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4. THE DUNGEON MASTER: The 12th-Level Paladin Dame Valhalla Geode stands breathing heavily while holding the scroll, apparently apprehensive about what the result of reading it might be. She turns to you, awaiting your decision.
"That MUST be a rhetorical question." states Tim with a hint of annoyance. "Of course you should read it. Unless you have something better to do."
The dungeon walls seem to shimmer around Zephyr, and she looks about apprehensively, as if expecting fiends to flow forth from them at any instant. "If you can read the letter you might as well tell us what it says." She states. "How much worse can things get? After all, we are in Hell." She has never actually fought a fiend, yet on the Prime Material Plane she has felt that she could sense their presence; driving her to do ill. The thought of dueling with such an essence is a most unsettling one to say the least.
Life Force puts on a good face, although he is inwardly still quite apprehensive. *If this monster crunches worlds it will make short work of us!* The Paladin thinks glumly to himself, referring to the pit fiends responsible for the cataclysms seen in the WorldOrbs. Staring at the White Wolf's new demeanor, and the fact that Paladin Slayer has once again acted rudely only add to his growing fear and frustration. He clears his throat and says in his steadiest voice, "Yes, of course, please read it."
"Read it." grunts the man in black, looking up from his harpy knife to gaze intently upon the maiden Paladin. {He is now a Level 1 Fighter with specialization in the harpy. -TDM.}
"Valhalla you bitch ho slut WENCH, read that motherfuckin piece of paper." contributes Kilgore.
"Pardon?" asks Valhalla, her Holy Frost Brand appearing to leap into her right hand.
The people surrounding Kilgore are shocked by her use of coarse language. Upon noticing their expressions, Kilgore says, "Oh, shit, I mean, oh motherfuck, ahhh fuck... SORRY!! The tribe I come from vulgar language is common tongue. Our leader felt the need to cause these words to be a regular part of our speech to prove how pointless it is to be shocked by a few vocalized syllables. He wanted us to cast away (useless) social restraints, believing that they caused people to inhibit themselves in other tasks. There was to be no embarrassment in our tribe. Technically I should not even be justifying myself to you, but I don't want to make any enemies over a couple of shocking syllables. How useless. Okay, Valhalla, read me the bloody paper. I have a feeling that the reason for leaving my tribe -- my quest -- a clue to this may be on this paper. Or it could be useless scratches of pen. We'll see motherfucker."
The Paladin Slayer emits a sigh which echoes through the celestial catacombs. "When in Hell...." However, before he has a chance to complete any statement he might have made, the Anti-Paladin is halted by Kilgore's climbing over his shield of the wyvern and kissing him on the cheek. She then proceeds to do the same to every persyn in her immediate vicinity (including the Paladin Valhalla Geode). The men are smitten, and Valhalla is startled.
The armored holy warrior regains her composure. Gazing upon the scroll, she speaks: "Quests....so distant and otherworldly....so much crammed into so little time." The 24-year-old young womyn sighs, a passing whisp rustling hauntingly through the pristine passageways. "It seems like an eternity...."
"....Since we got anything accomplished!" interjects the Necromancer Ice, snatching the paper from Valhalla Geode's hands effortlessly. "It isn't for Paladins to read magical documents; they're just for us Wizards." He is less than daunted by the mysterious scroll, as he himself has harbored plans to create a sword capable of summoning Gelugons, extremely powerful and high-ranking devils of, amusingly enough, ice. The dabbler in damnation looks over the scroll for a moment, then adds, "I have no idea....why I'm wasting my talents on such a pathetically easy-to-read language! I bet even a Paladin could read this piece of trite, and they can barely read Common! Here you go, Valhalla."
"Thanks." replies the Paladin, her voice tinged with sarcasm. She takes the scroll and says: "Now, as our quest through Hell is shared by all who have ever joined us, I shall read this scroll, which I am certain is of significance." She reads:
"Seraphim Infinitystar's Libranus Labyrinthus
Of The Path to the Orb
Know ye that in truth the greatest challenge Hell can offer lies in the Labyrinth of Forever. The path to its entrance, located in the first plane of Hell, is as I described from my dream-voyages. But be warned: upon entering Labyrinthus, it becomes one's universe until one can find some means to escape.
