This Shouldn't Happen to a Hound Archon

[Yma23]

This story is partly reposted from the previous forums, and partly brand new. The second part being something I tapped out, on a creative whim, a few days ago. I cannot promise how good either parts are, and I apologise for any spelling/grammer errors.
The first part is based on a quote from someone on the old forums, that got me to thinking. Nothing, or at least very little, is directly In Game Arelith related, though it's safe to presume it may be happening on arelith and the forgotten realms.
Given as this is a story rather than IC diary, feel free to add comments or not.

Part 1: Births.

Characters get resurrected daily on the server, clerics summon Hound Archons to fight but if a woman with money asks the cleric to summon the Hound Archon to bless her pregnancy... that is cheesy. Any advantage a woman might exert to have a healthy pregnancy that is within her means she might try.

- bugati




The Hound Archon Kulfiel leant upon the gleaming pearlescent walls of Venya and sipped from his silver goblet, full to the brim with the sweetest, most golden mead. It was slightly on the warm side today, but as ever the fair, cool winds were enough to banish the worst of the heat. The mead cooled his tongue and he smiled in contentment as he overlooked the sloping, snowy hills and valleys of the third Heaven. Below him a small group of Petitioners were singing praises to Torm, swinging an orb of incense as they walked, the heady scent of it further decorating the air.

Suddenly Kulfiel felt a tugging sensation in his soul! A call of battle from the prime! His ears flicking at a call only he could hear he crouched and let -go- of himself, heeding the abrupt, strange tug that he had felt a few times before, a tug into the prime.

Pulled through the layers of the planes he put himself into stance. He unsheathed his flaming greatsword, his celestial amour shining and tightening around him, his lips falling back into a glorious snarl ready to face whatever foul demon, devil or scum that should deign to mar the prime with its presence!

The Prime materialized around him, he brought his great sword down once, a movement meant more to inspire fear than to strike anything, for he doubted there'd be any foe in front of him to hit.

He was... almost right

The gleaming great sword, wreathed in heavenly fire, clove right though a wooden table in front of him.

A woman shrieked. He looked up to see, not a devil, demon, vampyre or even goblin hoard... but a man and a woman dressed in simple, but still rather fine, clothing. The woman had a hefty bulge in her dress, and her hand was up to her face in shock. The man looked equally surprised. Glancing around some more Kulfiel found he was in a rather well appointed home, bereft of any foes or folk except the two in front of him and a priestess, glad in golden robes. A Waukeenian.

'Ah!' the stout Waukeenian woman said, smiling gleefully, 'You came, Oh Glorious one! Thank you for gifting us with your most radiant presence!'

'Uh. No problem.' Replied Kulfiel, a bit at a loss. This really wasn't the usual summoning. 'Sorry about the... uh... table.' He added after a moment to the distraught man and woman. They nodded, at last beginning to compose themselves.

Kulfiel tried to compose himself too, pulling up to his full height, speaking in his clearest tones, so that the ring of his Heaven-Touched voice may sound out fullest, he spoke: 'Why doest thou summon me here Priestess?'

'I summon you to do a great service to the world!' The priestess spoke loudly and with power. Good. That was something.

'And what my that be?'

'As you see, before you yonder fair maiden is big with child!'

Kulfiel turned to the mother who smiled nervously, her husband put his arms around her, protective.

'I do!' A slight sense of dread touched the Celestial, dread and pity. He hoped...

'Is.. Is the child cursed with the blood of the Damned? Of Devils or Demons? Has some vile seed found it’s way into her belly?' His voice boomed with dreadful clarity throughout the room.

'Oh no!' said the priestess, 'No, no nothing like that.'

Kulfiel was relieved, then suddenly a string of hope. Surely...? Maybe there -was- something to smite after all! 'Is the child... possessed? By some foul spirit? Do you wish me to smite it out!?'

The mother gasped in horror, and the priest went into a frenzy of reverent head shaking. 'Oh no Glorious one! Nothing like that at all!'

Kulfiel's broad shoulders slumped, why else...? 'Uh...' he tried at last, his voice far from heavenly, 'Is the child injured? Not right within the belly? I could put my Holy Hands upon it?'

