# Shemmy's Planescape Storyhour #2 (Updated x3 10-17-07)



## Shemeska

This one won't be getting updated here quite as often as the 1/week rate of the first ongoing storyhour. However I will be writing it up concurrently with the campaign, unlike the 2 year lag with the 1st one. I'm still trying to come up with a decent name for this campaign and its storyhour, but it's going to be different from the 1st one which was pretty much (Wherever you go, there's a 'loth). The 'loths aren't the focus of this one, though they will show up as it applies.

This storyhour and its campaign take place roughly 150 years after the events of the first storyhour. However you won't need to know the results of the 1st one to follow this one since I'm trying to focus on a different section of the planes so as not to get repetative on themes here.

That said, keep in mind that as this progresses there may be spoilers for the 1st storyhour, but I'll try to write this in such a way so as to minimize those. This first post contains very very few real spoilers. My players especially are advised to read at their own risk. It doesn't give anything away, but you will be aware of the existence of certain things that may develop into metaplot later on depending on how it develops and what you do.

But here you go, hope that you enjoy:


****​

The battered, ancient landscape of the fractured cube hung suspended in the void of Tintibulus, the 3rd layer of Acheron, slowly tumbling through the darkness. Nestled upon the surface of the continent sized hunk of iron, something moved to keep pace with the turning of the surface in order to stay suspended in the shadow of one of the larger cubes that hung in the sky like a black sun.

	The mobile fortress moved like a living thing, and perhaps it was in some ways, though it was constructed of steel and stone, rather than bone and sinew. And rather than living flesh, flush with life, it was held together by the unholy union of tens of thousands of mortal corpses, suffused with the grim touch of negative energy that washed through its veins like slowly pumping blood. The fortress was insensate and uncaring to the ring of the cubes that echoed through the eternal night above, below, and all around, like the bells of a choir of fallen angels still pining for their lost glory.

	But while the fortress may have been oblivious to the logical disharmony of the crash of the cubes of Avalas and Thuldanin, the occupants of the vessel were not. Four of them in all, brought together by little more than the mutual fact that they were all, in their own unique ways, exiles. All of them sat in silence and gazed up through the glass dome above their heads, watching the dim and distant glow of the cubes above them slowly turn like cold, dead stars.

	“And another year closer…” The second of the Pentad, the one known only as Death, whispered softy as their moment of somber silence in respect for their missing and imprisoned fifth member ended.

	“Once more, as we have every five minor cycles of the gears, we meet again. Still four of five, but still resolute in our mutual, disparate aims, we come together to reaffirm our views and report on the progress that another cycle has brought to us.” The soft voice of the one known only as The Visionary rippled over the chamber.

	The first of the two heads of the one known as Tyranny glanced at the porcelain mask over the speaker’s face, nodding, as his other head still stared up at the darkness above. “Much has occurred, though precious little of it directly at our instigation.”

	The telepathic whisper of it known as The Risen answered, “If you feel that way, then you’re thinking far too conventionally. Look upon the Astral and the chaos that swirls in the silvery void. True, it may not be directly at our instigation, but we stoke the fires and grow ever closer to the goals of at least one of us.”

	Death nodded and a wash of silvery, filamentous light erupted from beneath the hood of his robe as he moved and smiled.

	The Risen continued, “And your own actions of late upon the Waste have served a purpose, even if our eyes are not concerned with the yugoloths in the slightest.”

	“Not yet at least.” Tyranny’s second head said ambitiously, its mandibles clattering.

	“Of course, that begs the question of what to do at all currently regarding the ‘loths. How do we approach or handle the… events… that transpired there?” Death whispered with yet another wash of silvery light from under his hood.

	The Visionary answered quickly with neither emotion in her voice, or showing on her mask, “The same as the ‘loths themselves: we act as if nothing has happened whatsoever. If nothing has happened then there is no need to rationalize, make excuses, or answer questions regarding it. The ravaged status quo is unblemished so far as we need concern ourselves.”

	“But,” She continued, “As the Risen has said, our eyes are not concerned with them. The other fiends are of course, another matter entirely, be it they in general, or certain of them in specific…”

	The Visionary’s hands began to shake as she paused and inhaled deeply. The others gave her time to recover from her memories, given that the Risen and Tyranny experienced emotions very much differently from her, given her status as the only mortal among their ranks, and that Death no longer had the capacity for true emotions.

