Of Jesters and Orcs 13: Burning

Of Jesters and Orcs

Chapter 13: Burning

<<<Mopsa>>>

The debonair and elegant Mopsa and her formerly elderly but now young and handsome orc bodyguard just stared at the burning house for a few moments longer. Neither one of them had expected it, certainly not nearly that fast! If anything Mospa was willing to put coin down on the possibility that the building wouldn’t be turned into a pyre until they had entered it!

“Yeah, I think Batman and the others should know about this…” Was it weird that she found his voice more pleasing now?

There was a gruffness in it earlier but was now missing entirely, did all old people get that or was it unique to orcs specifically? Still as Mopsa fiddled with the communicator Batman had given her, because Gods forbid the musclehead would probably break it in a pique of frustration, Karaka ventured closer already lighting up with magic to venture into the building on the off chance that someone was still inside.

“Swordsage he says, and yet he does things that even a Barbarian wouldn’t do,” She thought with amusement, though to be fair she’d seen Barbarians do some truly foolish things when in the depths of a Rage.

“Mopsa? I didn’t expect you to contact anyone so soon,” Batman said from the little device.

“Well, we felt that telling you the house you dropped us in front of is burning down,” Mopsa said, “Karaka already went in to see if anyone is trapped.”

Batman didn’t respond, but the silence enough told her that the human was processing what she told him.

<<<Karaka>>>

“Thank the Gods for that disgusting dip…” He was fairly sure that if he were still an old orc he wouldn’t have been able to do it without risking some severe burns.

But now that he was a young orc once more, or younger anyway, he could use the magic he learned much more effectively before having to stop. Warding off the heat wasn’t that difficult, and smoke was only vaguely more difficult.

Still, as he made his way through the slowly growing inferno, he focused on trying to find any possible survivors. Or clues to who or what was behind the blaze. More pawns of the demon, or was it a simple coincidence? Nothing about the fire felt overly magical to his senses, so it was entirely possible the fire was natural.

Though he didn’t survive to become an elder orc by simply taking things at face value, if the fire was natural, then perhaps arson by a pawn of the demon? Or just random arson, those happen and not every fire is part of a greater mystery or plot. Still, it felt odd that where they were supposed to start was burning down just as they appeared…

“Perhaps I should’ve put more effort into learning some tricks from Aravel…” Honestly, he missed the Investigator.

The only human that would ever willingly get between him and a fool that pissed him off. The stones on that man,  pretty sure he was half-orc that took more after his human parent.

An explosion of force slammed him through a burning wall and left a trail of destruction behind him. Seeing through the smoke was impo-he slammed into the ceiling before his thoughts could start or end.

He landed with a thud.

“How many years has it been….?” He shook his head and focused on getting up before he looked down through the hole, and a ugly creature made of flame and malice glared back at him.

His first thought was some sort of elemental, but generally only Ice and Earth elementals had an actual ‘physical’ presence. So obviously this wasn’t just a normal elemental… perhaps something unique to this plane? Or perhaps some sort of servant of the demon? Would certainly make sense.

“Come on then! Let’s see you try that again…” Karaka said with bared teeth.

“You are not who I am here to kill,” It said, “Leave.”

“Make me,” Karaka challenged, “It may have been a mistake to phrase it that way,” He thought after the words left his mouth.

“Very well, die.” Its hand raised and Karaka felt the magic around it surge for a moment-it was in his face, its hand around his throat as it squeezed and burned. “Another soul for the feast.”

“Ominous,” Karaka choked out before hitting its elbow ‘breaking’ it (if it even had bones to break) allowing him to slam his head into the creature's face.

Its head exploded before the creature, the demon, reformed a few feet away. “Die,” It said once more as crimson flames lashed out and wrapped around him like chains, burning and charring his flesh.

“Hmm, well this might be a bother…” Karaka said with a grunt, before breaking the chains with a grunt of effort.

Grabbing his sword with a soft utterance, a mnemonic trigger, he quickly slashed at the creature. The creature reared back with a snarl, as a deep slash appeared on its chest despite the blade not even coming close to even its hide.

“After all, who expects someone to wound a shadow and it reflecting on the body?” He was rather glad his Master forced him to learn it.

Sometimes subtle strikes were the most lethal.

“Die!” The beast ordered as a multitude of flame and smoke shrouded claws reached forth from the earth around him, grasping and clawing at him, trying to drag him elsewhere, to drag him into the Abyss.

“You first,” Karaka retorted as he lunged forward, uttering another mnemonic trigger. This one the creature could hear, “FIVE-SHADOW CREEPING ICE ENERVATION STRIKE!” Just as the wide tip of his blade entered the recently created wound and pumped icy cold magic into it.

It screamed, writhing and clawing at him before exploding.