'Not as far as I know, no.' Said the Priestess, even as another terrified little squeak came from the mother. Kulfiel was now at a lost.

'Then what in the name of Torm did you bring me here for?' He didn't even attempt to hide the irritation.

'To bless the child of course!'

'Bless the child?' Echoed Kulphiel. ‘But I didn't hear of any new great Destined being Born. I think the next one isn't due for another three hundred years. Unless someone's messed up the time Table again, which I suppose is possible. Honestly if Mystra continues having her little tiffs every year then-'

'No destiny that I am aware of!' interjected the priestess quickly, before Kulphiel could continue with one of his favorite rants. 'I mean, unless you -see- a destiny within it? Do you? Is that to be your blessing?'

Kulfiel looked at the priestess blankly, then turned to the man and woman, then back to the priestess. 'Why did you summon me to bless a child?' he asks, bluntly. 'I’m a Celestial Paladin of the third heavens, not some…. Fairy godmother. Why in the name of Torm did you summon me to bless a babe!’

'Well.. er... I was paid to.' Explained the priestess, her voice stuttering a little.

The Archon was about to berate the woman, when he remembered the golden robes. Waukeenian. Of course.

He could even now remember Galaphiel's voice ringing in his head now, that annoying sing-song tone. 'We don't need a Celestials Workers Union, Kulfiel, we have Torm! He's the best sort of Union we could have!' Pfah. What a load of baalor dung! If he could see that little Lantern Archon now he'd-

He took a deep breath, trying to put his thoughts onto purer, more heavenly paths.
‘Just put your holy paw upon the woman’s belly!’ continued the priestess, ‘and speak under her your gift!’

The Hound archon was about to retort he’d do no such bloody thing, but the look of hesitant expectation on the mother’s face, and the quiet, nervous pride of the father was too much. The priestess he’d happily disappoint, but these two? It wasn’t as if they’d get a refund.

So, a little reluctantly, he moved forward and placed a gauntleted paw upon the belly of the woman.

‘I bless this child.’ He intoned, which was about all he was asked to do, after all. Just for good measure he sent a small amount of healing energy into the woman, but she was hale and healthy enough, the child too by the feel of it.

‘Bless it with what?’ wheedled the priestess behind him.

‘What?’ Echoed the Hound Archon, blankly.

‘With what? You should bless the child –with- something.’ The Priestess was insistent.

Kulfiel looked again at the man, the woman, and the clothed expanse that was the woman’s bulging belly. He wracked his mind. Hound Archons are famed for a lot of fine qualities but, alas, imagination is not one of them.

‘Lyobb*’ He said at last in clearest celestial.

‘Lyobb?’ The Priestesses echoed back, incredulous.

The Hound archon nodded, solemnly. ‘Now release me.’ He hadn’t meant to sound like a threat, but the truth always rang out in the end.

The Priestess blanched and, clearing her throat, spoke the words to dismiss the him.
As he was fading out of existence he heard the woman ask the priestess what exactly ‘Lyobb’ was. He decided he’d let the priestess explain, no doubt one of her caliber could spin something half decent.

Materializing back on the pearly walls Kufiel gave out a satisfied sigh, glad that it was all over. He leaned forward, there was a small ‘clink’. The goblet of mead, which had been resting on the edge of the wall, was upended, pouring out its content and rolling off the wall before the stunned Hound Archon could react. He watched it tumble down wards into the snow far below, gleaming in the pure light of Celestia.
Kulfiel cursed. Sometimes he really hated being summoned.




*Lyobb - Translation - 'Stuff.'

[Yma23]

The Race

Part 2: The Race

Kulfiel ran a paw over his face and took a deep, long suffering breath.

‘A race?’ he repeated, incredulously. ‘You summoned I, Kulfiel, Hound archon of Celestia, Heavenly Warrior against the Foul Legions of Evil, to some squalid little tavern to… run a race?’

‘Yes!’ Said the priestess, Alara as he’d come to know her, with breathless excitement, ‘Well, more than that.’

‘More?’

‘Yes, you see – there’s a wager.’

