Prellis the Scribe
Following the attack on Ocllo, Nostur’yl returned to the Abyss to rest. The invasion did not proceed quite as he planned, but he hardly considered it a failure. Ocllo could be controlled, he knew that now, it would just take more daemons then he had the power to muster on his own. That mattered little now, as the gate would be opened shortly and he would have all the daemons needed to hold not only Ocllo, but all of the lands.
Nostur’yl did not have much time to rest and regain all his energies before he once again had to return to the land of Britannia. From his last talk with the slave mage he knew the spell to raise the post should be completed and he was eager to make use of it. With thoughts of the abyssal gate being opened, Nostur’yl made his way quickly to the tower of the Cult of Infernal Necromancy in search of Rathgith.
Entering the tower Nostur’yl was greeted by Smogg Azalin who was quick to inform him of the location of the slave mage; Rivendell. The daemon should have known to begin his search there with all the rumors that have been reaching his ears lately. Before Nostur’yl could depart, Smogg asked for a moment in private and the two adjourned to the rooftop overlooking the waters. There they spoke briefly on Ocllo and the strategy of holding that town. The conversation was short, however, as Nostur’yl wished to find the slave mage and the spell, and so he vanished with a quick word of parting.
Using his powers of teleportation, the daemon lord arrived on the outskirts of Rivendell. The town that had been a thorn in his side since prior to his release from the Abyss. The town that would be the first to be utterly destroyed by the daemon horde that was to come. The thought placed a smile on the face of the daemon in disguise as he stood outside the tavern Rathgith was likely in.
Rathgith emerged from the tavern moments after Nostur’yl came within sight. A greeting was offered between the two and the daemon turned the conversation immediately to the business at hand saying, “I was told I could find you here. I have come for the completed spell.”
“I have it,” Rathgith replied, “It is a scroll. You may use it at your leisure.”
The news of the spell in scroll form set Nostur’yl back a moment; he had assumed the spell would be cast by the slave mage thus completing their contract. Unfortunately, merely providing the spell that could raise the post also completed the contract. The daemon pushed these thoughts from his mind as Rathgith approached him and handed over the scroll.
“Very good then,” Nostur’yl said as he looked down at the scroll in his hand and sensed the power of the spell. He would cast the spell himself, the slave mage was no longer needed for that. “You have mine thanks, Rathgith.”
The daemon lord made himself ready to depart, first dispelling the illusion of the mage around his form and then shifting himself over to the abyss, leaving just a fraction of his being upon Britannia. The shadowy form of the daemon spread it’s wings to depart as Rathgith called out, “One more thing!”
Nostur’yl folded his wings behind him and looked at the slave mage. “Oh, what is that?” he asked.
The answer came in the form of Rathgith speaking allowed words of power with hand and body gestures flowing along with each word, a combination the daemon had never heard or seen prior. When his incantation was completed, the slave mage stood tall looking at Nostur’yl, a smile etched on his face.
For a moment it seemed nothing had happened as the daemon and mage stared fixedly at one another. Then there was a shift in the daemon’s form, his body solidifying to the dark grey beast many had come to fear. Nostur’yl’s reaction let those watching know this was not done of his own will.
“What? What is this?” the daemon bellowed. “You think you can pull mine person over to this realm? How dare you try your power on mine being, fool!” Nostur’yl was now completely formed, but was not willing to sit idly by and see what more the spell might do. “Death comes to you now,” he half roared at the mage, releasing a bolt of energy from his hand.
The daemon lord raised his sword into the air, a sword the length of the tallest of mortals, and charged the slave mage. Nostur’yl’s wings swept behind him tight as each hoofed foot struck the ground bringing him a step closer to his prey and the death of the traitorous mage.
He would not take the final steps, would not reach the mage. The sound of grinding stone reached the daemons sensitive ears before those looking on. Even had the sound not reached any ones ears, the bright flashes around the daemon’s form could not be missed. And then there was stillness in the air, silence reigning supreme for a moment in the land of Britannia, but not in the mind of Nostur’yl. The daemon lord who had brought so much terror into this land screamed in his mind, a scream of anger touched by panic as his form stood frozen in stone in mid-stride.