It reformed a second later, screeching at him. “You can’t kill me! I am empowered by forces beyond your comprehension! I am Death, I am Despair! I am the Devourer of sou-” His tirade was cut off as a click echoed behind him.

Half a moment later, the blast of a shotgun took its head off, causing it to drop to the floor; dead.

“Nah.” Karada said with a snort, “Too ugly to be death,” He quipped before looking towards the one with the gun with a nod.

His distaste for guns aside, he could respect a human for taking advantage of an opening like that.

“Thanks for distracting him for me,” The trenchcoat wearing man said, putting the weapon over his shoulder, “Name’s Constantine.” The fire around them went out as a feeling of… peace and healing fell over him. “Was… that you?” He asked, looking wary.

“Well met, and I can’t say…” Karaka said as he looked around himself, “Mopsa perhaps?” He mumbled but wasn’t sure.

He couldn’t really say her magic inspired much peace honestly, though he had close encounters with angels that inspired such feelings during his years adventuring.

The building around them began to repair itself even as they spoke; disorder returning to order, holy runes and magical wards being restored to their former glory. “You don’t have to sound so doubting,~” Mopsa teased as she walked inside, mace over her shoulder, “I just swapped the rules governing this plane with another around the house. Specifically, I swapped it with Sarenrae’s domain, the Goddess of Light and Redemption.”

Karaka wished he could say he understood, but that was a lie. Though he figured if he stayed around her long enough then he’d learn whether he wanted to or not.

“Will it go back to normal?” Constantine asked, stepping away from them as he walked towards what must have been his kitchen, “Lets see if it gave me back my whisky, I need a drink…” Karaka got the impression they weren’t supposed to hear the last part.

“It will, should last about a week,” She replied, “Bonus, it should keep any demons that come by really weak. Pathetically weak, as a matter of fact.”

He sighed before nodding, standing up from his fridge which looked… full of empty bottles. The restoration had fixed those, but not restored their contents it seemed.

“Bloody hell…” The human muttered as he slammed the fridge shut.

Karaka snorted to himself. “Mopsa has that effect on people.” He said before reaching into his bag of holding and pulled out a bottle of something called ‘rum’ that he got as a curiosity but forgot about having… what with the serial murders followed by his own death and resurrection, “Will this suffice?”

“That’ll do,” He replied, taking it and pouring himself a tall glass of it. It smelled strong. “Right, the easiest way to find out who sent Mr ‘Devourer’ is to summon him and force the secret out,” He said, taking a sip of his new drink, “Will what you did stop him from being summoned and bound?”

Mopsa scratched her cheek, “... Maybe? Karaka you fought him, did he seem like a weak demon?” She asked.

Karaka snorted but gave in some thought, “It didn’t seem weak, but I doubt it was more than fodder for its master,” He said.

“Should be fine then, he’ll just be drained of any power,” Mopsa replied, “Combined with competent wards and summoning rites it should be fine. Want me to put up a Zone of Truth to further enforce it?”

Constantine was clearly thinking about that as he walked. And for some time at that. “It should work, but we’ll need to mix our blood for the ritual so it doesn’t disrupt the wards,” He said at last, sniffing and reaching into his coat to pull out a cigarette to smoke, something he lit with a small flame from his finger.

It was always fascinating to Karaka to watch a Warlock, or so he assumed that’s what the human was, working their magic. Part of him did wonder if orc and elf blood would have some unexpected effects on the ward itself? Swordsage he may be, but most of the magic he knew was combat-orientated so this was beyond him.

Still fascinating, however.

“Should work,” Mopsa agreed, “Will all of the blood be used up by it, or will we be burning the excess?”

“If it’s not used up, I’ll burn it,” He grunted, taking them into his basement. It didn’t seem to be a normal part of the house, instead something added later on.

“... I assume this is your residence?” Karaka hazard a guess, honestly he probably should’ve paid more attention but in his defense he’d been rather distracted.

“Why else would a demon come here to try and kill me?” He asked as he picked up a gold goblet, studded with rubies and etched with arcane symbols. The purpose of it was quickly revealed as he sliced his hand open and pushed a moderate amount of blood inside; something Mopsa quickly imitated before casting a spell to stitch the wounds closed.

“Demons are incomprehensible. And humans often are similar.” Karaka said with a shrug, “Though in my defense I did come back to life so I was reasonably distracted. Why didn’t you heal yourself fully? Or Constantine?” He asked Mospa after she cast her Truth spell around a runic circle.

“The sacrifice would mean less,” She replied, taking a swig from her own wine glass. When she poured it was a mystery for the ages, alas. “If I heal us right away then the blood is effectively worthless, from a magical perspective anyway. Stitching the wounds closed is much better, it even adds a touch of extra pain to the brew; extremely helpful when summoning a demon.”