	“What of The Imprisoned?” Tyranny asked them all as he conjured forth a diagram of the planes in the center of the room, focused on the inner planes.

	“That question has raged on our minds for the past century, ever since his whispers to us ended. His jailors are powerful, that is certain.” Death replied.

	“If they exist.” The Visionary said slowly, “And I know more than something about jailors…”

	“It is up for debate, but I may have some way of testing that. We shall see in the next cycle.” Death answered.

	There was a distinct pause as their collective thoughts wandered to the circumstances surrounding the loss of their fifth member. It was every bit as much a member of the Pentad as they were, and it had been as valued a partner in their mutual goals since the formation of their order. Still, its silence was lengthy and weighed heavily on them all.

	“And of the Astral? It seems that the status quo has simply been shifting back and forth from one side to the other.” The Risen spoke, breaking the silence.

	“Not forever it won’t. Our contacts in Slaan, Ilkool Rrem and the City of Devourings have made that abundantly clear.” Death said with a whisper.

	“And if it does, when they enter the conflict, what side do we support? Though the answer seems obvious to me.” The Visionary responded.

	“As you said, the answer is obvious. Our own side.” The Risen replied swiftly and with a maw of fangs flashing in the subdued light.

	“Though admittedly I am predisposed to certain specific persons, if not their entire side. Past debts and all, though the past may swiftly be catching up with them if the other business I had referred to in my sending before today have even a shred of truth to them.” Death said as he clasped his glistening, ethereal fingers together in a semblance of prayer.

	“And what of Object 105?” The Tyrant asked bluntly and abruptly.

	“Please do not speak of it so casually…” The Risen said as its eyes glowed in the shadows where it sat like twin lamps in the gloom of Hades.

	Death gave a deep breath before answering, “We have leads on material linked to it, but the archives have been expunged and stripped bare of any reference to its existence. Njul is dead and seemingly unwilling to return to life to answer our queries, and the once and current factol who was responsible for that fact seems to have been responsible for the purge. The Sodkillers have washed their hands of it entirely.”

	The Tyrant nodded and spoke, “Ortho seemingly has nothing on the matter and I am nearly certain that it was done without the Harmonium’s prime material power base even being aware of its existence. The Arcadian and Sigilian branches of the faction have also been similarly purged of any records of the period. However while I am certain that they existed, like the Sodkillers, they seem to have divested themselves of culpability.”

	“They would… as if willing it to be so would divest them of their sins…” The Risen’s eyes flickered with inner flames.

	“Calm yourself. There’s nothing you can do regarding it at present till we know more. Besides, entry into Sigil seems out of the question for you, and me for that matter, and something makes me think that Ortho would have nothing to do with you, current status or not.” The Visionary said in the direction of the Risen.

	The Risen gave no reply, but the tension was reduced drastically.

	“But earlier, you mentioned other material. From the scraps that we have found so far, what does it suggest?” The Visionary asked of Death.

	“They were afraid of it, horrified enough to rewrite history, whatever it was, and they have sought to erase it from existence these past hundred years. I am keenly interested for my own reasons, as is the Tyranny, but I have begun to worry of late that there are others involved in this as well. It takes much to worry me you understand…” Death responded.

	The Risen nodded, “Indeed.”

	“Object 105 was important to them, and then something happened and it was buried. It was forgotten and nearly erased from history, and for reasons that are not entirely certain, everything that touched it has suffered nearly the same fate as it.”

	“An entire cube does not simply vanish, and I of any of us should be keenly aware of that. What in the name of Marsallin did they do?” The Tyrant questioned.

	“I have my theories, and most of them are my worries.” Death said coldly.


***​

_”I hear Him, though but dimly at times. He whispers to me in the darkness of my heart and I am afraid. I am afraid that I will not hear Him clearly, and that I will ere in my actions. I fear that my interpretation of those commands may be false, and He demands and deserves better from his chosen. But I do not speak this to my flock, to His faithful. No, no I do not. Truth and control do not matter, only that their illusion exists.
	I listen to the darkness and there He rages! His fury at Her is ceaseless! Who is She!!? Who does She think She is to deny both birthright and destiny? What does She hide and what does She want? She fears us, She fears my Love, but why?”_


***​

	The silvery void of the Astral, perfect and timeless, was sullied and impure. If to view the void was to touch the serene face of a god, it would have had a mote in its eye. The Astral was aflame with war. Distantly the Psurlon city of O’pak’shael burned in the glowing serenity of that vast and pure emptiness. A million githyanki knights swarmed above the rubble, intent on the extermination of every living thing that had once called the city home. The githyanki screamed out their devotion to Gith and Vlaakith while their hearts yet lingered on the ashes of Tu’narath, itself a funeral pyre to all that was and all they were.

