---

After the gloom of the scab, it took a few moments for weary eyes to adjust to the purity of the light beyond the doors. The bright white light burnt away the blood and grit staining everyone’s clothes. Restorative energy flooded through numb muscles as the glow softened to reveal the interior of a sun-kissed cathedral.

It was the first time anyone had felt the comforting warmth of the sun in many a day. Not heat, but warmth, and it brought back floods of emotion for the comforts and lands of home. Energy and joy filled everyone’s souls, healing and soothing in equal measure.

The chapel was pristine, untouched by the corruption of the scab. Angelic statues and fonts of holy water lined a path from the door to seven steps leading up to a dais that was carved with Celestial runes. Floating above the dais was a glowing longsword.

---

Lulu gasped as she saw the sword. “My Zariel,” she whispered.

Behind the dais six vast stained-glass windows depicted the fall of Zariel, from the charge of the Hellriders, to kneeling to Asmodeus, to raising Haruman and Olanthius, and emerging as the ruler of Avernus.

---

As everyone caught their breaths, a figure coalesced from the light. A translucent image of a woman in her thirties wearing Hellrider plate-armour and bearing a thin scar on her cheek stepped forward. At her side a longsword inlayed with similar stained-glass hung freely.

---

“Yael!” Lulu cried and flew over to her long lost friend. Yael knelt down and welcomed Lulu in an embrace. “Lulu. I knew one day you would return. I never gave up hope.” Yael’s voice was full of warmth and love.

Lulu fluttered up into the air and turned to face the stunned group. When she spoke, it was with sure and keen purpose. Everyone realised Lulu was herself again, whole again, restored.

“Yael. I have brought to you Zariel’s last chance. These six have accompanied and escorted me, meeting all challenges before them with noble purpose of mind. They have not wavered, though the price they have paid is great,” she said looking with sympathy to Torgrun before continuing. “They are the ones, Yael. Let them take Zariel’s spark, which you have protected with your life and soul. Let them take it, and with it return our Zariel to her rightful place.”

Yael walked over and knelt. Morad and Torgrun followed suit, bowing their heads as the kneeled. Albert quickly dropped to his knees too. The holy men knew what they were doing, he figured.

Yael looked up and spoke. “I welcome you and bow to you, and thank you for the trials you have faced. I have guarded Her sword these many years, waiting for Lulu. I trust her word more than any. If she says you can save Zariel, then I step aside from my long watch. Take the sword.” Yael climbed to her feet and stood to the side. The sword lay ahead, glowing softly atop the dais.

Albert stood, creakily, and glanced around, not sure what was expected. Spider on the other hand knew exactly what to do. He walked over to Morad and put his hand on the Paladin’s shoulder. He glanced at Torgrun, the turned back to Morad. “Morad. This is you pal. Go and get it.”

Yael turned to look at Morad, who was, such was his modesty, reticent to put himself forward. He looked at Torgrun who hadn’t moved. Torgrun raised his eyes and held Morad’s gaze, then nodded slightly. Despite his sturdy belief in the path he walked, Torgrun knew he wasn’t the right choice. His faith held him still, despite the temptation to claim the sword for himself being strong. “If someone must wield the sword, it should be you.”

Morad blinked. Was he deserving? Was this Al’Akbar’s wish, or was he being led astray. He felt the weight of destiny settling on his shoulders, of Al’Akbar guiding him true, but still he hesitated. After a few heartbeats Albert sidled over and gave him a little push.

Morad took a deep breath, then got off his knees, slowly. He walked over to Yael. Morad could feel the majesty and purity of the ghostly warrior, who had given her life to preserve this weapon. Yael smiled warmly and turned to face the sword. “Only the true of heart may take the sword.”

“Lucky I said Morad should take it,” Torgrun muttered to Mak, who stifled a laugh.

“There is an inscription on the dais,” Yael continued. “I am sorry to say that there is one more trial to be faced. As the text reads, ‘The hero who becomes one with this blade exists no longer.’ Which of you is brave and pure enough to draw the blade and be gone forever?” Yael turned to Morad first, then to the rest of the group.

Torgrun climbed back to his feet, determined. He was ready, but not taking Morad’s place. But if Morad should fall…

Morad’s face went pale as a ghost. He re-read the inscription. “…exists no longer…”. He turned around to face everyone and started crying, tears rolling freely down his cheeks. “Farewell my friends,” he said quietly between the tears, then turned and walked toward the sword.

