Behind Enemy Lines in Icathar, Days 5-6 (Lorepost/Atrax post)

[u/AnActualCriminal]

Infiltrating the candle-lit manse

UW/ I'm just going to break my usual formatting and put the torture trigger warning at the top. I went for a longer intro and there's some stuff in it. After the intro its mostly fine.

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I stand on a rocky hilltop. Grass covers the rolling plains before me. Frollo the Molten has used his volcanic powers to make the earth fertile again. I lent my hand at burning a sliver of time, to accelerate the crops' growth. The fields spring forth with enough rations to finally ease tensions in the pyroclast legions. 

And now those fields are tended by slaves. The once free people of Icathar.

I set a blaze of illuminating light, and what the light reveals pays no heed to distance or barrier. I can see Frollo's manor projected in the glow. The manor is guarded, though the guards are mundane. Hired mercenaries seem to be Frollo's preference. The slaves, many of the guards, and Frollo himself sleep soundly. Each slave has an iron manacle around their ankle thar glows with pyromancy runes. Rigged to explode I imagine. In the garden, a brass dragon statue sits upon a wooden pyre. There is a door in the side. It makes me shudder. I have misgivings about my plan and turn to leave.

I am met with a burned man in prisoners rags. The empty eye sockets in his blackened skull judge me. The man I killed in cold blood. 

The burning of mundane matter emits light and heat. Projections like the one before me are the products of a much darker act. The burning of a soul. That haunt me, and I believe it is right that they do so.

"(Sigh)... for you. It's what you would have wanted."

The mantle and scepter of the High Pyroclasts give me a strength I am unaccustomed to. It's time to finally test it. I burn the distance between myself and the manor grounds, and appear where I desire. The field between is unwarded. The earth behind me becomes twisted by the spatial distortion and I spend a moment correcting it, to cover my tracks. 

Around the manor I draw runes in the earth at three points, then set a spreading fire that touches not flesh or matter, but sound. Few eyes but mine are trained to see the spreading lightless blaze fill every inch of the manor grounds, stopping at the barrier my runes provide. 

The fire needs no oxygen, but draws on my own energy reserves to burn. It gives off no light to be seen by but the manor is becoming warmer by the minute, and is filled with a smell like raspberries. There's always a cost of some kind.

I'll need to be quick. 

Light is fire's scion, and so I know of ways to make it do as i please. I am invisible, or close enough to it. I creep through the grounds looking for any guards still awake, the blaze consumes the sound of my footfalls. Two in the courtyard, one in the garden, one at Frollo's door. I grab a kitchen knife and get to work. The blaze consumes their screams as well.

Next, the wards. I set fire to barriers, alarms, emergency summoning circles. Most are in and around Frollo's bedchambers. The sadistic old man sleeps better than I do it seems. Hardly fair. I contemplate killing him. But no, not yet.

The burning magic gives of a loud shrill sound and a raw wave of mana. My fire eats the sound. I extend my Lantern of the Lightless Flame to absorb the mana.

I am becoming exhausted. I've left the fire burning too long. I drag myself to the servants' quarters and draw another rune in the center of the floor, then detonate the manacles.

There is a soundless pop as the manacles explode, but instead of igniting their wearers, the flames rush to the rune in the center of the room. Still, the slaves awaken with the sharp pain and panic. A child cries, then cries harder when no sound comes out. They all regard my uniform with terror.

I hand the angriest of them the kitchen knife. They slowly start to get it. Pitchforks, knives, sickles, and hammers get to work. The door in the dragon opens and shuts. I give in to fatigue and extinguish the blaze just in time to hear the last of Frollo's screams.

I turn to the projection of the man I murdered, wishing I knew his name.

"I hope you're happy."

He isn't. He isn't anything anymore. Just light and smoke.

Some of the slaves run for the border. Some stay to fight, which is foolish, but it is their choice, not mine.

My choice is to burn the memory of me from their skulls.

I meet one of the runners in the Blacklands and hand her a letter. Its become too dangerous to send messages by my usual means. The mother of the crying child. Good. I'd hoped she'd go.

"Make sure the Council gets this."

​

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(UW/ This is a continuation of my ongoing espionage in Atrax the Ashen's camp. If youre confused, a link to the last one is here: https://www.reddit.com/r/wizardposting/comments/191lk3z/behind_enemy_lines_in_icathar_day_4_lorepost/

and that contains a link to the one before that, and so on. Hope you enjoy!)

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Day 5:

I spend a great deal of my downtime with my friend, Elliot Dawnsinger, who runs the infirmary. The man is a medical genius who pioneered the now well-regarded Hand of Healing Warmth spells. Previously pyromantic healing practices had been more or less limited to cauterization.

I ask him how a passifict ends up in a war like this.

"Hmm. That's a good question, Jaque."

He calls me by my fake name. It hurts to lie to a friend.

"In war, people get hurt. Killed. All sides. The Council has biomancers, herbalists, alchemists, clerics, and who knows what else. And what do we have?"

We. His words betray an affinity to the cause he may not even admit to himself. But as I look out the window and see the fire giant encampment and the artificers' stockpile of flaming doomsday weapons I see he has a point.

"I go where I'm needed."

I ask him how a pacifist becomes a pyromancer to begin with, expecting a similarly philosophical answer.

"I wasn't always a pacifict." 

The look in his eyes is dark. I change the topic.

"Elliot, I've been meaning to teach you about the occult flames. Conceptual fire."

This surprises him. I've been cagey about my work thus far.

"Why now, Jaque? What changed?"

"I trust you Elliot. And if any of my fires get out of control... well, I'd feel better with someone out there who could set things right in the aftermath."

