Morgana’s Victory
“So did you rescue her sorry butt the third time?”
“Oh, I rescued her, Morgana,” Alcippe replied, stirring the campfire idly. “Malah’s a sweet old lady, and I couldn’t bear to disappoint her. Besides, Malah’s resistance potion is rather scrummy. Tastes a bit like cranberries.”
“I think you’re thinking of Malah’s thawing potion, sis.”
“Yeah, that. Had to taste it. Couldn’t risk giving the silly cow the wrong potion: that could have been badly misinterpreted given past disagreements.”[1]
“So, here we are, then,” murmured Morgana, spreading Anya’s three hastily-scrawled IOUs on the ground. “All three of them, and we won’t be getting any more. Can't see as I'll be using mine. ‘Morgana’s Memory’ would’ve been way cool, but I’ve no wish to leave ‘Morgana’s Gnarled Staff’ to my grandchildren.”
There was a spluttering noise from the far side of the campfire, followed by a fit of coughing. “Is there something wrong with the ale, Wulfstan?” Chalan said solicitously. “I can take the chill off it if you like.”
“I vote we each give Anya a cracked sash to engrave,” Hippolyta said clearly but distantly, as if nothing had just happened. “Then have them mounted on a wooden plaque above the fireplace in the Pandemonium Fortress.”
“Whoa!” cried Alcippe. She rounded on her older sister, her face white. “You have got to be kidding! Cain would do his nut!”
“Yes, I imagine he would,” Hippolyta replied languidly, stretching her shoulders.
“No way! D’you think I've forgotten that ‘little prank’ you got me up for in the academy? We were doing cross-country-runs before dawn every day for three weeks after that!”
“Relax, sis, we’re not in the academy any more.” Hippolyta stretched some more in front of the fire. “I have more pressing concerns anyway, like getting past the Hell Ancients. My shael’d Endlesshail won't cut it without knockback gloves, which I don’t have, and my only knockback bow is a rather so-so Melody. I think I might have to call in my account with Noxambula and craft some hit power gloves until a good pair turns up. What’s next for you, Morgana?”
“Same as you. Hell Ancients. Alcippe?”
“Hmm, I reckon I need another level or two before facing Hell Ancients, and some better gear would help. Think I’ll pull on my magic-finding kit and shake Nightmare Mephisto down for a bit. Only tried that once, but it worked out well when I was having, well, a teensy bit of trouble getting past the Hell Travincal council. I got two keepers: Ravenfrost, which solved my problem with the council, and Razorswitch, which you now have, Morgana.”
“And I haven't forgotten it,” said Morgana, although she felt once again the awful pang of guilt over the Kuko Shakaku that she’d so foolishly lost.
“Well then, that's settled,” said Hippolyta, springing effortlessly to her feet. “Give me a chant if Mephisto coughs up anything useful, Al.”
As the adventurers went their separate ways, Shikha seized Alcippe's elbow. “You knew, didn’t you?” she hissed.
“Hmm?” Alcippe didn’t break her stride.
“About Wulfstan and Morgana. You knew, both of you: you didn’t tell me and Hippolyta tried to cover it up just now.”
Alcippe turned resignedly and sat down on the ground, motioning Shikha to do the same. “We had a pretty fair idea, but it’s their business, not any of ours. Look, if I know those two, they’ll need a bit of space and a good deal more time to figure it out for themselves: we should give them that. Although to be honest, I thought you‘d already seen what was afoot.”
“Well, of course I... that is, I would've, I mean well I thought... oh crap. I’m not much use as a rogue if I couldn’t even discern that, am I?”
Alcippe smiled. “Nonsense. You were discerning enough to see what needed to be done for me when I lost my way, and I’ve never forgotten it.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.” And to Shikha’s great surprise, Alcippe pulled her to her feet, seized her in a warrior’s embrace, then after a moment broke apart and slapped her smartly on both shoulders. “Look sharp, rogue, we’ve got some magic-finding to do! You ready for that?”
Shikha grinned. “Sure am, boss. But for every time I nail Mephisto, you’re buying lunch at Atma’s.”
“You’ve got your eye on that chef, haven’t you?”
“Not saying.”
In the event, Morgana breezed through the Ancients using only four full rejuvs. “Makes up for Duriel,” she said. Her strategy was perhaps not the most elegant, consisting of casting thunderstorm while running and teleporting around like a madwoman and chucking frozen orbs over her shoulder, until only the cold-immune Korlic remained. On him she unleashed her hydras. While not doing all that much damage (slvl 7 with slvl 7 fire mastery[2]), five hydras pounding on him continuously kept him in hit-recovery so much that she could teleport around him in relative safety and let her thunderstorm do its work.
The Ancients’ reward took her from the start of level 76 to just shy of level 77, so she quickly full-cleared the first two levels of the Worldstone Keep and found the waypoint, levelling up in the process, then made a detour to the Halls of Anguish to let Wulfstan level up.
Baal’s various minions weren’t as bad as she feared, the only real problem being the Unravellers, which were magic-immune, whatever that means, and dealt a lot of fast-acting poison damage. A bulk order of Malah’s antidote potions (which do not taste of cranberries, or in fact of anything at all pleasant) solved that, and then it was a simple matter of leading first Bartuc (LE, FE, CE) then Lister (Spectral Hit, LE, Extra Strong) on a little guided tour of the architectural highlights.