	They screamed their rage up into the unending vault above and below, stretching out to infinity on all sides around them. They screamed out their promises of unending death and misery to the enemies of the People out among the uncaring corpses of the dead gods, all of them drifting in eternal somnolence.

	Distantly, the massacre was watched in contemplative silence by a being who had witnessed their enslavement to the Illithids eons before, watched their rebellion and rise, watched their disintegration and the Pronouncement of Two Skies, and now he watched them once more, stumbling towards apotheosis.

	But the being, the Guardian of the Dead Gods, He formerly known as Anubis, cared little for the rage and bloodshed of the mortals. It would pass, and his thoughts ran towards other, deeper things at present. Besides, he was not alone as he hovered in the void and mused over what stretched out before him.

	Anubis pondered the implications of it all as he sifted among shadows and memories that swirled within the winds of the void. He listened to the whispered thoughts, joys and pains of the forgotten, honored dead and to the echoes of what was and would be through the color pools, those keyholes of creation. Anubis listened to the psionic pulses that dimly echoed through the dead and atrophied synapses of the Elder Brain Collective that had been silent since the days of Penumbra.

He watched as the latent connection between they and the Godbrain, Ilsensine, fired and twitched. It was thinking, just as much as he was, pondering both the war in the Astral and that something else that Anubis and his silent companion also watched in the dim, flickering light of the flames of O’pak’shael. The other didn’t speak, but Anubis heard and understood anyway as he touched the surface of the colorless pool.

Finally, after he had brushed his fingers against the surface, Anubis turned to his companion and spoke. “There is no such thing as a quiet death. There is only a long, slow, lingering twilight and the rage against the coming darkness. But perhaps we are all simply ashes and embers, flaring brightly for a time before scattering our dust on an uncaring wind. 
We are forgotten and then we are gone. At least that was always my impression before you showed me otherwise.”

	And then he was gone, slipping through the surface and into what lay beyond. The other only nodded and said not a word.

***​


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## shilsen

*adds another to the list of story hours to keep an eye on*


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## Ryltar

I see that you like to use personification as a stylistic device, too .

But seriously man, great work, as usual! Just get published already .
Oh, and I'm looking forward to the new PCs.


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## omrob

Shemeska said:
			
		

> But here you go, hope that you enjoy:




YaY! 

I was wondering what you all were going to get up to after the Yugoloth darkness. I was going to suggest something nice and light like, halflings  

Who needs planar intrigue when pie is involved...


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## Zappo

One post, and here I am, wondering who is what. Good work.


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## Shemeska

Ryltar said:
			
		

> I see that you like to use personification as a stylistic device, too .




Keep in mind that I'm a biologist and I've never had any formal training in writing here, so I don't really have a clue what you just said    (Plus I'm a diabetic and my blood sugar is a bit low right now. Comprehension is low when your head is fuzzy...)



> But seriously man, great work, as usual! Just get published already .
> Oh, and I'm looking forward to the new PCs.




1) I've never really given serious thought to trying to get published for fiction or gaming material, just for the research journals of my field. I'm a wretched judge of my own quality of work or if my style has improved over time, which probably comes from having never gotten over a B in any college writing or literature course. I just do it for fun and it's likely to never be for anything more than that 'less money gets tossed at me and I don't see that happening. Long as folks enjoy and I have ideas I'll keep making stuff simply because this is fun.

2) The campaign starts next weekend and there's going to be *counts* 5 PCs. Some of them are related to the last group, including one of Clueless's kids (apparently he will sleep with pretty much anything...) and Fyrehowl's kid. This next group of PCs are somewhat less chaotic than the last bunch, and decidedly more neutral and less good overall. It's going to be interesting because I don't have a clue if they'll all mesh with one another. *chuckle* The opening session is going to be 'unconventional', and let's leave it at that.

PCs: 1 tiefling wizard/rogue, 1 fey-touched 1/2 drow w/ lots of different class levels, 1 elven cleric, 1 wierd tiefling/aasimar fighter, 1 half lupinal/half arcanaloth (who is going to be very amusing). No DMPC this time around since there's no obvious holes that they need plugged.

