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| - There is a word in the Angelic tongue for "love". Three, in fact. There are words for "mercy", for "compassion", for "tender kindness". The closest word to be used on this particular medium is carved upon his left forearm: "prudence." Like the word he just finished upon his chest, "justice", this is prayer in his native tongue written in blood and pain upon his now mortal flesh. "Holiness", across his cheeks. "Wrath", along his right forearm. "Judgment", his brow. "Courage", down his torso. Each a prayer to gods he turned his back on. Attributes of divine judgment he seeks to cultivate within his soul.
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| abstract
| - There is a word in the Angelic tongue for "love". Three, in fact. There are words for "mercy", for "compassion", for "tender kindness". The closest word to be used on this particular medium is carved upon his left forearm: "prudence." Like the word he just finished upon his chest, "justice", this is prayer in his native tongue written in blood and pain upon his now mortal flesh. "Holiness", across his cheeks. "Wrath", along his right forearm. "Judgment", his brow. "Courage", down his torso. Each a prayer to gods he turned his back on. Attributes of divine judgment he seeks to cultivate within his soul. He was just finishing carving into the fingers of his right hand when two young men approached the lord, dwarfed by his stone-faced sergeants that led them. "What... what is he doing?" "It is a prayer... with every pain, I beg for the strength to finish my task." He rose. He towered over even his own mammoth soldiers. The other man gulped. "But aren't you... aren't you a god? To whom do you pray, m'lord?" Basium turned to face his men. "Why do you disturb me?" "I am Lars Lort, lord Basium. We wish to join your cause, me an' Kobe here. A horde of Infernal beasts destroyed our hometown, we were the only two survivors." "Then take you a sword--we march on the morn." "Well, sir, if we may," said Kobe, "we two are more than mere sell-swords. See, we've a bit of magic between us, that's how we survived the assault, by hiding invisible like. But we were watching and we learned something. Wait an' we'll show you." Without waiting for prompting, the two young mages began their spells. Basium took a long, slow breath, the rune on his left arm throbbing. It was the Sulfuric smell that first alerted Basium. All his muscles tensed at its arrival before he was able to recognize the presence of his enemy. Curiously, the Balor stood motionless in the middle of camp. "Isn't it great?" Lars exclaimed gleefully. "We watched how the Infernals gated in reinforcements, but we figured out how to put the ward of command around it ourselves. With us around, you can fight fire with fire!" Basium leapt upon the Hell-beast, wrapping his bare fingers around its neck. Smoke began immediately to hiss from the demon's skin, and in moments flames began to lick at Basium's fingers. On each of the fallen angel's fingers was carved one of the five angelic names for the Most Holy One. The Balor writhed in pain, breaking free of the Lorts' simple command warding in the process. He whipped at Basium with his tail, raked his back with his claws, bellowed with an unearthly roar, all to no avail—the Mercurian was unshakeable. Eventually the demon was reduced to an almost pitiful writhing and moaning until all that was left was a hellish smell and hissing puddles of black blood. Basium rose, and stalked towards the two mages. "You call forth a Balor in my own camp? Let me show you what I do with fire--I extinguish it!" Basium roared. Lars felt his brother's warm blood splatter on his face before he even noticed that Basium had drawn his war hammer. He never noticed the second swing. Basium walked back to his mat by the fire-pit. He picked up his ceremonial dagger, and began to trace the W on his arm.
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