stuck it in a bucket of water. It hissed and spluttered loudly. He turned his attention to his guest.
“And what does the queen of the gods require today?” He asked in a pleasant, thick brogue. “Has your husband awakened yet?” By the way Llieb’s face darkened, the soot-stained smith took that to be a negative.
“I’m here with a job for you.” Llieb said. “I need weapons for mortals.”
Corryn raised a single red eyebrow. “I didn’t know we were in the business of meddling in mortal affairs.” He said. “It might upset the balance of things.”
“I know.” Llieb said. “That’s why I am coming to you, and not one of your apprentices. I need twelve weapons forged from the scales of the Dragan.”
Corryn whistled. “If I didn’t know you better I’d think you were daft.” He snorted. “That’s tantamount to suicide, that is.”
“Not if you refine all but a fragment of their divine essence. There will need to be certain safeguards upon the weapons.” She answered. “They’ll be little more than dragon-forged weapons.”
“You know I could never refuse a request from you.” Corryn answered. “But why mortals?”
“A priest of mine opened a portal to Neahma, and demanded I destroy Molaugh Ba’ahl and save his land from the demonic hordes.”
Corryn studied her carefully before answering. “We’ve been forbidden from directly fighting the demons.” He said. “Yet you want to help.
Llieb nodded. “Mortals must learn to fight for their freedom, if they are to be truly free.” Llieb said. “So say the Four. I cannot grant my priest’s request, and yet I must aid him.”
“All right.” Corryn answered. “I’ll do it. Give me the materials and the specifications and I’ll make them.”
“You’ll set aside other jobs until this is done?” Llieb asked.
“Of course.” Corryn said, nodding. “How could I refuse my queen’s request?”
“Thank-you, Corryn.” Llieb smiled.
“Give Ddwbl my prayers for a speedy recovery.”
“I will. Thank-you.”