Into The Abyss (Demons of Astlan) by J. Langland

to overflowing.  Trisfelt did enjoy his dinners.
    As Hilda and her assistant left Trisfelt turned back to Elrose. “A bad portent?  So whatever it is that Lenamare and Jehenna are up to is, as we feared, going to be trouble?”
    “I fear so, but the threads of the future, particular this future are hard to interpret.”
    “What do you mean this particular future?  I’d think untangling said threads would be what you do all the time?”  Trisfelt asked.
    “This is different, there are lots of people involved, armies of people.”
    “Armies?” Trisfelt asked, puzzled.  “As in more than one army?” 
    Elrose shrugged.  “I believe so, and worse, demons, lots of demons and lots of wizards.  All the mana and animus is clouding the picture, I only see disturbing glimpses.”
    Trisfelt sighed, “Well how do we sort it out?”
    “Later tonight, I shall attempt to contact an old colleague of mine who is a member of the Society.”
    “The Society?”  Trisfelt seemed surprised at this statement, “Are they even still in existence?”
    Elrose smiled and nodded.  “Yes, particularly among Seers.  This friend is in Seren in Eton.  I’m hoping either or he or someone he trusts can join us and help me sort this out.”
    “You really feel it’s getting that bad?” Trisfelt asked, now truly worried.
    Elrose shook his head, “Neither of us are Conjurors, but we both know that you don’t accidentally summon an unbound Greater Demon.  It strains credulity, even for Lenamare.  I fear something is up, and from what I can See it appears to center around our school and whatever insanity Lenamare and Jehenna are up to.”
    “Argh, I think I’m going to stock up on bottles while I’m here tonight.”  Trisfelt sighed.

Chapter 7
    Hurt.
    Pain.
    Agony.
    Suffering.
    Severe pain.
    Intense agony.
    God awful hurt.
    Extreme suffering.
    Painfully agonizing suffering and hurt.
    This is not good, thought Tom in one of his semi-lucid moments between thoughts of assorted types of pain, agony, et cetera.  So far, in the last few hours since he smoked that joint, he had really done nothing but experience new and varied forms of pain, Tom decided.  Fortunately, this pain was not so all encompassing or soul wrenching as the pain of formation or whatever it was called in Astlan; however, that did not make it any less intense.  It was in fact a type of pain he was a little more used to, or at least able to cope with.  This was the type of pain one felt after landing stiff legged from a long fall, only a lot worse, because this was a fall of several thousand feet.  It was also the pain of having one's breath knocked out, and one's lungs temporarily collapsed, and that of a severe shock throughout the entire skeletal system.  All in all, a bitch.
    Eventually, Tom managed to draw in a shuddering breath and slowly open his eyes.  He looked down at the ground expecting to see his broken legs, shattered all over the place.  Instead what he saw was ground that resembled the pictures taken of the Martian deserts and which came half-way up his thighs.  His legs it seemed were imbedded in the ground.  They had actually punched two holes in the ground, and he was stuck in the ground.  Not good, but at least they weren't shattered.  In fact, as he reanalyzed the pain, he realized that his legs must still be intact, so that the pain could feel like it was sending lightning bolts up his leg bones, which it did.
    Boggy came flying down from above at this point.  "I told you to relax and not think about it.  Now look what you've done.  You've gotten stuck."
    "Yeah," Tom panted.  "Got...my...breath...knocked...out...too."
    "Shouldn't do that."
    "I…really--didn't mean to fall."
    "Oh, not that.  Although you shouldn't have done that either.  I meant breathe."
    "What?"
    "Personally, I never breathe except to talk.  Too much of a hassle for too little muscle exercise.  All that ever happens is that it gets knocked out of you, or