Illithid behind the Curtain: March of the Witch of the East (Patreon)

Slowly, my project I had started from the beginning was taking form. It was a semblance of what it could had been of course, but it didn't need to be perfect. It just needed to work, and if it could work it meant I could do it again and again.

Prohibitively expensive though it was and demanding enough that I needed my true form to perform the working, deep in the bowels of my Dungeon. Far underground, beneath the foundations of my original tower in Patch I had crafted my own, personal Undermountain. Traps, monsters and more that could be accomplished with my abilities and my resources, at first done only out of boredom. Now, with something to actually safeguard I spared no expense and even incorporated dust into some of the traps, just like I did with Quadling Cities walls.

I was still not a hundred percent sure on the name but considering how I was styling myself as 'a good witch', it seemed only fitting. Speaking of which, my little settlement idea had seemed to get away from me. What I had crafted exploded far and beyond everything I had ever knew I wanted and the sheer responsibility of all these lives in my hands had only shaken me. Were I merely human, I might had despaired and wringed my hands before working. As I was not, I took refuge in the Illithid physiology as I examined the situation from all sides.

And from a crystal ball, which sparked an amusing memory of telling a child-Yang her fortune as I now used it to scry in Toril, looking as if I was a bird upon a caravan. A most unusual one to say the least, as I peered in on the people in question.

Great trolls marched, not with weapons but with massive packs filled with crude tools as others pushed wheelbarrows sized for them full of random junk. Around their feet, kobolds moved rapidly, a lot of them opting to ride on goats and other animals, some pulling small wagons as they avoided the footfall of the larger ones. On the outskirts, ogres marched with crude platforms built around them, goblin archers keeping an eye out as in the middle of this lot was something else they all were protecting.

In the midst, Lizardfolk hissed and carefully, transported crates packed with soft grass and eggs, other monstrous children moving cautiously with them. It was a sight that would have baffled others, as an ogre child as tall as a man carried worg pups in his arms, as hobgoblins clad more like mercenaries marched in formation around the caravans most precious cargo.

Word had spread of Quadling City and an exodus had occurred. And the more they strengthen the city, the more it gave back to them. And so on. I had originally wanted to just make a place for people, for selective folks at that. Instead, suddenly, I was the Moses of Monstrous races, and such a situation could not be hidden from the eyes of Toril.

I flicked from this caravan and turned my eye elsewhere, checking out the others likewise on the move as well as places of interest.

And then I paused before one in particular, alarm surging through me before being overtaken by something far more familiar.

Rage.

=====

Brother Aerin felt horrible.

It had been three days since his contingent of clerics and paladins led by Sir Elias had joined one of the 'monster parades' and far from the death he had expected, instead he was feeling immensely humbled. It had been a fool's errand, most had said. Any cleric of the church of Cuthbert would only be slaughtered, like so many of them before and despite them, Elias had stood strong. The paladin had looked upon the high priests, head held high and not faltered. Even now, the cleric could hear the words spoken, the message underlaid to those who should have seen it too.

"A doctor does not visit only the healthy. His task is for the sick, the infirm and those in need of his message. Would we call ourselves worthy to stand in the presence of our god, if we did not follow his teachings?"

And so, gathering who he could, Elias had left the temple and he took with him others like him. It had been difficult at first, of course. Centuries of mistrust and murder could not simply be swept aside. But a clerics ability to heal and purify was useful no matter the source, and soon enough they carved out a niche of their own and even managed to make a few friends.

The younger generation mostly, as well as veterans as a kobold wearing a vest and with red, dragon wings marched towards him as smaller kobolds followed in his wake. His scales were graying, his expression far more expressive than he ever thought kobolds could be as Deekin Scalesinger spoke with a tone of long-suffering.

"Deekin greets the noble cleric. Does Holy man know any keep away spells?"

Aerin hid his amusement as well as the errant thought that Deekin with the younger kobolds following looked like a mother duck with ducklings in a line. "None that would help you, master kobold. It seems the price of fame is adoration, wanted or otherwise. You could tell them to simply leave."

Deekin gave him a look and then his wings drooped, as he glanced over his shoulder at the small clutch who seemed to go closer. "Won't help. None of em have people to go to."

Aerin's amusement was instantly lost, as he breathed out. "So that makes you their new leader then?" Deekin looked horrified at the concept, the other kobolds nodding eagerly.

And then suddenly, the underbrush suddenly burst as two worgs rushed for the caravan, saddles on their back as a single goblin swayed atop one. Deekin yelped, crying in draconic as the kobolds following him scattered into the caravan. Both went to the beasts, the goblin cursing quietly with words that made Aerin blush as he spoke.

"Hang on my good goblin, let me-"

"Fuck off priest." Oh. That was a woman. The goblin in question hissed, grabbing the arrow shaft and yanking it out as she snarled and Deekin yelped. Aerin, without thinking invoked his god as his fingers pressed on her exit wound, glowing with a soft light and she stiffened.

For a moment, he thought the goblin was going to stab him before she sighed in relief. "Stupid longshank. I told you I had it!"