Mak watched Morad walking away, understanding deeply what he was going through.

“What’s going on,” Albert whispered shakily, her emotions rocked again. After finding Madam Elektra, the last thing he wanted was to lose Morad. Dear Morad. Albert ran after Morad and grabbed him, turning him around and throwing his arms around the noble warrior. “Al’Akbar,” Albert whispered into Morad’s ear.

Morad grasped Albert for dear life, weeping. He could barely think, but one thought rang true: this may have been the last time he would fight beside these companions, who were as family to him now. He sobbed and held Albert tight, then released him from the hug and pushed him away. He no longer cried as he walked to the threshold of the seven steps leading to the sword.

Yael looked at Morad. “So be it. Take the first step.”

Morad took one last look at his fellows, swallowed down his final tears, and stepped onto the first rise.

---

Morad found himself on a plane of pure, white, infinite light. Before him stood the wide steps of white onyx. He could no longer see the party, just the light. Everyone below could still see Morad, however.

As he stood on the first step he realised his skin had taken on a golden glow, as if the sun itself shone from within. He raised his hand to his face and felt the planetar-like smoothness of his skin. A deep sense of certainty accompanied the changes to his appearance. From the floor, everyone could see Morad’s complexion take on an otherworldly beauty, glowing with vigour.

Morad walked forward and stepped up to the second rise. A figure materialised slowly in front of him, and Morad felt an overwhelming presence flooding his soul. The figure resolved into someone Morad had never expected to see until death: Al’Akbar. Morad gasped, then dropped prone to the floor, his forehead resting on the cool stone.

The timeless voice of the God rang out. “Morad Ibn al Torag, of House Ishtar. You have walked your path, turned your back on temptation and power to stay true, and now you take the final steps. To be a Voice is to sacrifice all. Do you accept your fate?”

Morad didn’t hesitate, nor did he speak. Instead he used all his heart to accept. To be a Voice was all he had ever sought.

“Lift your head,” the God said. “Not many may look upon me. My Voices do. Go with my blessing, Aziz Morad, the True.” Morad felt his soul was now bound to this new name, Aziz Morad. “Aziz, respected, beloved, powerful”, Morad reflected, slowly accepting the truth implied in Al’Akbar’s choice.

Morad took a moment to gather himself as Al’Akbar faded from sight. He was in shock. Five more steps lay ahead. He looked over his shoulder for his companions, but there was only the light. He settled his shoulders and stepped up once more.

Immediately he felt the authority of Al’Akbar fill his soul. He knew with certainty that he was now a Voice of Al’Akbar, and spoke with all the power and majesty that implied. He felt instinctively that he now had a residence in Celestia, at The Oasis of Telling, and that Celestial was now his native language. He felt pangs at letting go of Jakkari, and, ever humble, resolved to keep a seed of it as a reminder of where he had come from.

The fourth step struck him with a surge of holy power and knowledge. He understood that he now inherently wielded radiant power, and could use that to strike down deserving foes.

He stepped up again. As me mounted the fifth he felt his sight vanish. He reached for his eyes just as his vision returned, but it was a different kind of sight. He was blind, his eyes now glowing orbs of gold, but could still see as if it was normal vision. And there was more: he realised Al’Akbar had granted him the Sight of the Righteous, allowing him to perceive of the world as it truly was. Morad looked at his glowing skin and felt tears well up again before forcing them away. What was he becoming.

Only two steps remained, and Morad moved quickly, his mind spinning with his new powers. But the penultimate step stopped him in his tracks again. Ahead, the most beautiful horse he had ever seen materialised, luminous and incorporeal, with the the perfect form and nobility of the greatest steeds of history. It trotted gracefully over, bending onto its forelegs in obedience, nuzzling Morad’s chest. Morad was stunned, realising that he could call on this magnificent creature whenever he needed, and it would appear instantly. It was almost too perfect, but Morad steadied his emotions, and reached up to scratch it behind its ear. “Just a regular horse,” Morad tried to convince himself.

The final step lay ahead. The horse instinctively understood it was no longer needed and faded away. Morad stood on the threshold, staring up and the sword, before taking a final breath and stepping up.

For the first time, nothing changed. But he could feel resonating power radiating from the sword, and the signature of goodness it emitted. It floated gracefully in midair above the dais, which was carved with an angelic host.