3) I've been bored out of my mind for a couple weekends now; that will end next week once this new campaign gets started. More Planescapey goodness.


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## Shemeska

omrob said:
			
		

> I was wondering what you all were going to get up to after the Yugoloth darkness. I was going to suggest something nice and light like, halflings
> 
> Who needs planar intrigue when pie is involved...




Mmmmm.... pie....

The darkness isn't gone, not by any means, but it hasn't spread to where this game is likely headed (though since it doesn't start for another week that could change depending on where the PCs go and who they associate with). This game will still be experiencing some of its aftershocks, but there shouldn't be too many spoilers for the next 6 months or so at least since this game is focusing on a different area of the planes than the last one. The PCs may actually end up being darker, but I'm hoping for more mystery than malevolence out of some of the plots that might get developed.

The Yugoloths still have issues, but the 1st storyhour will develop that more fully by the time they have any influence in this 2nd campaign. And while he wasn't talking about the 'loths there, "There is no quiet death" applies there as well.


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## Ryltar

Shemeska said:
			
		

> Keep in mind that I'm a biologist and I've never had any formal training in writing here, so I don't really have a clue what you just said    (Plus I'm a diabetic and my blood sugar is a bit low right now. Comprehension is low when your head is fuzzy...)




*grins* It's basically taking abstract concepts like hunger, death etc. and making them a person in your plot, able to act and think and all that. Yeah, I know that this isn't exactly what you've done here, but since I'm no writer either, it was the best comparison I could come up with . I use this a lot, too, because it just sets the mood perfectly - the party immediately recognizes they are facing an Enigmatic Enemy (tm) .



> 1) I've never really given serious thought to trying to get published for fiction or gaming material, just for the research journals of my field. I'm a wretched judge of my own quality of work or if my style has improved over time, which probably comes from having never gotten over a B in any college writing or literature course. I just do it for fun and it's likely to never be for anything more than that 'less money gets tossed at me and I don't see that happening. Long as folks enjoy and I have ideas I'll keep making stuff simply because this is fun.




I see where you're coming from, and it's actually quite similar to my motivation for writing stuff. But you really shouldn't underestimate your abilities as a writer - I've found that most people who just write "for fun" can do a better job than those who are constrained by guidelines they learned in some workshop or another... Judging from the amount of readers your SH has gathered here, others seem to agree with that opinion. Just keep that in mind if one day biology starts to bore you. 



> It's going to be interesting because I don't have a clue if they'll all mesh with one another. *chuckle* The opening session is going to be 'unconventional', and let's leave it at that.




Tease  



> PCs: 1 tiefling wizard/rogue, 1 fey-touched 1/2 drow w/ lots of different class levels, 1 elven cleric, 1 wierd tiefling/aasimar fighter, 1 half lupinal/half arcanaloth




That sounds like another mid- to high level campaign, right?


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## Shemeska

Ryltar said:
			
		

> That sounds like another mid- to high level campaign, right?




They're starting off at level 8 of class levels or ECL. The 1/2 lupinal etc has some levels to gain before she starts going for class levels though given the prohibitive LA cost of some of the abilities that she's getting. What she'll get eventually is around an ECL 12 with 9 caster levels tossed into the mix. Something like that.


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## Clueless

Shemeska said:
			
		

> 2) The campaign starts next weekend and there's going to be *counts* 5 PCs. Some of them are related to the last group, including one of Clueless's kids (apparently he will sleep with pretty much anything...)




Hey, you started that by having the elven cleric comment on clueless being easy.  I just went with it... and fey. Well. Are.



> 1 fey-touched 1/2 drow w/ lots of different class levels



I'm not pulling another Clueless with this one (he of the 4 Pr Classes) - all of the classes are going to be *very* mage orriented.


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## Krafus

The PCs started at 8th level only? Strange, the description made me think they started at about 12th level or so.


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## Gerzel

Shemeska said:
			
		

> PCs: 1 tiefling wizard/rogue, 1 fey-touched 1/2 drow w/ lots of different class levels, 1 elven cleric, 1 wierd tiefling/aasimar fighter, 1 half lupinal/half arcanaloth (who is going to be very amusing). No DMPC this time around since there's no obvious holes that they need plugged.
> 
> 3) I've been bored out of my mind for a couple weekends now; that will end next week once this new campaign gets started. More Planescapey goodness.