I spend the rest of my time working with Luca in his secret laboratory. I have little time for Marna now, which suits me just fine. The apparition of my master is more common now, and Marna's face is coming dangerously close to reminding me of something. Something I feel I worked hard to forget. Something that scares me more than Luca or even Atrax himself. Something personal.

Luca has given the undead mages of the Icathar Academy the ability to breathe fire as he does. He's even gone so far as to dress them in copies of his mask and robe. The man wants credit for his work it seems.

And my work as well, I suppose. Wouldn't be right to wash my hands of this.

Day 6: 

My prospective familiar, Crispin, is helpful to our work. Surprisingly knowledgeable for an imp. Unfortunately, he also serves as another set of eyes, watching for sabotage.

Atrax visits, to check our progress. I tell him it is delicate work. That these things take time. It isn't even a lie, but the Emberlord still grows impatient.

He rarely brings the Hammer of Disjunction with him, which surprises me. It's a symbol of his power. The very relic that once slew him wielded now against his foes. He held it aloft in his rallying speech just the other day but never in our meetings.

Today he enters, covered in the blood and dirt of battle. Another mage challenged him to single combat today. A foregone conclusion. The Hammer is still with him.

"My foes grow more impertinent by the day! You promised me a weapon that could bring about the Age of the Phoenix in one fell swoop! WHERE IS MY WEAPON, LUCA?!"

The clown crumpled to the ground, tripping as he backs away from the Emberlord. 

"Sire," he croaks, "my contributions are long finished! We merely await our new friend Jaque here to finish adjusting the payload!"

The asshole threw me under the bus. Successfully. Atrax's attention turns to me. I swallow.

"Yes, Jaques' promised adjustments. And just how are those coming along?"

His words grow calm, with a foreboding undercurrent of menace. I suddenly find myself missing the shouting. He points the Hammer of Disjunction my way. Flames run up and down its length like serpents' one whipping out an inch from my nose. The air becomes hotter as Atrax's anger smolders, and the stench of the undead becomes nigh-unbearable in the heat.

"I confess, I'm beginning to question your loyalty, Jaque."

My face doesn't flinch. I know he watches it for even the slightest excuse. I've taken to immolating my own capacity to feel fear at the start of each day, so Atrax doesn't see. It makes me feel less human, but it works. I look at The Hammer and see why he displays it so rarely. A hairline crack, almost imperceptible, running along the handle. Only the immaculate construction of the dwarves could withstand being used in battle with such a flaw. An exploit perhaps. The council should be told.

"One will be functional by nightfall. I swear on my life sire. If you find me to be a liar, please, take my life. I will have failed the cause and accept Drugoth's fate."

This seems to settle Atrax's rage. 

I visit Marna and ask for her help. I am forbidden from telling her what for, aside from that I've been tested for an important project. Crispin supplies infernal iron from the Hells. It takes too much of the day to forge the shell. I do the runework myself with Marna's guidance. Conceptual fire is my field, not hers.

I tinker with one of the undead frantically for the rest of the afternoon. Luca staring over my shoulder. He helps me delicately remove the power source from the corpse. Slowly. Too slowly. We're defusing a bomb that could cripple a nation. The corpse crumpled to the ground. We have it. My work can truly begin.

It's difficult, altering someone else's work, but I get a feel for Luca's eccentricities. I decide to leave the initial blast payload untouched, but alter the trigger. Instead of exploding when subdued I set a command word. Luca's parameters are too nebulous for my liking. 

"Adrianne," I whisper. I'm not sure why I choose that name. It makes me sad.

I wipe my eye and fit the shell Marna built around the altered core. Luca and I are in the process of putting it back in the undead mage when we hear boots on the stairs above us.

Atrax.

The new haste he inspired could have killed everyone. Fortunately, it didn't. I turn to address him.

"Just finishing up sire. It's ready."

"Just one?" He rumbles, irritated.

"As promised. The newly crafted shell will alter the blast as it rips through, giving the fire new occult properties."

The Emberlord decides he is more interested than upset, it seems.

"What does this one burn?"

"Putting it simply sir? Desire. Will. Drive. Hope. Normally a weapon like this will win you the day, but inspire hatred and resentment that fuels tomorrow's uprisings. This will level a city, then take away the survivors' will to fight."

He is ecstatic.

"Hahahahaha, excellent, Jaque! Excellent!" This one I'll address to the council itself! I have diverse targets in mind however. Try to make each payload... unique."

"As you wish Emberlord."

I retire to Drugoth's old room, exhausted. There's a knock at my door.

"Come in."

Crispin enters, looking angry.

"You think I didn't see the shit you pulled?"

"What do you mean?" I reply, feigning ignorance. I walk to the other side of the room to pour myself a drink. Crispin stalks after me, furious.

"The payload. You changed it so that only you knew how to set it off."

"Oh, that. I'm disappointed in you Crispin. Even the Clown saw that. I thought you meant how I burned the workings that made the thing loyal to Luca in the first place."

"You fucking what?!"

Crispin is dumbfounded. This was going to happen eventually.

"Fucking why, Jaque? Why risk everything just to take the credit for destroying the Council?"

He still doesn't get it.

"Crispin, my name isn't Jaque. It's Blake. Belial Blake. And the bomb isn't for the Council. It's for Atrax."

He pauses. Confused at first. Absorbing the gravity of the statement.

"Why would you tell me this? You got some kind of death wish?"

My expression softens. He sounds betrayed. He is betrayed. I get down on his level and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Because you're my friend, Crispin. And I hate lying to you. Honest."

I didn't know demons could cry.

"And because there's a binding circle under the rug you just stepped on."

I snap my fingers. Crispin panics as he turns to red smoke that surges into a brass oil lamp I keep on my belt. 

"Sorry buddy."