Faeles took his leave, moving right at the heels of that fiery demon that always had something to say. Torrens' tremendous heat was of no bother, and Faeles had a way of ironically looking even more hidden when he stood beside Torrens' glow. Perhaps it was only because the fire demon's incandescence tended to draw one's eyes; standing next to Torrens, Faeles was akin to a firefly next to the sun.
When Torrens voiced aloud his thoughts about the Dungeon Heart, the Keeper remarked in passing to the leaving champions,
"Yes...his Heart is an artefact of some sort, a rock that has been imbued with the very powers of creation. I have half a mind to claim its power for myself and bring down our rival's fortress using his own magic!" Chuckling at his own insidious japes, the Master turned and pranced off down a different corridor.
Those that turned to look at the Master when he opened his mouth again might have noticed Faeles' head instantly snap to attention the moment that the artefact was mentioned. In some attempt to deflect any attention from his own suspicious interest in the Dungeon Heart and blend in with this tumultuous crowd, Faeles declared,
"I will enjoy smashing this stone and watching the mighty ogre die."Quickly pacing down a few busy halls and corridors, Faeles found his way to the dark side tunnels that he usually kept to. After a moment the magic woven into his cloak took hold and he melded into the darkness itself, utterly invisible. He then moved at a brisk pace, making his way through a hidden crevice in the wall and into a hidden cavity. It was the recesses there that he retreated to for seclusion. Anxiously, the demon dropped that satchel that he always carried onto the stone floor and opened it. From within he procured something unusual: a looking lens. What appeared to be a mundane object was truly a treasure greater than any other in this hovel of a dungeon.
Glancing into the lens, a picture of the Stone became clear. It was a magnificent, prismatic gem, set atop an obelisk...Faeles also saw the rival keeper's dungeon in great detail, the guards, the extravagant throne room that the obelisk was within, and even the warlord himself sitting lazily upon a throne as he waited for news from his generals. It was all far superior to the scrying ritual that the Master had performed at that wretched meeting. In fact, it would seem as if the Horde was walking right into a trap: though the dungeon did appear more or less abandoned, they would be in for a nasty surprise when they found that the Keeper himself was present.
Done for now, Faeles opened up his satchel once more and placed the lens back inside. Similar to the lens, the seemingly normal bag was also an item of great power. Strong enchantments warped space itself, and so within that tiny pack one could fit an entire room. Faeles had it brimming with relics of all sorts of magical artefacts that he had plundered from countless worlds. This rival Keeper's magical stone would probably make a good addition, at least better than what the demon had expected to find upon entering this worthless plane. At the very least, this would all prove to be very amusing.
Eagerly, the arch-thief slung his bag back over a shoulder and made his way to join with the others. He intended to be somewhat more conversational and do everything he could to make himself useful. He would blend in and serve well, gaining their trust until the perfect time. This was a ripe and rare opportunity, and he would not waste it.
~==--==--==~
The next two days were little more than monotonous and long marches, though of course half the Horde did venture off at times to indulge in the occasional looting of a farmstead or two; they would take any chance they got to break the boredom. Fertile grasslands and verdant forest gave way to more barren steppe and then finally to rugged foothills. Quickly what few farmsteads there were in these parts began to thin out more and more until there were none, save a few ancient ruins. These parts had been infested with orcs for the past century or two, and their merciless raids had driven out any frontiersmen.
Eventually even the foothills began to give way to even harsher terrain. Deep and hidden caves, treacherous ravines, and all manner of gulleys and canyons lived in thee lands beneath the shadow of the towering peaks and wild mountain crags. The dirt was parched and burnt orange, while the exposed stone faces of the mountains were red like orcish blood. For another day the Horde negotiated the land as they marched onward, though it was only because of the flying demons' ability to scout ahead that the Horde managed to find good routes through this unforgiving land.
The next morning they encountered a few orcish 'flags'. The local tribes had a rather mild and innocent flag, as far as orcs go: it consisted of a crude wooden stake in the ground, with a skull crowning the top and dozens of bones tied to the sides of the stick, rattling in the wind. There were still no orcs to be seen until later that night, when a few sharp eyed creatures spotted dark figures atop shaggy horses, eyeing the Horde from atop distant cliffs. Before the flying vanguards could so much as approach, the figures were gone. There were simply too many hiding holes to vanish into in these parts, and in all fairness the vanguards were probably loathe to fly too close lest they be shot out of the sky.
Regardless, the Master so strongly suspected an ambush that he had the army make camp while a scouting party went on. In the confines of the narrow mountain pass that they were in, the aerial viewpoints of the various flying demons and even of Clotho's Macula were of limited worth, so it was necessary for some scouts to go on foot as well. For this the Master chose his best, those few champions that were tried and true: Clotho, Torrens, and the like. The one that looked like a little girl was strangely absent, the Keeper had noticed, but that was no matter. People came and went all the time, and her role in this could be replaced by D'Artagne.
Faelis volunteered to go as well, keeping up with his determination to prove useful to the Horde and act ever so slightly more sociable. The Master waved on Faelis with an air of indifference, accepting the demon's offer to help. Naturally Faelis seethed inside at the Keeper's narcissistic, reckless, and ungrateful nature. It was a wonder to him that none of the others had acted on the growing displeasure that surely accompanied suffering the rule of that fool; to the arch-thief, even the smallest of slights was vexing enough to warrant vengeance.
Thanks to his Lens of Farsight, Faelis was already well aware of what laid in store for them ahead. The local tribe had a particularly brutal and quarrelsome chieftain, who also happened to be a formidable shaman. Faelis was very interested in seeing how these others would fare against such a foe in battle, or even against mere orcish warriors. He had never seen any of the beings in this menagerie fight, after all.
Approaching the others, he took the initiative and asked,
"So, who shall lead our band of intrepid scouts?" He was not used to taking commands and some part of him burned to simply take charge of the fools right now, but his logical mind overruled such urges. He would be in a better position following the lead of another, though he would be sure not to make a habit of this sort of pitiful subservience.