Slowly, he nodded, “It’s like forging a sword in an opposing warrior’s blood instead of willingly given blood then?”

“Exactly, the second would be best for a holy blade while the first would be an effective unholy one, depending on why you were fighting anyway,” She agreed with a happy nod, “Now shush and let him do his doing.”

“How interesting…” He was no stranger to sympathetic magics, after all he wounded the demon with a weaponized one, but he never really understood the deeper mechanics of that form of magic. Perhaps he’ll look into it more after this demon’s master plot was thwarted, as he really doubted it would be as simple as killing the demon.

With more than a little chanting, and reading from a book written in a language he couldn’t read, Constantine poured the goblet out into a few dishes, six of them, arranged around the circle.

The demon was there, suddenly and with little fanfare, between one blink and the next. It looked angry, but also unable to speak.

Personally, Karaka wouldn’t mind having another go at the filth but he understood that now wasn’t the time to indulge his combat addiction.

“Who is your lord?” Constantine asked as Mospa readied another spell, “Speak, Serivius Flammaca.”

The demon fought for several moments, forcing Constantine to give the order again, but… “Mictlantecuhtli,” The demon said, voice hollow and harsh, cracking; like it was a charred body. It didn’t surprise Karaka, because that’s exactly what it looked like at that moment.

“Was he who sent you?” Mopsa asked, eyebrow raised.

This time, the demon answered quickly, “No.”

“Then who did?” Constantine asked, “Speak!” The word had power, certainly, but even so the demon resisted. “Speak, or I will cast you into the fires of hell, away from your master!”

Karaka thought that was a bit of an oxymoron, were all demons from the hells intimately familiar with its fires?

“... Elizabeth Harwell,” It said, a touch of flame leaking into its eyes. “You will die, John. You, your loves, your friends. This has been foreseen. You will die alone and unloved.”

Constantine swiped his hand and sent it away, his face grim but… also like he’d heard the same thing a thousand times. “You were sent by the League, right? I know where Zatanna is, but I can’t find Fate; if he’s alive then he’s somewhere I can’t reach without dying. I suspect that Harwell sent a Chaos demon after both of them,” He said, frowning before he took a draft of his cigarette and a sip of his drink.

“We were,” Karaka said.

“Mm,” He hummed, starting to walk up the stairs, “Harwell tried to become my apprentice a few years ago, she had some talent but refused to follow the rules; so I kicked her out,” He explained, “I thought she’d given up, I showed her the risks that would come from fucking around where she wasn’t wanted, the aftermath of a demon summoning gone wrong, and I thought she listened. Last I checked, she was a rather successful business woman and hadn’t dabbled in magic since I stopped teaching her.”

Karaka and Mopsa followed and listened, hoping to get some clues as to find this woman.

“Sometimes power is just too enticing to let go of,” Karaka commented, thinking of his own past.

Having to put the sword to wizards he’d considered friends, only for them to dabble in something forbidden and something wicked and foul to take root in their souls. And it wasn’t even limited to magic either!

“Maybe,” He agreed with a nod, “but the curses I put on her for that eventuality should have gone off in that case. Since they didn’t either she wasn’t the one that actually summoned Serivius or someone else removed them; either way, it’s not good.”

“Paranoid man,” Mopsa noted, “I approve.”

“From what Lady Death said to me, there is a demon behind the scenes acting as the puppet master,” Karaka said, “The Demon desires the power of Delirium.”

“Not good,” He noted, “But I’m not too worried about that. There aren’t many demons strong enough to pull it off, and most of those that are wouldn’t bother. And without their mortal servants to bring them into the world, they can’t do much.”

“Lady Death seemed concerned,” Perhaps concerned wasn’t the right word, “And while she couldn’t look at it lest she make it certain, she said it would result in possibly millions dying,” He said.

“Take it from me, when a god tells you something nine times out of ten they’re lying to you,” He retorted, “And when they aren’t, it’s to get something from you. Now, Zatanna should be trapped inside Big Ben, and I’m not sure what we’ll find inside but it won’t be fun. So buckle your seat belts and come with me; we’re taking a ride.”

“Such a cynical human, not that I can truly blame him.” Karaka thought as he simply nodded.

The ‘ride’ turned out to be a public bus to London, but Constantine didn’t say anything throughout its duration; instead seeming to take a nap, somehow, in the noise.

“Just like home…” Mopsa said whimsically, “Kinda remembering why I wasn’t so bothered about leaving.”

Karaka just looked at her curiously but nodded as well, though in his case it was boredom and this fatalistic desire to have one last grand adventure before the Keeper of the Dead took him.

“Once more into the breach?” She asked with a grin.

Karaka nodded. “And this time I don’t plan on dying,” He said with a chuckle.