‘A… wager.’ The hound’s eyebrow twitched, he struggled to keep his patience. ‘Go on.’

‘See, my friend, Maureen, she’s a druid. She bet Xarakin, he’s uh, a sort of sorcerer, that her wolf could beat his Hellhound in a ra-‘

‘Hold on.’ The Celestial paragon held up one furry hand, ‘Hellhound?’

‘Ah, yes. Xarakin is um, a little on the edgy side.’ Alana gave a bashful smile.

‘He’s a foul minded evil-door isn’t he?’

‘He’s a little dark’ The priestess admitted, defensively, ‘but he’s not all bad! I mean, he helps people for coin, at least. And he gives great foot rubs.’

‘You’re getting foot-rubs from an infernalist? Do you quite realize how that sounds?’ Kulfiel felt his temper rising.

‘Well… how about if you agree to run this race I promise to stop asking him for them. Think of it this way, if you don’t join in on this, you could practically be handing the forces of Evil a victory! You need to do your part for the side of Light!’ A hopeful grimace from the priestess, she tried to sway innocently, looking up at him with big brown eyes, batting her lashes. Her slightly pudgy form and yellow, ornate robes were at odds with her innocent behavior, Kulfiel didn’t buy it one bit.

‘How much gold is riding on this?’

The priestess looked askance, ‘What makes you think-‘

‘You’re a priestess of Waukeen,’ The Archon gestured to the woman’s flowing robes,
‘Of course gold is involved somewhere.’

Alara huffed, ‘One thousand each, winner takes all. And a foot rub.’

Kulfiel glared.

‘Not a foot rub’ Alara corrected, swiftly.

‘I’m not doing it.’ The statement was absolute, firm. ‘I’m not undergoing some humiliating competition just to make your coin purse heavier. Release me back to Celestia at once!’

‘What if we split the winnings?’ The priestess pressed, urgent. ‘Fifty percent each, I’ll give your half to any charity or cause you choose!’

The Archon’s will wavered, he pouted slightly, ‘Seventy percent to me, thirty to you. I’m doing the running.’

‘Sixty to you, forty to me!’ The priestess countered swiftly.

‘Sixty five, fourty five!’ Kulfiel retorted. Math was not his strong point.

‘Done!’ Agreed the priestess, ‘But I get the foot rub.’

‘Fine’ He groused, ‘When do we begin?’


xxx


They met at first light, on some blasted moors not far from the inn. The druidess, Maureen, was a small, mousy woman in simple brown robes. Besides her loped a massive wolf whose fearsome appearance was only slightly offset by the constantly dopy expression it oft cast its mistress’s way, and it’s penchant for licking anything in sight.

The other competitor, Xarakin, was a short, skinny man of middling height with sable, scarlet and silver robes, greasy black hair and pail complexion, complete with liberal amounts of black make-up and skull motifs. He constantly fussed over a vicious hellhound, who sneered and wheezed hot, fetid, breathe into the chill morning air.

‘Why do you keep such company? Kulphiel asked Alara, eyeing the man as he began to unbuckle and remove his full plate. Running in that would not make things easier, and he was at a mild disadvantage as it was.

‘He’s not so bad when you get to know him,’ The priestess assured, taking the amour from him ‘Maureen really likes him, I think she has a thing for the dark sort.’

‘She should seek treatment for that then,’ murmured the archon, pulling off the last of his heavy amour and passing it aside. ‘What course does the race take?’

‘Ah yes… about that.’ Alara blustered, and Kulfiel’s heart sank.

The Druidess took her staff, a heavy oaken stick and with it drew a line in the ground. ‘Competitors start here,’ she squeaked, gently pushing her wolf’s head away as it tried to slobber over her free hand. ‘I will throw my staff, the first to grab it and bring it back, wins.’

‘She’s throwing us a stick.’ Said Kulfiel incredulously, mortified horror feeling his heart, ‘I’m to be chasing after a bloody stick. You must be jesting.’

‘Sixty five, forty five!’ Alara sang out hopefully, ‘Think of all the good that’s going to do!’

The glare Kulfiel gave could have decimated legions of lesser devils.

