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9. The Ninth Longsword


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#1 Guest_Oryx_*

Posted 12 November 2002 - 04:59 PM

9. The Ninth Longsword

11 FLAMERULE 0100
EAST OF NASHKEL

“It is done.”

Jaheira, Arra, and Minsc, who had just been joined by Onyx, turned to the voice of Valygar as he came from around the rocks toward them, cleaning off his katanas. Onyx nodded, and told the others what the Skald had told him about Cyran and the Jeweler’s lair. “Are you all in?” he asked of his four remaining companions, and four heads nodded unhesitantly but wearily. “Good. But first, I think it’s time for a much-deserved rest,” and the four heads nodded again.

In the Temple of Lathander, the priests were busy making preparations for the wave of freed elves, trying to make the temple as habitable for a large number as possible. “Onyx! Arra!” cried the welcome and familiar voice of Dawn Raybringer, and the priestess strode up to and hugged them. “I’d hoped to see you; since I knew you’d be following that circus to Beregost, I decided to come too. Thought you might need a helping – or healing – hand.”

“Actually,” Onyx smiled magnetically, “You couldn’t be more right. We have…lost our cleric – no, no, not like that, he simply decided to go his on way after the battle.” Jaheira shot Onyx a slight scowl that had ‘I am a priest too, buster’ written all over it.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Dawn pouted, “He seemed quite nice…for a Helmite!” she grinned, and Onyx couldn’t help but join. “My healing services are at your disposal then.”

“Actually,” Onyx smiled, “We are fine at the moment, but I was wonder if you’d lend your services…to the mission,” which he then explained.

Dawn beamed. “Why, I’d be delighted! It is truly a good cause. Vampires, you say? Then there’s someone else I think should come too…” she turned and called to a young lady paladin, “…Buffy!”

The woman in question, a girl perhaps still in her teens, came bouncing up. She wore shiny, shapely, rose-hued full plate amply adorned with emblems of Lathander, had long but styled blonde hair, and a cheerful, almost glamorous grin. Dawn introduced her to the group, “Meet Buffy the Undead Hunter!”

“Totally!” Buffy laughed. “Vampire slayer extraordinaire, so like where are we goin….oh my god!” she screamed, “It’s Sir Onyx! I am such a big fan of your work, mister!” Jaheira was rolling her eyes so much it was almost making Minsc dizzy. Correction – it WAS making Minsc dizzy. “Like, for example, I know what you did last summer, you killed that bitch Bodhi and all those vampires in Athkatla, that was so totally hot!”

“Why, thank you, Lady Buffy,” Onyx nodded, trying to balance modesty and bravado. “But what about you? I still don’t know what you did last summer.”

“Oh me?” as Buffy talked, she seemed to be smacking something in her mouth, like food, but she never swallowed. “Well, so I had this totally hot boyfriend right, and then this complete vamp-slut comes along and turns him, and so Dawn and I and some other Lathander girls had to go and toast them at the old Ulcaster School around here. It was cool, but I wish they’d had a lair closer to the beach or something.”

Onyx nodded approvingly, if a bit puzzled. “Well, you’re in luck this time,” he said and explained the mission.

“Alright!” Buffy clapped her hands exuberantly, and Onyx noticed she had long, colored nails; almost like a vampiress’s, except pink. “Oh my god it’s Daystar!” she almost screamed, “I’ve got a sunblade too!” she pulled out a longsword that fairly resembled Daystar, “This one’s called Goldenedge! But I like to call it Tanedge, because its sunray is great for tanning when it’s cloudy!” She handed the sword to Onyx, he flipped it around approvingly while looking quite bemused at her anecdotes. “And I usually wield it with a mace of disruption too! You shoulda been there when I totally smacked that vamp-slut…”

Minsc scratched his head and looked to Boo for interpretation, Jaheira’s eyes had stopped rolling and had glazed over, Valygar was letting his dreadlocks hang over his face, and Arra was completely spaced out and fuming about Anomen. Onyx was listening politely, but it was looking like it was gonna be a long night…

**********

11 FLAMERULE 0200
THE SIGIL – THE STAR BARS CANTINA

The hopping, high-energy, never-sleeps Gorgon Village district of the Sigil is filled with bars, nightclubs, cantinas, and cabarets of all natures and tastes, running from the dark and low-key to the spastically high-energy. The Star Bars Cantina was a middle-of-the-road venue in the middle of it all; often a low-key bar but known to fits of live music and dancing. At the moment, creatures of all shapes and sizes from almost every plane in the Ring occupied the bar, the dance floor, and the tables. Strange, slightly upbeat music came wafting from a live band. Over the bar and surrounded by empty glasses of the multiverse’s most potent drinks sat a tattooed tiefling.

