The Tower was a work of art, reflected Iyzor, as he strode up the many stairs leading to the Princess' chambers. Over a hundred stories high, and going far underground, it was the highest erection for miles around, a symbol of power like no other. Marks of its long life, like scars on the body of a warrior, were dotted here and there, although magical repairs ensured little actual damage was done. It had survived since before the days of man, and doubtless it would survive to see the final setting of the sun, and the Final Upheaval, when the Gods descended on their chariots to judge the sins of man.
Going up, he passed the Bishop Terr'r. "Greetings, Wizard!" he said, an unusual smile on his gaunt features, "has the Metal been forged?" - here giving the traditional greeting of the True Religion. "The Metal is forged anew," replied Iyzor, bowing his head slightly and giving the traditional hand-sign by which Believers identified themselves to one another before the True Religion was accepted by all. Iyzor made a move to pass by him, but the Holy Terr'r held out a hand to stop him. "It troubles me, Wizard," he intoned, "that the Believers are not as True as they once were. Did not the Prophet Ad'ms himself state, 'The Gods made heavy Metal and they saw that it was good'? And here is man, piling sin upon sin, selling their values for shiny baubles, changing their lives in search of the gold. It vexes me, indeed it does." He shook his head.
The search for Trueness was the essence of the Metal Religion, and lately a new fad had been observed upon the streets, a terrible thing indeed. It involved the wearing of a special uniform, and the growing of one's hair in a particular style, (when the True way was to let it grow long and free!). Religious ceremonies were seen, where the partakers performed a strange dance, throwing limbs around in abandon. The rumour was that the Princess had been attacked by some foul creature utilising this religious frenzy, although what she was doing in such foul places remained to be seen. "Indeed, times are strange," agreed Iyzor. He himself did not keep so True; few did, except the Holy Terr'r. Again, he made to pass him, and this time Terr'r let him go. "Remember, Wizard!" he intoned. "The Special Ceremony is tonight! Don't forget!" Iyzor forced a smile and waved a hand, then continued up the stairs.
The Special Ceremony was a travesty, he thought. Once a year, children were bought to the Tower (the poor at the lowest level, of course) and indoctrinated into the ways of Truth. This involved the most purest Metal being poured into them, one by one. He could never bear the screams. Children were not supposed to be exposed to the Metals at such a young age! They needed to start with lighter Metals, such as the Rocks. Only then could they survive heavier Metals, the Black Metal being the most darkest and dangerous. The land of Latt'm was constructed around these beliefs, and this was the way it had been for generations, but surely nowadays such old-fashioned customs were outmoded? He knew for a fact that many from Hel's Heim refused to bring their children, rather indoctrinating them in a less dangerous fashion.
Finally, he reached the Oaken door which separated the Princess' Chambers from the rest. The Guard on duty seemed alert enough, but it was always wise to check, so he stopped in front of him, observing closely as he came to attention. "How is the Princess Carnif'x this morning?" he asked. "The Maid said she thinks she's pregnant again, Wizard lord! I had to remove all coat-hangers from her presence!" replied the Guard. Iyzor sighed. The Princess' insanity had started around the time of the Emptiness, and to this day no-one had the knowledge to cure her of her delusions. With the curse came an extreme hatred of children, making it necessary to hide her away during the Special Ceremony. "What caused this?" he asked. "Wizard Lord! She claimed that a demon visited her in the night!" "I shall see to her. Meanwhile, continue your vigil. Who knows if another 'hargoreid' mayn't attack! Tell me your name, and I shall commend you." "My name is Noodles, Wizard Lord!" Iyzor opened the door and walked inside, missing the smirk that passed across Noodles' face. "Strength and Honour!" he whispered fervently, before nervously looking around to make sure that none had heard his Treachery.
Inside, Iyzor encountered the Princess sitting on the floor, drawing pictures on the floor with cat's blood. She appeared to have a cushion under her dress, which kept slipping down. He coughed politely to draw her attention, making her jump. "Oh, Wizard, you must guard me from these traitors!" she yelped. "They surround me, watching me all the time!" As she waved her hands, the cushion slipped again, and she grabbed it, poking it back into place. "I hear that congratulations are in order!" Iyzor said jauntily, watching her with a sinking feeling in his heart. "If you had any humanity in you, you would fetch me a coat hanger so that I might rid myself of this parasite!" she spat.
"I have come to help you, your Highness! We must remove you from The Moon City to a safe place, war is coming!"
"Pah! The Tower has survived many wars!"
"But it will not survive this one. Princess, Winter is coming!"
Her face went white. "So, my visions are true!" she whispered. "We must flee, Princess! You know that Latt'm will fall in a war with the Winter!" "NEVER!" she shouted. "My place is with my people! Besides, Winter went against the Gods. He will be cast down! He will be crushed by the True Metal!" Iyzor cursed silently. It would be so typical of Terr'r to have implanted these ideas in her mind when she was in this condition. He would have to warn the Bishop to stay away from her, else the incident with the strapping young lad be repeated. "Very well," he said. "but I must ask your Highness to remain in the Tower, else another attack take place." She didn't answer, and after a moment or so slipped back to the floor, continuing her painting. He watched for a moment, as a distinctly humanoid form began to take place, then he recognised it, and his jaw went slack with horror.