Morad stepped forward and reached up for the hilt of the weapon. Zariel’s sword. He hesitated one last time, then gripped it firmly. He felt a surge of purity flood his soul, and the deep conviction that with this weapon he could work acts of great heroism and bravery.

And another emotion: the sword seems pleased with me. Morad swallowed and drew the sword toward him.

The citadel and the scab around it exploded outward in blinding rays of light, like when the doors had opened multiplied one-hundred fold. The scabrous flesh that had surrounded Yael’s citadel was burnt away in an instant, and the citadel too shattered and crumbled as it was flung outward. Those below watched in awe as even the enormous form of Crokek’toeck was thrown thousands of yards through the air, landing with an almighty crash.

Only the chamber of the sword still stood, an oasis under the burning skies of Avernus. Everyone turned back to look up at Morad. A godlike figure stood tall atop the steps, skin and eyes glowing with golden light, holding Zariel’s holy sword above its head.

Aziz Morad, the True.

---

Yael stared up at the new godling, smiling softly. Lulu turned to her friend. “We chose well. It is done.”

Aziz Morad walked slowly down the seven steps, using his newfound Sight to scan his gathered companions as he descended. He sought to sense their emotions, their morality, and their commitment to what lay ahead. He looked into their hearts seeking truth.

His eyes sought Mak first. It was clear that Mak had long ago abandoned hope of success, thinking there as no chance. But now there was change. A hint of hope had surfaced, and that whilst Mak was resigned to the fact he may not survive, the change in Morad meant that for the first time Mak thought victory was possible.

Aziz Morad turned his gaze to Madam Portencia, for that is how he thought still of Albert, who he found was gazing with rapt attention back. Madam Portencia was racked with incredibly low self-esteem, but Aziz Morad sensed there was now a spark. Madam Portencia was reinvigorated by the sense that maybe there was something better in her that could do more than she expected - and be better than she expected. Hope. Aziz Morad sensed hope for the first time in Madam Portencia.

Bili was obsessed by one thing: his child. That single focus filled his every emotion, overriding all else. Aziz Morad was not surprised, and he had always felt Bili walked true, despite his unusual habits. He had no doubt that Bili, once his baby was safe, would turn his attention to the task soon to be at hand.

Looking as relaxed as ever, Spider had no secrets to hide. Aziz Morad trusted Spider, judging him by his actions rather than his streetwise attitude, but he was pleased to see Spider was had even more good inside than expected. He was obviously also very impressed by the metamorphosis Aziz Morad had undergone. And as for his committment and belief: there were no reservations whatsoever. Spider had always expected success, and taking the sword just made things that much easier in Spider’s eyes. One other thing struck Aziz Morad: the bond between Spider and Samael was the strongest emotional tie imaginable. The energy flowing between the two of them glowed with strength and love. Sam was a Devil, but Spider’s love had wrought a change that made Aziz Morad smile.

The renewed hope in all comforted Aziz Morad, who took a deep breath and looked finally upon Torgrun. The wings had caused him pause, the shield more still, and Lulu’s abandonment seemed to judge Torgrun lost. But Aziz Morad had faith in his fellow practitioner, and what he saw reinforced that belief. A sharpened focus glowed from Torgrun, a keen sense that the party was on the precipice of achieving the goal. Again, hope, but also an energy that was driving Torgrun, pushing him to continue. Aziz Morad stared at Torgrun, his face impossible to read. Torgrun bowed his head respectively in return.

But there was also the shield that Torgrun held before him. Morad had suspected, and Aziz Morad now knew. A core of bitter darkness sworled inside the shield, crackling with energy, tendrils reaching to every corner of the plating. It seethed with hatred and desire, desperate to escape. A thin layer glowing with Celestial power was all that held it back, encasing the darkness within.

Aziz Morad reached the final step. The sword glowed strong in his golden hand. He cast his golden eyes over the assembled group, then spoke with a voice rich and deep and wise.

“Bili Tengervaald. Spider. Samael. Togrun Halestormer. Albert Carnegie. Taramak Riverfist Egena-Vutha.”

(Spider would not forget the honour Morad did including Sam in his list. Nor Albert the recognition of his true name.)

“You are my companions. I have seen that you are true and strong - we will go forward. I have a boon for one of you.”

Aziz Morad turned to Mak - and gave him the sword. “You will wield this sword. For though I am a holy warrior, you are the one who will do this for me.” Albert laughed with disbelief, but he trusted Morad knew what he was doing.