This was Haer’Dalis, and he looked uncharacteristically gloomy. All sorts of females – and some males – approached him at the bar periodically, some with tentacles, or goat legs, or bat wings, crab pincers, etc – but the normally promiscuous Haer would have none of it. He was almost literally drowning himself in sorrow and drink, and had placed upon the table a ‘phoetograeph;’ an invention of a wizard’s by which the energy of a sunray was reflected of a scene or persons back onto a thin silver-alloy film, causing the image to imprint itself upon the film. The one Haer had before himself now was a picture of him and his brothers Seth’Dalis and Jakk’Dalis, better known as the Skald and the Jester. It was a picture of them on the beach, toasting pina coladas and surrounded by bikini-clad tieflingettes, during a vacation to the Isles of the Blessed in the layer of Thalasia in the plane of Elysium, long, long ago. Haer began to cry.

At a nearby table sat four figures. On one side were two robed humans, a young man and an old man. On the other side sat a roguish looking man and a very tall and hairy beast.

“Well,” the swashbuckler was explaining to the two across the table, “the Century Hawk may not look like much, but she made the Kessel Run in under twelve parsecs!”

“MRRRHHHAH!!!” the beast next to him groaned in agreement.

The old man across the table thought for a second, and then said with a wise voice, “Very well, but remember, no questions asked.”

“BRRGAH BLLLAH OORGA BO!!!” shouted a very ugly-looking lower planes denizen as he walked up to the table and waved a strange weapon about threateningly. The old man got up from the table, and immediately with a “VVVVMMMP” sound conjured some sort of glowing energy sword into his hand and sliced off one of the creature’s arms and then its head. He sat down and resumed negotiations while the rest of the bar calmly resumed their own business. Such things were not uncommon in this cantina, not uncommon at all.

Haer lifted himself his face out of the puddle of drinks and tears he was forming on the bar surface and looked at his picture again. His minded flooded back to some of his earliest members with his brothers. Being taken care of by a kind, matronly Tanar’ri cow in a Sigil day care. Going to school with his brothers, and always getting into trouble for skipping class, sleeping in class, talking in class, or getting unpopular teachers sucked into other dimensions or eaten by baatezus as practical jokes. Competing to see who could rack up the most lovers or the weirdest lovers (he had won the former with an unspeakable number of conquests; the Skald had won the latter with a quarter-sea-elf-quarter-baatezu-quarter-succubus-quarter-deva vampiress). Taking trips and vacations to practically every plane on the Ring – Elysium, the Abyss, Bytopia, Mechanus, the Quasielemental Planes of Radiance and Steam, Pandemonium, Gehenna, The Elemental Plane of Water, the Paraelemental Planes of Smoke and Ice, the Prime of course, and more. Founding a small comedy troupe with his brothers to make their way in the world; running shows across the Sigil, the Prime, and the multiverse. Growing the troupe into a huge circus several-hundred crew and slaves strong. Leaving his stake with his brothers to join Raelis’s smaller, more serious acting troupe. Traveling the multiverse with them, playing all sorts of imaginable parts in hundreds of plays, and loving all sorts of imaginable lovers in hundreds of beds. Trying to steal a gem from his old creditor Mekrath and getting captured. And getting rescued. By Onyx. Finding dear Aerie again only to be woefully cast away! Traveling with the troupe again, returning to his brothers and the circus, only to have it all destroyed! By Onyx.

As Haer’s thoughts ran over this last part of his life story, he realized that there was in fact now another bard in the cantina, who was singing and playing. Who was singing these last events of his very own life. Singing of the battle in Beregost onto the night before.

“HOW COULD YOU KNOW SO FAST!” he screamed as he spun around and grabbed the other tiefling by the throat. The music stepped and many looked on at the outburst, but none interfered.

