A Gift for Dead Gods, 9.

Back in the great city of Rasnach, trouble was brewing. Irune, one of the high priestesses of the Lord of Blades stared from her tower standing at the edge of the temple. Somewhere in that great, stinking pit of a city her sister danced amongst the shadows. The god of murder demanded blood to be spilled, and they obeyed. Ilane had always been her superior in the ways of the blade, Irune had to admit. She raised her skeletal hand and began weaving her spell. She grinned.
It had been a terrible day for Por, he told himself. Stumbling through the alleys he paused, leaning against the wall. Too much ale, he decided. He heard something behind him, and he turned. An empty alley stared back at him. He shrugged and turned back the way he was heading. He never noticed the woman stepping from the darkness, her dagger sinking into his eye. As he fell, she wiped her knife on his shirt and put it away in the same motion. Ilane spoke a few ritual words of murder, then turned and ran back to the palace. As she ran, she started grinning.
Somewhere, deep inside the ruins of Garnack stood the court of the Lord of Blades. The ruins were one of the most dangerous places in the known world. If one were to try and find the court, one would have to travel to the ruins, and survive long enough in the ruins to locate the temple. Ferocious creatures roamed there, preying upon one another and on all magical energy they could find.
The court was in attendence. On one side of the huge throne hovered five skeletal liches, dark robes draped around their bones. From within their empty sockets a cold light shone. Opposite these undead sorcerors were five shades, creatures of solid shadow. These deathless watchers stood along the path that led to the enormous throne that held the physical shell of the Lord of Blades.
Upon the throne sat the Lord in his massive glory. This form was his true form, not the armors which sat on thrones in his temples to be animated by his projected mind, this shell contained the essence and conciousness of the god. While the armor was the same, it was almost twice as big as the armors in the temples, and unlike those empty husks, this armor was filled by a shifting mass of metal. Near the centre of the hall, two figures knelt.
The lich closest to the throne turned towards the kneeling figures. A hollow, monotone and echoing voice spoke, and the light in its eyes flared. “No mortal being has stood in these halls for ages. Be wary, mortals. We are no friends.” A shade, slightly darker then its companions, drifted forwards. From inside the coiling shadows, a vague face appeared. “My friend speaks truth, mortal. Speak no ill of us here or anywhere. We can always find you.” A grating laugh came from the god, and all those in the hall turned to watch the god.
“My servants are right, mortals. You have my protection for the moment, but you must continue to serve.” As he stood up, he waved his enormous arms, indicating the shades and liches. “My servants, my high priests and priestesses. They are my eternal companions, even in death.” Towering over the kneeling figures, he continued in a voice like grating metal, “Tell me, mortals. Why are you here?”
Trembling, the figure on the right spoke. Despite his trembling, his voice was steady. “We are here to warn you, divine one. Your champion is about to meet one of our.. Less stable experiments.” The god turned and returned to the throne. “You presume to warn me, Olivex? You, the imprisoned one?” Once more, he laughed. “I know of your ‘experiment’. The mage-thief, the changed one. You are wrong on two fronts. First, you do not warn me. Second, he is not your experiment any more, mage. He is mine. Now I shall warn you, do not enter these halls again. It is time for you to leave.”
As the two figures stood up and had bowed to the throne, they turned and made their way to the doors at the other end of the hall. The voice of the god thundered after them, “Caphis, keep your unruly brother in line. There is a reason the gods imprisoned him but not you. Now begone!”