Mak eyes were wide with shock, taking the weapon gingerly and cradling it like a baby, unsure how to react. He felt an emotional bond with the sword immediately forming, but there was a slight hesitancy. He stared down at the holy weapon. There was so much he had been through that was outside his world, but this felt like a step further into the unknown. Why had Morad - Aziz Morad - done this?

Torgrun watched Mak, open-mouthed. He had allowed Morad to step forward and claim the sword, believing him the most likely to wield it well. And now Mak held it? Mak who destroyed all in his path, but who also was not a swordsman. Nor a holy man - or at least, not in Torgrun’s eyes. Was this right? He wasn’t so sure. There was a choice made, and that choice was Morad. And judging by Morad’s transformation that choice was the right one. And now? To immediately pass it off? No. “Morad! Search your soul. Are you not the righteous weapon who should be wielding Zariel’s sword? "

“Now we have two weapons,” Aziz Morad answered, with irrefutable certainty and calm. Torgrun raised an eyebrow. There was a strange logic to that position, he pondered.

Spider could see Aziz Morad had no doubt about his decision. He strolled over to Mak. “Mak - Morad knows what he’s doing.” Albert nodded in furious agreement as Spider continued. “Hold it like you own it, pal. The sword belongs to you, you don’t belong to the sword - grab it and give it a swing around.”

Mak was sceptical, but he hefted the sword, feeling it’s perfect weight adjusting to his grip. It was a beautiful weapon. He cut through the air, left, right, overhead, the sword obeying his every command. Mak looked over at Aziz Morad and considered the nature of who had given him the sword, and why, and thought that maybe this did make sense after all. Maybe it was just that he didn’t understand - yet. He nodded to Spider, who winked and walked away.

Bili watched Mak trying the weapon. His fellow barbarian was clearly uncomfortable, the axe being his natural companion. Bili cast his mind back to the legends of the North. There were tales from history of great sword-wielding champions - rare stories but their provenance beyond question. In recent times the sword had fallen from favour, but this was an extreme circumstance. He walked over to Mak and put an hand on his mighty shoulder-blade.

“The stories tell of an ancient giant, King Hruuroulf,” Bili begun, reciting his tale in the Northern tradition, weaving song and fey energy together. “High in the northern lands, mighty Hruuroulf once wielded a legendary sword: Artuuum. Forged by the gods, supernaturally sharp, magically hardened, and imbued with the spirits of the King’s twelve faithful berserker bodyguards. According to the sagas, a wound made by the blade would never heal, unless rubbed with a piece of tombstone of an ancestor. Now it is your turn. Your story too will be sung.”

Mak looked at Bili in awe and gratitude, the bear spirit shining bright from Bili’s eyes, and made a decision. He was going to commit to this. Make it work. Bring justice at Morad’s side. As he did he felt a surge of confidence and excitement from somewhere outside himself - the sword? He shrugged - stranger things had happened, why not an emotional sword? He laughed with newfound joy and swung the weapon with furious intent.

Aziz Morad smiled with satisfaction as Bili finished. He had been right about Bili’s strength of character. The baby came first, but Bili’s nature would lend strength to the trials ahead. He turned back to the group. “My name is now Aziz Morad the True. But to you I will always be Morad Ibn al Torag, scion of House Ishtar.” Aziz Morad took a step back, and the golden glow that surrounded him faded until it only visible to the practiced eye. He tied his scarf across his eyes - ostensibly to hide the golden orbs, but those watching couldn’t help glance up at the stained glass portrait of the angelic Zariel. Her eyes too were hidden by a blindfold.

Morad paid the glances no mind. “We have a lot of adventures,” he said, his voice back to something like normal. “Oh and Torgrun - that thing is evil,” Morad added, pointing to the shield.

Albert had been staring at Morad with a look of awe, but when Morad said that about the shield he rolled his eyes. “Uh duh,” he muttered. Spider joined the chorus, slapping his forehead. “Oh really?” he said sarcastically.

Morad groaned. “No no, I see you Spider, what I mean is - evil wrapped in angel. Not so simple.”

“Oh,” Spider said, surprised. “Well - can we go with my original ‘drop it in lava pit’ then?”

“I don’t know. Probably? It could be useful though,” Morad shrugged. “Togrun a good guy, he control it.”

“So be it,” Torgrun said, hitching the shield on his arm. His intent was clear - he was not throwing it down. His focus was about the mission at hand and this was a potent weapon in that battle. He would not be deluded by it, he would resist its temptations, not listen to its voice - something he had already started to do. He had heeded the repeated urging from his companions to not trust the shield. Knowing now that it was encased in a Celestial bond meant that he could use the power without compromise.