“News…travels…gaak…fast…it be the Sigil, man….” The bard gasped, “Three high-note cambions like the Blade, Skald, and Jester get dead-booked, they’ll sing the sing about it, word’ll dance round the Ring right fast…”

“But…HOW…” Haer’Dalis snarled.

“I dinna…I dinna! Some o’ the crew ‘scapes the dead-bookin and gets back to the Pain Domain, sings my guess! I dinna!”

“Oh really,” Haer smiled, “Sounds like you are a man of means, a man of methods, a man who’s in the know, who knows what’s what in the Prime?”

“You could sing it,” the bard shrugged, “I could sing the sing of a few more, if it sate your listening.”

“Indeed,” Haer’Dalis grinned, “Tell me right quick, you know of these who killed the ringleaders, yes?”

“Aye, we trace their faces,” the bard nodded, “They was the danger-troupe what dead-booked the other Bhaalchilluns in the War ended last week, was they. That Bhaal-bred berk-knight, his old widow-protector-soulmate-druid, their hamster-friended friend stepped outa Rasheman, another magic-scornin ranger, a Helmer, and a fightin-wizard pointy-ear.”

“Yes yes,” Haer nodded, “Now tell me of this berk-knight, you know his…other lover, yes?”

“Other? I heard sing o’ but one. She be the wing-chopped air-elf?”

“Aye,” Haer smiled, “Where is she?”

“Last we heard it sung,” the bard shrugged, “She was-a napping in Athkatla, and then traipsed with tha berk-knight’s Bhaal-sister back to their book-town homepot…”

“…Candlekeep,” Haer smiled, “the air-elf and the eternal-child-sister are there now?”

“Aye, they be traipsing there as we speak, ‘long with the ring-bonded keep-princess, or so the singin’ goes.”

“Thank you soooo much,” Haer grinned devilishly and let go of the bard’s neck, sending him collapsing and gasping. “And one more thing! You’ve left a few things out of your tale! Firstly, the widow-druid, she is HIS LOVER now, get it? Include that in your tale! C’mon, romance, betrayal, cheating, it always sells. Make sure you spread that rum- eh, new development, that he’s betrayed his little avariel, he’s taken another yes, spread that in your stories, across the Sigil, across the Multiverse, and back to the PRIME! Change your tune; a little something like this:” Haer’Dalis cleared his throat and began to sing so that every person in the cantina, particularly the other bards, could hear.

“And as their quest wore on and on,
And o’er nights they slept ‘pon the road;
Feelings stirred within the Bhaal-knight,
Despite his hollow chivalric code!
For he had back home a betrothed, you see,
A wingless avariel to whom he swore he was true;
But as he and the druid lady journeyed along,
Emotions reawakened and passions grew.
And then, it seems, as the circus drew near,
And they were ‘bout to attack the ringleaders brave,
Did the paladin and druid consecrate,
Their newfound love with acts depraved!”

“Yes, something like that, perhaps at the end of the fifth verse, yes, it will go nicely there!” Haer laughed.

“Y-yes sir!” the man gasped. “Yes, that angle will sell, an angle like that always does. But how do you know that’s true?”

“Don’t worry! You’re a bard, a story-teller, such things are not important! That’s what the knights and wizards never understand!” he screamed, now to the audience in general. “Oh, they may think they have the upper hand in steel or sorcery, but they underestimate the power of the harp! The power of information! The power of rumor and gossip and public opinion! Winning means winning the masses. Oh, we’ll show him, we will! And one more thing,” he smiled in the bard’s face, “the Blade didn’t die, he escaped….and he will have his revenge! He’ll avenge the bloodthirsty Bhaal-blooded womanizing rogue paladin!”

Haer’Dalis did a backflip and landed up on the stage, and sang for the audience.

“Upon love’s light wings I go without erring,
To fetch what prize of mine is due,
I’ll show that berk-knight the folly of caring,
I’ll steal from him his lover true!
And then he’ll see, he’ll have to share,
The pain of my dear brothers killed and gone,
He’ll see what happens when we dare to care,
He’ll see finally his wisdom’s wrong.”

Then the tiefling blade ran out of the cantina headed for the nearest Portal Port.