And so to the showdown. Morgana swapped out her usual +skills amulet for a cold resist one. Using the Razorswitch that Alcippe had given her instead of her usual Memory staff, she had max fire resist (and lightning too, not that that mattered here), and her cold resist was in the mid 60s. Just to be sure, she bought a load of thawing potions from Malah, putting three of them in the rightmost column of her belt. With nine fat purples in her belt and another twenty or so in her backpack and cube, she was as ready as she’d ever be.
The thawing potions proved to be a good call, although to be honest it was always easy enough to teleport out of danger anyway. After much dancing around, Baal found himself pinned under the relentless barrage of Morgana’s frozen orbs and thunderstorm, seemingly unable to move or cast any spells. Sensing her advantage, Morgana kept up the onslaught, and sure enough Baal was puking just a few moments later. His drop was a blue Broad Sword, a blue Death Mask, a blue Basinet, a yellow Heavy Belt and 11,911 gold.
“Hello.”
The voice echoed around the chamber. Morgana looked up to see the archangel gazing impassively at the pool of vomit and the corpse in its center.
“Yeah, how gross is that? Must have been some baaaad sushi that he ate. You sure you’re licensed to serve fugu?”
“Your modesty does you credit, mortal, but–”
Morgana cut him off with an impatient gesture. “Right. I did your dirty work for you again, but we were too late, so you gotta destroy the worldstone. Again. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt, dude.”
“Do not address me as–”
“I’ll address you any way I see fit, mister archangel-in-charge. Three times now I’ve had to do this, and you know why? I’ve always been too late, and you know why? Because each time, you failed to stop the Wanderer and that pathetic geek Marius from freeing Baal. Are you paid by the hour or something? If I can defeat all three of them in their true forms, that simple gig should have been a cakewalk for you. I mean, what the hell kind of mystical angelic sword is that anyway?”
Tyrael shifted and avoided Morgana’s accusing stare. Morgana put her hands on her hips and Wulfstan noticed a terribly interesting inscription on the far wall that merited immediate study. When the archangel finally answered, it wasn’t in his usual echoing voice.
Instead it was a very small voice indeed that said, “It’s... it’s an Azurewrath, Morgana.[3]”
Wulfstan had not seen Morgana so pale since the day they’d first heard the story of that shield business between Anya and Alcippe.
“Tyrael, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Just go, mortal. Take the portal and go.”
“Yes. Right. Portal. We’ll leave you now.” Morgana beckoned Wulfstan away from his archaeology. “Or we could stay if you like. I mean if you’d like some company or anything. While you destroy the worldstone and all. We could hang out.”
“You would not be safe. Go.”
“Um, right. Ah, listen, Tyrael, if you ever, ah, need anything done, I mean as if! You being an archangel and all. But if you did, well what I mean is, you know where to find me, right?”
“I shall remember your kindness, mortal Morgana, and your promise. NOW TAKE THE PORTAL AND GO!”
As Tyrael spread his wings, Morgana seized Wulfstan’s hand and leapt into the portal, wondering what sort of promise she’d just made.
The ride through the portal was a very bumpy one. Morgana and Wulfstan arrived to find Cain at the head of a large deputation that included Kashya, Akara, Fara, Jerhyn, Ormus, Alkor, Anya and Qual-Kehk. Cain was grinning and holding a scroll aloft.
Morgana had not let go of Wulfstan’s hand. “I hate this bit. Can’t we give them the slip? I can think of better things we could be doing, hmmm?”
“There’s no getting out of this, Morgana. Better just to get it over with.”
“... and in recognition of same, you shall henceforth be known as ‘Matriarch Morgana’.”
That brought Morgana to her senses with a jolt. “What?” she yelled aloud.
Cain looked at her levelly over the scroll. “‘Matriarch’ is the accepted title for such a circumstance,” he said.
“I do not appreciate being titled as some sort of barren, toothless grandmother,” roared Morgana, gripping her staff.
Wulfstan noted how smoothly and unobtrusively Jerhyn had moved from the very front of the deputation right to the back of it. Only Fara and Ormus seemed completely unperturbed.
“Come now, Morgana,” said Cain equably. “As you know, the title used to be ‘Baroness’ but is now ‘Matriarch’.”
“Fine,” said Morgana, breathing deeply. “Fine. Just give me the barony and skip the title. I could do with a regular income.”
“There was never any income as such. It’s a courtesy title really.”
“‘Courtesy title!’ ‘Courtesy title!’” Flames sprang up along the length of Morgana’s staff. “I go through all this and you pathetic bunch of stay-at-homes do me the ‘courtesy’ of calling me your grandma! Come on Wulfstan, we’re leaving.”
For several seconds the crowd was dumbstruck.
“Ormus is impressed. Ormus wonders how much mana it takes to slam a waypoint like that.”
“Less than you’d think,” said Fara. “Come on, let’s go. She’ll be at Atma’s this evening, and I’m buying.”
[1] Egregious retcon, so sue me. Back.
[2] This is version 1.09. Back.
[3] Like I said, version 1.09. Back.