Prellis the Scribe
From the time the slave mage had informed Nostur’yl of the method that would be used to raise the obsidian post from the depths of the ocean, the daemon had set about devising plans for that eventuality. When the abyssal gate opened, his brethren would begin entering this realm on their own power, slowly at first, but as the word of carnage spread throughout the planes, they would come in droves. To ensure things went smoothly once that happened, the daemon lord would need to set the stage ahead of time.
While Rathgith was off researching the necessary spell, Nostur’yl set about hunting the land for a suitable area that his soon to be freed brethren could use as a staging area for the invasion of Britannia. He began at the temple where the seven obsidian posts sat in a circular pattern, awaiting the eighth and final, and began to search out across the land. Finding the proper place to house horde upon horde of daemon did not take long.
An island, not to far from where the temple lay, housed a community of humans. Farms spread out across the southern region leading up into a small town, a small nearly vacant town. Aside from the merchants and farmers, the town was nearly deserted with only the occasional visitor wandering about in search of a needed reagent or two. The location was nearly perfect for the staging area; its closeness to the temple, the open farmlands full of livestock, the small buildings to house the daemons and most importantly, the transport sigil on the northern end that would carry the daemons to the mainland.
Even as small as it was, Nostur’yl knew he could not hope to gain control of the island on his own. He would need help from his brethren. Heading towards a remote area on the island, the daemon set about summoning his loyal minions from the abyss. For weeks the daemon lord stayed in near seclusion as he expended energy each day to bring over daemons into this land. The attacks on his enemies all but stopped and many wondered, “Where is Nostur’yl?”
With the news reaching Nostur’yl that the slave mage had completed the spell to raise the obsidian post, the answer presented itself as the town criers across the land called out together, “A daemon horde has been spotted near Occlo and is moving toward the town.”
The sleepy town of Occlo was over taken in minutes as the daemons spread out across the stone streets. It seemed victory would come easily and the town would be Nostur’yl’s without much of a fight. The daemon lord knew better, knew his opponents, and stayed behind as the first wave overran the town. For no sooner than the daemons had run out of prey, a gate twinkled into life, followed by many more throughout the town.
Brave warriors, come to defend their land, entered the town and were met with the grim visage of death; and the battle was joined anew. Warriors, mages and archers came to the call, some being cut down before they had taken their second step, but others managed to survive those first moments and group together forming a stout defense. Once organized, the warriors went on the offense, cutting down first one daemon, then more until there were none left in sight.
Victory for the defenders would not come so easily. A second wave of daemons entered the town, lead by Nostur’yl himself and the tide turned once again. For what seemed an eternity the two armies clashed, with each side taking losses only to be replaced by a wave of fresh combatants, neither side holding the advantage for long.
Unknown to the brave defenders of the town, what would be the last group of daemons entered into battle, again lead by Nostur’yl. Had they known no more daemons waited behind, had they known these were the last that Nostur’yl’s energies could muster for the time, their spirits might have soared. Instead they were met with death on the streets, the daemon lord centered in the carnage.