*
"Typical Rio! Just has to bring his stupid...thing!" Radagast grouched, unswinging his backpack from his shoulders as the group stopped for a quick rest. The journey was not going well, they were barely out of Hel's Heim, and already the food was nearly all gone. "Maybe we'd have had more room if you'd have left your drugs at home!" Rio replied sharply, stung by his friend's insult. He had retrieved his stringed instrument, and was plucking the strings, meaning to start a sing-song. "Oh, stop, both of you!" implored Bastard. "If you go on like this, we'll never reach Opeth!" Suddenly, Masheen screamed. "What? What is it?" they clamoured. "That name...I left The Moon City many years ago. It took everything I have, and if it is my final act, I swear by the Gods that I will tear it to pieces!" Masheen said, wearily. "I cannot abide to hear the name spoken, or to see it written." The others stood, warily watching him. Finally, the silence was broken by Bastard. "We'll be careful not to," he promised.
They continued on their journey. After a few hours, they arrived on Promotia, the wasteland on the outermost reach of The Moon City. It was once a place of legend, famous battles having been fought there aeons ago. Now, it had fallen to a circus, fools flocking their to sell their foolishness, often even selling their own bodies to strangers in the process. One such came bounding up to them now, a hopeful smile on his face. He appeared to only have one hand, the other ending in a misty fog. "Yes," said the stranger, following their gaze. "It's a miraje!" "Don't you mean mirage?" ventured Rio. "No!" he snapped, waving his hands wildly, the fog following as though it were attached to him. Masheen stepped out, and shoved the stranger over. He rolled off down a slope, ending in a small muddy creek, which he amusingly fell into with a splash. "Should have done that a long time ago," muttered Radagast, and they continued on their way, leaving the unfortuanate fool to clamber from the water on his own.
They encountered several more such annoyances on their way, none offering anything worthwhile, and Masheen dealt with them all in his quietly violent way. Although he said nothing, Rio could tell that Bastard was impressed by Masheen, and he resolved to have a quiet word with him later about the subject. Rio believed firmly in peaceful means, and it bothered him that Masheen was acting so aggressively. He would just as soon have talked to the fools, although it was against the True principles he had been taught as a youth. A new age was dawning, he felt, and the people were growing angry at the Gods. Soon, the lower classes would rise, and take what was rightfully theirs.
He was interrupted in his reveries by Masheen, who had stopped at a river. "On the other side lies Val'lah," he said. "We're through already?" Radagast asked, tiredly suprised. "I thought there was another land, although I can't recall the name-" "Ha!" Masheen laughed, shocking the others. "That realm was set up purely for the amusement of the Wizard Iyzor. In actuality, it takes up an area of five square feet, and exists as an extension of Hel's Heim, although the two are separated. Nothing of worth takes place there, only a few fools too loyal for their own good meet there once a week or so to discuss the various Metals. Your time shall come, your time shall come, " and this last he chanted, in a vaguely familiar tune. "I know that," Radagast ventured. "A friend taught it me, an old folk song, of origin unknown." Masheen laughed again. "Not so old..." he said softly, "but rather, composed for the brave new world we shall find ourselves in once the tyrants recieve their deaths." "Maybe you could teach me the words?" Radagast suggested, and Masheen gave him a smile.
Unbeknown to them, the four were being watched, from way up high. Sitting astride a giant flying eagle, a Knight noted as they started to search for a boat. "The Wizard must be told," he said to the bird, and it flew off towards the Tower, at Amazing Speeds.
*
Wonderful, reflected Zad, as he slid the blade across Fingon's throat for the eighth or ninth time. The blood continued to spurt out, marking his face and hands with redness. The fat barkeep had been suprisingly nimble, but no match for the insane speed of Zad's blade. When the others had left, Fingon had been cruel to him, insisting he help to sweep the floor, and no-one told Zad to do such things. Typical for one of the fool's rank, Belgi'an in the Old language. The day shall come when the Elder God Gr'nd arises, and casts down the 'True' Gods who had usurped Him in His moment of weakness, Zad thought, and then Things Shall Be As Once They Were.
Rising, he exposed his chest, which bore a strange tattoo in an unreadable script, and wiped the bloody knife upon it, in an offering to Gr'nd. The tattoo flared briefly, and for a moment he felt renewed energy flowing through him. "Many more shall have their blood taken, O Gr'nd Kore, Master of Worlds, Ancient God Of The Abyss, Dweller In Dark Places and Smasher Of Weak Cthonic Wretches!" he said in a powerful voice. Hearing a noise from the door, he turned round, and saw the street-whore Azrael standing, transfixed by the sight. He thought a Thought, and Azrael's head exploded, showering gibbets of gore everywhere. Zad smiled. Let the Tower-dwellers cast him out now, he thought. This power would consume them all...
To be continued...
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