"Of course, you did. I merely expedited the process." Aerin said soothingly and beneath her bandages, she squinted, and he noted idly her eyes reminded him like a cat he once owned at the temple, before she growled.

"Fuck off with your big words." They suddenly widened in alarm and she swore again and looked at Deekin. "Hey! Kobold! Where's the dead man?!"

Deekin squawked and spoke. "Deekin thought he saw him up front-"

The goblin clicked her tongue, the worg growled and both rode off for the front.

Deekin and Aerin exchanged glances, both rushing up to follow her.

====

My orc protectors were dead.

The orcs of Toril were a brutal people, stronger than humans and with rituals and traditions that had fascinated me as a player. And while because of it, they refused to abandon sacred grounds and ancestral lands, nor would they deny those who wished to join me in my new realm. But while a non-aggression would have satisfied me, it wasn't enough to settle for it. I didn't want distant allies, I wanted friends. I wanted to make allies of the tribes in a way that would see them like others, uplifted even as Many-Arrows did for them.

So, when the time came to negotiate, they were the first ones to receive Dust.

Its power remained intact in the atmosphere of Toril, and it proved to be incredibly effective when used by their shamans and sorcerers. King Lorgru had been fascinated, more so when I started offering other amenities. Metal tools, smoke powder from Bral, items intended to give them a boost flew swift and fast and Lorgru had been cautious, but happily so.

And so, he sent his people to protect my own. And now one of those contingents were dead as surrounding what would have been the gate to Patch, were hooded and cloaked figures.

And a high elf wizard, examining the gate before him with intense scrutiny. Around them in turn, the elves had gathered piles of weaponry, and seemed to be in the midst of new butchery. With weapons crafted by human hands and techniques, they were covering up their deeds, desecrating the corpses of the orcs as each blow sent me further and further into anger.

What was the sense in this?! It wasn't like I didn't have humans in my lands from Toril, or regular elves. In one of the caravans, I had even glimpsed bits and pieces of clerical orders joining them from human kingdoms, so it wasn't a problem. They didn't need to kill them.

It felt so... So....

Useless. Malicious.

I told myself it was only because I needed to prove myself to Logru. That for my budding alliance to work, I needed to show that anyone who attacked his orcs would suffer. That an attack on him, was an attack on me.

But I was lying. My hand stretched out to the teleportation circle that resembled a stargate I had designed out of nostalgia. As the glyphs activated and spun, on the crystal ball the image of the high elf wizard jerking back as the gate he was examining activated, corresponding to my commands moved in tandem as I admitted to myself.

I just wanted them to suffer and suffer they will.

====

"These are strange blades for orcs."

The scout examining the weapons of the fallen was noting a pattern. The odd, primary-colored waves that seemed integrated into the metal as he added. "I've never seen something like this before." Taking out his dagger, he scraped it lightly against the edge and blinked as it burst into flames.

Looking at it back and forth, he added. "It looks like a flame tongue, but far cruder. More accessible."

His companion glanced at him, worried. They were veterans against the orc tribes, and they knew not to underestimate their ancient foes. Mere years of aping less civilized kingdoms did not a person make, and they were savage opponents already.

The idea of someone arming them with mass-produced magical weapons was a disquieting thought. Still, they had come with more than enough to deal with anything. Their Lord had committed an entire legion worth to deal with the threat, as well as remove a problem early as his companion glanced around.

In the trees, prepared for an ambush the best archers honed by war and time waited for the cavalcade of beasts that would come soon. There had been a goblin that ran off, but it would die soon enough. "So, what are they doing with the gate?" As he spoke, he wrapped the dagger up in cloth and stashed it in his bag. His companion shrugged.

"Altering its destination, I think. An illusion to make them believe all is well and making them stride into the plane of fire would save us a battle. And if not, we have more than enough to deal with this." He nodded back, spitting to the side in disgust.

He'd lost too many good friends to these animals and a chance to make them extinct felt just. And perhaps they may even reclaim territory as a result of it, if-the gate was activating.

Their wizard jerked back in alarm, the elves leaping back as bows flicked out, as others scattered into hiding and prepared to shoot whatever came out. In the trees, hidden by his cloak of elvenkind with his friend, they trained bows on the gate as it glowed and shimmered.

And then.... Nothing.

They frowned.

And then with a quiet nod, one of his companions leaped from the tree, curved dagger flicked in hand as she stepped lightly. Approaching the gate and checking for traps, before she stuck her head through.

And then a few moments later, her body twitched and began to writhe before it was thrown back. He stared in horror, at the expression of terror on her face and worst, the distinct wound on her forehead.

A neat, circular hole where he knew if he'd look, he'd find an empty skull as the Mind Flayer floated through.

A very, familiar mind flayer as his brain jerked to a sudden flash of terror.

That severed tentacle.

That symbol!

"KILL IT! KILL IT!"

He didn't know who called out the command. Arrows flew everywhere, as he immediately flung himself from the tree, the skies broiling as dark clouds boomed and expanded for what seemed like miles.

He had to get out of here.

With the weapon in his bag and the knowledge he had obtained, his lord had to know.

The Ninth Knot had survived. For the sake of his people, he had to survive and share it.

The fate of the world relied on it.