**********

11 FLAMERULE 0600
EAST OF NASHKEL

Before sunrise, in the open semidesert outside the Temple of Lathander, whose stained glass windows glowed with light and warmth and whose walls encased the freed elves, the clergy, and the adventurers now housed and sleeping within, Onyx stood alone upon the bare, sandy soil. The air was warm but a felt a faint chill. The windy night air? Must be.

Someone wants it, Onyx. Someone wants it…back.

Onyx opened the bag of holding at his belt, and found the hilt of the Burning Earth. As he pulled it out, the darkness was illuminated by the dull red-orange glow of sword’s inner fire. He looked at the blade. It was not like the leaping, bright fire of Angurvadal, Stonefire, or the Flail of Ages. It was a deep, flowing, liquid flame, like molten metal. Or rock-magma. He gripped the hilt tighter, and closed his eyes. It felt like the world around him was spinning, and when he opened them again, he saw nothing. Cold and complete darkness. Darker than when his eyes had been closed.

He blinked again, and he was in an utterly foreign landscape. The ground was bare and rocky, and faraway mountains rose up. No, not mountains, volcanoes. He looked around. Lava was running everywhere, spewing out of the volcanoes and running over the rocky land around him. There was light and heat, but no life.

He blinked again. Now the mountains were covered in dense jungles, and he could barely see them for the ferns and strange, huge flowers around him. He thought he saw enormous shapes, far too big to be birds, but not quite resembling dragons, flying through the sky. He heard a roar behind himself and turned again. In the darkness, he could barely make out the shadow of some huge beast far away, standing above the trees, standing upon two legs, its huge open mouth showing glimmering fangs as large and sharp as his swords. It seemed to see him, its eyes glowing, and then crouched forward and began to charge on its large hind legs while waving its small forelegs.

Onyx blinked again and now the landscape was drier and the beast gone, but he saw other strange shapes in the shadows. Then a burst of light appeared in the sky and a huge orb came flying from the heavens. It crashed into the horizon, shaking the land violently, and giving off a gigantic mushroom-shaped cloud. Dust and ice flew from the direction of the impact, the dust filling the sky and blocking out the light of the moon and stars, the ice melting before it hit the ground, beginning a flash flood around him.

He blinked again, and the air was colder and the foliage sparser, and he saw small furry creatures swarming around him, and tried to stab at them, but he could not.

He blinked again and they were gone, but another creature, still furry, but much larger, swung from branch to branch of a nearby tree.

He blinked again and he thought he saw two figures near him. In the light of his sword, he could see they were a man and an elf, but donned with furs and clubs like barbarians, standing near the bank of a fast river. He called to them but they did not hear. They fought each other with clubs, but they stopped and turned, along with Onyx, when a scream pierced the night. Onyx thought it was the same sword-fanged beast from before, but when he looked, it was both similar and not. It was smaller, but still large and scaly and toothy, and still ran on its hind legs, but now its forelegs were more like forearms, with thumbs, and now it had wings. And it grinned toothily and its eyes glowed, but the face seemed to have a sentient expression, not of beastly hunger, but of intelligent malice. It was like the first beast, but also like a dragon, but also like a demon, and yet also like a man.

The two barbarians who had been fighting now seemed to chatter together and ran toward the beast side by side, past Onyx, ignoring him completely. The beast seemed to laugh as it drew out a monstrous, wildly flaming sword. The beast pointed the sword forward and from its tip launched a ball of flame, which exploded in front of the two barbarians as if a dragon had breathed upon them. Both fell, their flesh and weapons burning as they screamed in agony. The monster stopped and laughed again. The elf soon lay still, but then the man, though his skin all over was burned almost to the muscle, rose again and growled, drawing a bone dagger from the fur coat which was now burned and matted into his flesh, grimacing at the pain. The monster raised its sword, and as it swung down, and crashed through the man and sliced deep into his chest, but the man seemed to be aiming his bone dagger carefully. He hit the edge of the sword’s hilt with his dagger, where Onyx now noticed a red pommel gem was inset, and used his last strength to wedge and twist the dagger. The pommel gem popped from its place and fell to the ground. The beast screamed horribly as the sword dulled but continued to run the man through with it.

The sword grew smaller and dimmer with the loss of its pommel gem, and Onyx now recognized it. He looked down at his own sword, and then back to the one he saw. It was the Burning Earth.