Morad read Torgrun’s look, the strength in his eyes and determination painted clearly on his face. “Torgrun is strong enough to control the shield. It will help us, as Torgrun will.” Albert raised an eyebrow.

Torgrun was about to respond when he heard a voice. “It is time. The sword can free me. Tell me what you want and I will grant it. Just free me. And no more lies.”

Torgrun smirked and slung the shield onto his back, ignoring the pleas.

“I will be on your side. A contract between us will seal my loyalty.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Torgrun muttered despite his vow not to respond. “We have what we need to achieve our goals. You are but a tool along the way. Stay your voice.”

“The shield has nothing compared to my powers. Do you wish to harness those powers, or merely those of this toy?”

Torgrun shook his head. “I seek a shield, not your service.”

“My freedom is but feet away. I will be your ally, I will fight for you-”

“Stay your voice or I shall cast you down now and leave you here,” Torgrun said wearily.

“But you need a shield,” the shield said testily.

Torgrun laughed and covered his skin with a shield of stone.

“You are a very clever one,” the shield laughed in return. “My mortal followers worshipped me as a god. The Hidden Lord. Would you not have a god on your side in this coming fight?”

“We are on a path filled with folly,” Torgrun snapped, “I do not seek to unleash a Pit Lord that I cannot control! That is one folly too far.”

“Well guessed my little friend. I am here when you need me - and you will,” the shield said confidently.

Torgrun, his skin still stone, turned to the party. All could see he was ready. “And so. Where to now?”

“Elturel,” Spider said simply.

Torgrun looked to Lulu. “I believe we have all that we can muster - the moment is upon us.”

“Oh we don’t have all we can muster - we have an IOU from a very large Titan who’s going to help us break some chains. I’m pretty sure that if we start kicking around trying to break chains and get Elturel back to where it came from, Zariel will come to us,” Spider grinned.

“I agree,” Lulu said firmly, “We are ready. I am ready, I am finally ready.” There was a certainty in her voice now, similar to that of Aziz Morad.

Yael turned to Lulu and held her in her arms. “Farewell Lulu. Our journey has taken us to strange places, and for you it is not over yet. But My time is done - I will see you in Celestia.”

“Before you go,” Spider said quickly. “I think we’d be remiss if we didn’t pass on Olanthius' regards. He asked us to wish you all his good wishes and hopes.”

Yael’s took a sharp intake of breath, and her face twitched slightly hearing Olanthius' name. She recovered quickly and bowed her head. “I thank you for bringing me his message. If there is one thing I can ask of you - free him from his servitude. And give him my love.” Spider nodded solemnly.

Bili followed Spider to Yael and whispered in her ear. “Dear lady - will you be the third to bless my child?”

Yael turned to Bili and looked with sympathy. “I cannot. I have but one purpose here, and this was it. But know that I would if it were possible,” she said kindly. Bili nodded and bowed deeply.

“Aziz Morad,” Yael said, “You were the right choice.” She turned to the gathered group. “And Lulu has gathered together our only hope. Save Zariel, or destroy her, just don’t leave her here. She was pure of heart and intent, and only her drive to rid the world of great evil has led her astray.” She looked to Mak. “With that weapon you can redeem her, or finish her. Whichever path you choose, I plead again: don’t leave her here.” A tear fell from Yael’s eye, matched by Lulu, as she slowly shimmered away.

“Torgrun is right. We are ready, let us go,” Lulu said and led the way back into the wastelands of Avernus. As Mak crossed the threshold of the temple, the structure collapsed in a cloud of dust. The last vestige of the Bleeding Citadel was gone.

Morad fired up the Holy Terror II and headed for the arches, which still loomed in the distance. Spider got the chomper going which made it easy traversing through the chunks of scab-flesh that now covered the ground, spitting out a trail of churned flesh.

About half-way there Spider could make out a huge cavity in the ground where Crokek’toeck had unceremoniously landed after the explosion of the Citadel. Worryingly the great beast was nowhere to be seen - though a newly formed bubbling lake of Styx-water gave a hint. Spider looked glumly at the festering sump of water as Morad headed to the portal - something made him think this wasn’t the last they’d see of the giant demon wyrm.

---

---

---

Session played: 16, 23 Nov 2021