Of The Hall of Worlds
Labyrinthus is a nexus of the dead and of the dying. Ignore the lies it tells to thee, for they are as the screams of rent souls. The celestial spheres full of starry velvet contain an infinitesimal portion of the worlds to whom Hell's forces have brought quietus. These forces wish to assimilate thee, to increase their own power. One should touch not the WorldOrbs unless one wishes to shed one's humynity as a tattered garment.
Of The Soul Shatterers
Woe to those who believe that they may traverse the Hall with impunity. Woe to those who sense the Larval Soul. The walkers of the mortal realm do not believe the Larval Soul exists. They do not believe that an essence can descend to such depths. They are fools.
Woe to those who believe that they possess power due to bathing in the blood of beings. Woe to the warrior who believes that they may best the Larval Soul in physical combat. To this fiend the sword of barbarian and knight alike are less than blades of grass plucked at midsummer twilight; bullet and bomb less than tears shed for loved ones of eons past. When thou canst wield a sword with naught save the soul or let fly an arrow with naught save the mind, then, and only then, wilt thou have a chance of fighting the fiend.
[What precedes is all that was written by Infinitystar prior to his suicide. His final literary contribution to this world was a suicide note containing only one word:
Eonstar.]"
The Paladin finishes the final word and speaks no more. Instead she simply walks down the hall, reaching the point where the light fails as if she already knew the way. You all follow her in silence, as the Seraphim's scroll has helped you to at last fully realize the gravity of your situation.
"I have been selfish." states Eno, laying the remains of Princess Zyriel Kazimir in the last place where magical light shines still. "I should not seek to have you resurrected so you can join me in Hell. You are doubtless in a better place, and truly every place in the universe is better than here." The Paladin strides into the darkness, and Dame Valhalla Geode follows.
When you see a flash of frost as Valhalla holds aloft her magic sword to act as a light source, you elect to follow the twain Holy Knights. The Paladins do not move swiftly, and thus you find it quite easy to catch up to them. As you do so, the man in black, 'Morpheus', further illuminates the Paladins by shining his flashlight around the area they occupy. This causes the Paladins to turn around to gaze upon the midnight mortal and Zephyr to start in surprise.
"Tech." states the man in black upon noticing their response. "It won't hurt you."
You attempt to maintain as tight a marching order as possible as you proceed down the twenty-five-foot corridor beginning where the light fails. It is not easy with sixteen people in your party, however, and a goodly portion of you have trouble even spotting the twin light sources, instead remaining in formation simply by blindly following the individual in front of you. As you descend deeper into the darkness, you feel more and more helpless within its enveloping velvet. The hands of Zephyr feel to her like they've been caught in a gigantic spider web, which rustles to reveal its true nature as the silken artifact which the Paladin Marissa wears as a dress. Farian Shadowstorm feels something grasp at his gun and only realizes just in time that it is merely Savanna Soux brushing up against him. Kilgore Trout feels something sliding up her leg which turns out to be the icy hand of.... Ice, the Necromancer. As you press further in on each other, the darkness grows so that you can barely distinguish yourselves from your surroundings. How can you fight anything like this? This is not the place for mortal beings.
In the distance you can hear a maddening drip-dripping sound. Eventually your party is forced to make a ninety-degree left turn to continue its quest. You do so like a great worm, a churning mass of heated bodies covered in a cold sweat. The weak lights of the twain warriors of faith and science penetrate the darkness for fifteen feet before being stopped by an ancient yet indestructible wall. However, another ninety-degree left turn reveals a steel door with a mysterious skull-like rune etched conspicuously in its center. It is visibly quite dusty, even in the darkness, and the door has obviously remained untouched for an extremely long time. To the far right of the rune, there is a black keyhole which seems to invite the void.
"Wouldn't it be convenient," enquires the Paladin Eno, "if whatever we needed to unlock this door was provided for us earlier in the dungeon."