The beast now reached down to retrieve the gem, but before it grasped it, the body of the burned elf moved again and seized it. The elf stood, screaming as his flesh fell from his skeleton, and flung the gem into the river. Still holding the sword in the man, and twisting it cruelly, the monster screamed in rage and raked across the elf with his other claw, easily tearing his body to pieces, but then the skewered human twisted his body and pulled the sword from the monster’s grasp. He ran, with the sword sticking through his body, toward the riverbank, and leaped in. His burned body fell apart as he hit the water, but the sword then disappeared beneath it. The beast ran screamed to the edge of the water, howling at its edge, seeming afraid to go in.

Onyx blinked again and was back outside the Temple of Lathander. He looked closely at the Burning Earth, and at its hilt. When he had first acquired the sword, and known barely anything about enchanted weapons, he had noticed the shallow, round concavity, but had thought it mere aesthetic design. Much later in his travels, more familiar with powerful swords, he had learned of the nature of magic pommel gems and augmented several of his weapons, such as the Equalizer and Carsomyr, with them, but had never taken another close look at the Burning Earth, no longer one of his better weapons. He studied it now though, and the groove was unmistakable. It was meant for a pommel gem. Which was missing.

Someone wants it, Onyx. Someone wants it…back.

Onyx opened his bag of holding and put it away, but an excited “Hey man it’s getting stuffy in here! Let’s go kill something already!” wafted out of the bag before he closed it again.

“Soon Lile, soon,” Onyx smiled.

“Say,” Lilacor asked, “What’s with you and Burning Earth anyway? Don’t tell me you prefer its companionship to mine! C’mon, it can’t even talk, much less sing and orate. Hey, want to hear this new tune I’ve been working on? ‘I was cleavin’ through an orrrrc, and what do I see, but a cute scimitar in the next orc lookin’ back at meeeee! So I….’ “

“Er, maybe later,” Onyx winced at Lilacor’s atonal performance. “So I don’t suppose you know anything about Burning Earth here?”

“Hmmm,” Lilacor thought (as much as Lilacor can be said to ‘think’), “Perhaps a bit more than what a standard identification spell when tell you. You know, like a lot of swords, he’s not sentient, but he does have an…ego, if you will.”

“How do you mean?” Onyx was puzzled.

“Let’s try this,” Lilacor suggested, “Pull me out and draw a big square on the ground, maybe three by three…”

“Is this just a ploy to get some action?” Onyx smirked, “Boy, if you want me to drag your tip through sand, you must really be bored for real combat….”

“You have NO idea!” Lilacor piped up, “But no, I’m serious.”

“Alright…” Onyx sighed and pulled Lilacor out.

“WOOHOO!!! I’m free! Those bags are STIFLING, man! And your Shield of the Order in there was really not my kinda company, let me tell you! Okay, yeah, that’s a nice square. Well, decent. I guess there’s a reason you weren’t an artist, heh heh.”

“Oh, be quiet,” Onyx rolled his eyes and completed the imperfect square.

“It’s good enough. Now, divide it into nine equal-size squares.”

“You’re not challenging me to tic-tac-toe, are you?” Onyx asked suspiciously but traced the four lines required, putting a three-by-three grid in the sand.

“Hey, don’t give me ideas! Okay, now write labels along the four sides – Good, Evil, Order, Chaos.”

“Okay, I’m starting to see what you’re driving at here,” Onyx nodded and wrote them on the correct sides with Lilacor’s tip. The night breeze had mercifully given way and so his letters stayed crisp. “I’m assuming this isn’t ethics hopscotch we’re playing.”

“Well, not far off,” Lilacor admitted, “Now, draw out Daystar.”

After sticking Lilacor upright in the sand, Onyx quickly pulled Daystar out of its conveniently-placed sheath on his back.

“As one of your mages probably divined for you, this sunblade was used to be Paladins of the Loyal Fury to fight evil and undead. Place Daystar.”

Onyx stuck Daystar into the upper-left square, just far enough so that it would stand.

“Now draw out Peridan, the Dragonslayer.” Onyx did. “Peridan was created long ago, when evil dragons threatened the first, fragile settlements of man. Place Peridan.”

