Apostles of Doom

The risi started changing back to stone! He could not blame it because Morok’s people were getting in very solid blows. Tom took his left claw and carved it into the stone golem’s neck to hold on. Excrathadorus Mortis was in and linked to the blackness. It would not be dislodged, but Tom might be. He opened the flood gates to Doom, the Doomalogue and Tiernon’s god pool. He had a lot of work to do and he needed to do it fast, before the golem did too much more damage.

After what seemed like a small eternity, he was able to clean the golem to the point that he could follow the links to the commune. He was surprised to find that the bergrisi had seventeen liches controlling it. He got his initial lock on the liches and moved to the first.

Suddenly Tom felt indescribable pain coming from the other links. The liches had found a way to protect themselves. Surprising, given that they were on opposite sides of the battlefield, but he assumed the commanding Storm Liches had somehow got word to them.

Tom had to withdraw slightly and put up mental walls to numb the pain of the attacks. He had no idea what they were doing, but it hurt. He created his own link to the other end of the commune link.

Morok, I need you and a couple others to follow this link to the lich commune controlling the risi. They are putting up a fight; I need you to distract them. Do not kill them here; I need to be able to hunt down their phylacteries so I need them functional, just unable to cast spells! The D’Orc was from Visteroth, a world where the orcs had evolved to combat the Unlife. Morok would fully understand what was needed.

Understood! Morok said, and pulled three of his elite to follow him.

Tom turned his attention back to the liches of the commune. They were fighting their way back. He was losing some ground. He took a deep mental breath and waded once more into the pain. It would be very helpful to understand what they were doing so he could combat it. He really needed animage training; perhaps Morok could help with that. The D’Orc was an animage. At the moment, all he could do was press against each link in succession, testing for weaknesses, pulling back if the pain got too great.

The Unlife are in motion, Morok reported. They are pulling all their forces from this side as well, gathering the remnants of the army on the plain before the main gate. I would guess they are about three-fifths of their original size. There are ghouls carrying coffins, I assume the vampires. I would call it a retreat, but they are gathering in a single large area rather than leaving the field.

Keep me informed, Tom replied. He twisted his head on his shoulders; he was developing a real headache battling these seventeen liches. One would push back, driving him back towards the bergrisi, and Tom would respond, only to have one of the others advance. It was not a question of sheer power; he clearly had more, but they were using wizardry, which everyone had informed him could be much more effective per unit of mana spent.

After what seemed like an eternity, one of the links suddenly weakened and Tom moved in for the kill. The lich was distracted, as he’d hoped, and the others started to press upon him, but then three more suddenly backed off. That was sufficient; the pain was lowered enough so that he could proceed.

Within moments he had the link to the phylactery, and then the lich was screaming in fear and agony. It warmed the cockles of Tom’s soul to hear a creature that thrived and fed upon the fear of others to feel fear, agony and pain itself. Where had that thought come from? Tom suddenly wondered. He shook his head even as the lich exploded, and he moved to the next.

Northern Courtyard