‘Well, then think of the evil it could do in other hands?’ The priestess added quickly, and her gaze slipped towards Xarakin. ‘You don’t think he’ll play fair against Truffles, do you?’

‘Truffles?’

‘That’s the name of Maureen’s wolf.’

‘Of course it is.’ A heavy, doom laden sigh, but he none the less moved to get behind the line in the dirt, next to the wolf and the Hellhound. The path of righteousness was never an easy one, Kulfiel reminded himself. The Road to light was not always straight.
Sometimes it was full of bumps, pot holes, puddles and, on this occasion, gods-damned-sticks. Oh he was going to have a word with his superiors in Celestia about this. They needed a union, damn it. Oh the sacrifices he made!

As he got into position, a runners sprint post that, funnily enough, put him on the same all-fours as his two competitors, he couldn’t help but wonder how such a tiny woman was going to throw the staff far enough to be a challenge.

The druidess muttered a word in some ancient primeval tone, and flung the staff with all her might. It sailed though the air like a javelin, true and straight, as if flung not by a woman but by a giant.

‘Fetch!’ she shrieked, which Kulfiel bitterly took as ‘Start.’ Oh, Torm grant him strength!

The three of them dashed off, the two full blooded canines immediately taking the lead, but that didn’t necessarily mean much given the distance of the stick- or rather staff. This was about stamina too, and Kulfiel had that in spades.

They loped over the moors, leaping over errant rocks, stones, clumps of grass. Kulfiel could smell the foul stench of the Hellhound, blood, sulpher and sweat. Tongues lagging the beasts lunged forward over the moor, even the archon appearing more doglike as he struggled to keep pace with the other two. He was gaining on them, but the other two were almost neck and neck ahead of him, the Hellhound only a few half paces behind the wolf.

Nearly there! The stick had sunk just a little into the soft loam, jutting out like a spear. Truffles the wolf was just a few paces away when the Hellhound snarled, took a heady breath and gouts of fire and smoke erupted from its slathering mouth!

The blast wasn’t too severe, doing little more than singe the poor wolf but it none the less entirely put the beast off its game. Letting out a terrified whimper and yelp, Truffles veered away from both Hellhound and stick, fleeing across the moors and leaving a faint trail of smoke after it, the air now stank of burned fur and sulpher.

Kulfiel snarled at the Hellhound. Foul cheater! Demonic deceiver! Disciple of evil!

Holy fury filled him, he took another few steps, the Hellhound merely inches from the stick and he leapt!

He sailed through the air, tucking his legs and arms in, rolling in a summersault over the Hellhound and landing neatly on the earth behind the stick. With a quick smooth motion he reached behind him and grasped it, yanking it from the ground just as the Hellhound’s maw went to snap around it. He lifted it from the earth and span about upon one foot, holding it aloft like a blade. A word was spoken, pure and Holy, undeniable and irrefutable. The stick was wreathed in a bright, hot divine flame, blazing, but not burning.

‘My turn.’ Kulfiel growled, the Hellhound looked up, and whimpered.

There was a wet, crunching, smacking sound. Barking, then yelps, then whimpers. The stink of burning fur. More wet crunches. Silence.

Kulfiel strolled across the more towards the three spectators, he handed the now bloody item back to the mute, horror stricken druidess. ‘Your staff,’ he said calmly. ‘You may want to clean it, and to chase after your pet too, though I’m sure he’ll be fine.’

Besides her the sable wearing infernalist dropped to his knees. ‘Fluffy’ he whimpered.

‘I’m quite sure yours won’t be.’ Informed Kulfiel evenly as he moved past the distraught man and towards his priestess.

‘I’m done here now?’ he asked.

‘Uh yes,’ she seemed strangely distracted, her eyes wide with morbid horror, ‘you’ve… certainly done enough.’

‘Excellent,’ Kulfiel grinned, ‘I’d like my share to be given to a dog sanctuary please. Seems fitting. Farewell Priestess.’

With a few weak movements of her fingers, Alara dismissed him and he once more felt the tug of Celesta. Kulfiel let out a cleansing and happy breath. All things considered that had worked out rather well after all.