Onyx stuck Peridan into the top-center square.

“Now draw out the Blade of Roses, the charmer.” Onyx did so, and smiled at the sword’s unearthly splendor. “It was created by Sune, who is mischievous but good, to facilitate the promotion of a deserving soldier she favored. Place the Blade of Roses.”

Onyx stuck the Blade of Roses into the upper-right square.

“Now draw out Angurvadal, the Stream of Anguish.” Onyx did so, and looked at its flame, thinking of Burning Earth’s. “This was created by Frithior. It was used to put his vampirized lover to rest – hence Anguish – and so made to keep its wielder safe from a vampires while it burns away her unnatural form. Frithior then became a Helmite, following his lord’s tenets of destroying undead and preserving order. Place Angurvadal.”

Onyx stuck Angurvadal into the left-center square.

“Now draw out the Equalizer, the Sword of Neutrality, a sword designed to eliminate extremes, and move the world toward harmonious balance.”

Onyx plunged the Equalizer into the central square.

“Now draw out Namarra, the Neversleep,” Onyx drew it out, and Lilacor’s voice immediately sounded softer, “It’s been seen everywhere from Chult to Thay, but as a habit of leaving its targets at a literal loss for words. Maybe made to silence wizards, but historically it has been a big practical joke.”

Onyx stuck Namarra into the right-center square.

“Now draw out Adjatha, the Drinker,” Onyx drew it out, it felt it trying to suck energy out of the very air. “The sword of the tyrant Dabber, it does what he did – weakens the already-weak and steals from them.”

Onyx stuck Adjatha into the lower-left square.

“Now draw out Blackrazor, the Soul-Stealer,” Onyx drew it out, and it felt like Adjatha, trying to absorb the energy around it, but much more so. “Pure evil.” Lilacor said simply.

Onyx stuck Blackrazor into the bottom-center square.

“Draw out the Burning Earth, the Flametongue. The ninth longsword.” Onyx drew it out and looked at it again, as uneasily as ever. “What is the alignment of base, violent monsters? The one who made and wielded this weapon long ago? The one who once walked across the prehistoric world sowing destruction? The one who named the sword after his goal: Burning Earth.”

Onyx stuck the Burning Earth into the bottom-right square.

He looked at the grid, at the square of nine longswords sticking out of the ground. The pure sunlight of Daystar. The deep, crimson glow of the Dragonslayer. The unreal beauty of the Blade of Roses. The liquid-mercury burn of Angurvadal. The rainbow reflections of the Equalizer. The queer blank-white gleam of Namarra. The cold, hard steel of Adjatha. The sour evil haze of Blackrazor. The deep, earthy, slumbering firestorm of the Burning Earth. One in each square.

“Yes. Funny that is should fall out this way,” Lilacor opined.

“I must destroy or hide the Burning Earth,” Onyx decided, “As it is, I will do no more good for having it, and it may do much evil in the wrong hands – or claws.”

“As you like; I have no wisdom for such things,” Lilacor spoke.

Onyx began to dig a hole with his bare hands, deciding to bury the blade to keep it away from whomever, or whatever, might be seeking it. A raven flew down and perched upon a rock near Onyx. He continued working, but it peered at him intently. Before laying the blade in, Onyx took notice of it. When he moved the Burning Earth over the hole, the raven looked at it intently. Onyx looked at the bird uneasily. It met his gaze for only a moment, then looked back at the blade. Onyx moved it and the bird’s eyes followed. Onyx threw a rock at the bird, and it easily flew from its perch to dodge the missile. It tried to land again but Onyx held another rock threateningly. It flew away and he resumed digging, but then noticed the bird circling overhead. It was peering down at him, its eyes flickering. The raven squawked.

Someone wants it, Onyx. Someone wants it…back.

Just as the sky was beginning to lighten with the oncoming dawn, Onyx reluctantly pulled the sword out of the hole. “It’s not safe here,” he muttered to Lilacor and put the Burning Earth back in his bag of holding. The raven squawked angrily and began to fly southwest.

**********

Buffy
Female Human
Lawful Good
Undead Hunter
Level 15
STR 18(08)
DEX 10
CON 17
INT 8
WIS 13
CHA 17
Crossbows ++
Longswords ++
Maces ++
Two Weapon Style +++




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