"I wonder...." whispers Zephyr, drawing the key of the prism gate from where it was concealed in her pocket. It still shimmers like rainbow fire, and it feebly illuminates the area around it. Lifting the key slightly above her head as she gazes upon it in the darkness, the elven maiden feels as if she is holding a star.
Drip-drip. The noise echoes through the catacombs, sounding like ancient rusted swords colliding in combats lost eons ago.
Zephyr works her way to the front of the group and kneels before the door so that she may place her enchanted key in the dark iron keyhole. But the portal will not accept it.
Zephyr withdraws back into the depths of the party. As her faint light fails, an abyssal gurgling is heard from behind the door. You wonder: has its source devoured worlds?
"Holy shit!" contributes the man in black, offering a suggestion as to the origins of the sound.
You are understandably hesitant to unlock the door now that you have heard and have had the chance to imagine what might be behind it. Eventually, however, the elven Necromancer Ice speaks:
"We might as well try whatever keys we've got. Cover me."
The wizard produces the ornate golden key he acquired from a dying planet in the Hall of Worlds as Farian and 'Morpheus' draw their firearms and Logan further illuminates the passageway by igniting his lightsaber. As Ice of the Arts of Mortis inserts his key successfully, it is engulfed and consumed by pale blue flame, the great door creaks and clanks and begins to rise up into the ceiling, and you all take one last instant to think of your past lives in the mortal realm.
Now you gaze into the chamber revealed by the rising door.
Darkness there, and nothing more!
Now into the chamber churning, all your souls within you burning, now again you hear the gurgling, something louder than before.
"'Tis some Devil," Eno mutters, "yearning to rend us to the core. I've learned of such in Hellish lore."
The footfalls of the Paladin Valhalla Geode tap eerily as the angelic knight traverses the 10' X 10' chamber. She stops to admire a WorldOrb in the right wall, the stars within which illuminate the darkness around it ever so faintly, as if it were a gateway into infinity.
A 5' passageway beyond the WorldOrb allows you to enter another 10' X 10' chamber. This one is filled completely with unmolested blackness until the Paladin shines her sword's dark light into the space.
It is over. Every war ever waged was worthless, for none could defeat this. Bubbling, boiling excremental slime the shade of decaying death oozes from its porous molten flesh, contacting with an acidic hiss which threatens to dissolve even the divine walls beside it, yet it is comforting. Tentacles dripping a like slime erupt from its gastropoidal body accompanied by a pair of rotting, semi-skeletal, distinctly humyn arms, yet it is familiar. Its eternally-screaming face sheds tears of burning black blood, yet it is you.
It takes a full instant for you to truly realize what this fiend is and what it represents. During this time, you can do nothing save stare drainedly as the devil inches ever nearer. Then....
Abadon the Despoiler crumples in a heap on the stone floor, screaming.
The Paladin Dame Valhalla Geode drops her icy artifact sword Frost's Brand. It strikes the floor with a crystalline tinkle.
"So this is what a Fiend looks like in Hell." states the second Paladin, Eno. He, too, has dropped his sword, and he, too, stands his ground.
By some miracle, the man in black 'Morpheus' finds his vision blocked by the broad-shouldered body of Eno just before his gaze would have reached the devil. Knowing better than to look upon something which just drove a Wizard mad, the Warrior shields his eyes from the beast and unholsters a desert eagle.
By cosmically ill fortune, however, the one who is in fact closest to the fiend is the Paladin Marissa, the one dressed as a Princess.
The devil moves ever so slowly toward the paladin, who finds herself unable to withdraw as she struggles with her sanity (and would not have been able to in any case with so many people behind her), and intrudes upon her persynal space with its bony humynoid hand. Once the tattered ragged flesh-covered fingers close in an iron grip around Marissa's pristine white silk-encased arm, you know that the paladin is finished.
Valhalla's holy sword of fallen frost still sheds its icy luminous aura on the dungeon floor, and it reveals the head of Abadon the Despoiler, still clutched within his hands, still emitting screams of insanity.
His scream is joined by Marissa's as the fiend's skeletal hand burns through silk and flesh until it grips only bone.
"The brave are always the first to die." states Logan, who now also gazes upon the demon. Even in the dim light, he soon is able to realize what it is that he gazes upon, and finds that his soul can barely tolerate the vision. It is most strange and shocking indeed that a warrior such as him who has seen so much horror is himself horrified by seeing this. He closes his eyes, and preserves his sanity.
Life Force's gaze falls upon the fiend and he loses touch with the multiverse and finds himself unable even to feel his physical form. To call his agony a haze is an understatement; Life Force is rather crushed beneath an avalanche. It almost succeeds in destroying the warrior utterly, but some holy power within his soul emerges to keep it from being snuffed out....Life Force....
The mortal world which you call home coalesces into one great, last vision. The light of dawn has evolved into its full azure glory, and it falls upon what remains of an ancient alabaster castle; still strong, still sturdy, standing on sound stone gently dusted in the sands of time. The warm sunlight is serenely complimented by cool darkness as the shadow of a serpent sails past, at last stopping over the pale palace. The dragon is an essence of eternal dreams, and infinite prismatic colors and shades flow along its scales as it alights as softly as a sighing seraphim. You follow its gaze as it caresses rolling hills of living emerald dotted by trees more lush than any world has ever known. A light, dusty road lazily wanders from the castle and down through the hills until it reaches a horse as white as an angel's plume, who has paused for a minute to scent the morning air. Astride it are a beauteous elven princess and a young armored humyn with whom she has experienced a brief, chaste triumph of love: a steel-clad being who was once called Palad-
The great tower of the fortress is struck from above by fire which scorches the azure from the sky. The dragon cries out and is engulfed by smoke and shards from the shattered sanctuary. Flames reduce the land to an ashen waste, and the lovers are lost. You realize that this is the nature and destiny of the mortal realm, and in fact that of all things mortal: they must die.
The screams of wizard and warrior echo through the catacombs; through the cosmos.
As you are once again able to see reality, you recoil from the immortal being before you. Most of those who have not already viewed the fiend are able to avert their gaze in time, yet some of you are not so fortunate.
'Damned beast!' screams the White Wolf within his own mind. 'How dare you rend the mind of the dream crystalline arch-magus!?! Reminding me of how weak and mortal my soul truly is....Will you destroy me, then?....No force in the universe ever faced before by Valarkian souls seems thy better or equal in power.... Why do you not finish me?....No....You will not defeat me....I am The White Wolf!....It is my destiny to conquer Hell....You cannot....destroy....my....destiny....'
So it is that The White Wolf is saved by sheer arrogance. A grunt from his right indicates that Paladin Slayer is saved in the same manner.
Ice sees not the first monster of Labyrinthus, but even the muffled sounds he hears through his clenched hands is enough to fill his heart with dread, his mind with chaos, and his soul with awe. "This is impossible!" He shudders. "This is the least of Hell's minions! It is merely a Lemure....a Manes....a Larva!!! I was ready to fight Pit Fiends! If this being possesses such power....we are all surely doomed....and now, we cannot escape...."
The fiend's humyn mouth opens wide and a slick ebony tentacle erupts from the depths within. It is covered in a foul slime which drips upon Marissa's pristine robe; and which eats away at the artifact like a ravaging flame. The fetid liquid oozed by the sub-devil's other appendages proves no less corrosive, and soon the maiden is like the world in which you once lived: no longer recognizeable as ever having been a beauteous entity. In the final spasms of her burning, dying muscles the damsel warrior turns to you. Her face is now merely a slime-covered skull from which fragments of fouled flesh fall, and as her jaw drops and hangs freely you notice that her right arm of withering flesh and bone is extended in your direction, and seems to beckon you to share her fate in absolute oblivion.
The floor is covered in slime, blood, urine, and vomit. The air is filled with Abadon's screams.
All that you can believe in is rent to its primal core.
And all your divine souls are beasts once more.
There is in infinity only Evil, and the desperate hope of Good to fight it.
There is no neutral. There is no undecided. There is no time for hesitation.
Fight now, or be destroyed!
By the way, Merry Christmas! :) (2001)
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