Now wait a minute!  My Tiefamar Elf isn't that wierd.  He might have a wierd but he isn't wierd himself.  Also not that the cleric and my fighter are related, brothers.

Bah I need to get more to you.


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## Aneul

Shemeska said:
			
		

> 1 half lupinal/half arcanaloth (who is going to be very amusing)



 I can imagine... Would it be possible for you to post racial stats for the Lupiloth (or is it an Arcinal)? Its a great idea. I'm geussing that A'kin is the father, seeing as I can't call to mind any other Arcanaloths who would want to have a baby with a Lupinal.
Exellent work, as usual, I can't wait to see this one develop.


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## Shemeska

Aneul said:
			
		

> I can imagine... Would it be possible for you to post racial stats for the Lupiloth (or is it an Arcinal)? Its a great idea. I'm geussing that A'kin is the father, seeing as I can't call to mind any other Arcanaloths who would want to have a baby with a Lupinal.
> Exellent work, as usual, I can't wait to see this one develop.




Given privacy laws in Sigil I can't confirm or deny the parentage of the kid and which arcanaloth was responsible. 

I'll see if I can't do just that (once I finalize it myself). I am not a numbers person so some people might find it overpowered for the ECL/SS type monster class I'll end up making it.

Perhaps I can convince my players to make a rogues gallery writeup for their characters and post them in that forum (which is something I haven't done for campaign/SH #1)


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## Polynike

you certainly know how to spoil your fans


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## Aneul

Indeed she does.
(Pulls out some character sheets and rolls a few D6s experimentaly..."hmmm, now for a back story...")


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## solomanii

*level 1?*

Don't like running level 1 games?  I know when I am running Planescape campaigns I am always tempted to start at high level.  My current PS campaign had the characters start at 10.  But the problem I find with people starting at high level is that the players will always forget some ability or miss some nuance of their class.


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## Shemeska

solomanii said:
			
		

> Don't like running level 1 games?  I know when I am running Planescape campaigns I am always tempted to start at high level.  My current PS campaign had the characters start at 10.  But the problem I find with people starting at high level is that the players will always forget some ability or miss some nuance of their class.




I've run a level 1 game before: a semi-historical game set on earth in the middle ages. I was for about a year running that on Saturday and running the Planescape game on Sunday. The Sat game crashed, burned and died as the Planescape game devoured my time and my creativity. 

Oddly enough the PS game was never intended as more than a oneshot thing, but it took on a life of its own and we didn't want to stop.


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## bluegodjanus

Shemeska said:
			
		

> Oddly enough the PS game was never intended as more than a oneshot thing, but it took on a life of its own and we didn't want to stop.




Planescape will not be denied. Even under the oppresion that is WotC planar material, we thrive and prosper.


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## Shemeska

bluegodjanus said:
			
		

> Planescape will not be denied. Even under the oppresion that is WotC planar material, we thrive and prosper.




Planescape -destroyed- my other campaign at the time. It came in, lusting for my creativity, and smacked the other game around for good measure. *chuckle*

And like a smack addict getting another dose, I don't regret it at all


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## Clueless

Well - considering I was the co DM for that fantasy game at the time - I was annoyed.  But you made it up to me... mostly.


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## Shemeska

Soon to be updated with a tale of really really wicked hangovers, inbred draconic marital issues, traps with a twisted sense of humor, pet mezzoloths, why it's mean to taunt fire giants, and why french kissing a really angry nycaloth 'tastes like burning'.


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## Gez

I'm probably wrong, but...

*Tiefling wizard/rogue*
That combo looks like Nisha. Is the character somewhat like her, or a bit more sane?
*Fey-touched 1/2 drow w/ lots of different class levels*
Clueless' rightful heir, even without your and his player's confirmation. 
*Elven cleric*
OK, could be anyone.
*Weird tiefling/aasimar fighter*
Tristol & Nisha's baby?
*Half lupinal/half arcanaloth*
Fyrehowl & A'Kin's baby?


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## Shemeska

Gez said:
			
		

> I'm probably wrong, but...
> 
> *Tiefling wizard/rogue*
> That combo looks like Nisha. Is the character somewhat like her, or a bit more sane?






More sane, and without the chaos, and without the good. 
She actually showed up in a oneshot game I ran for NC gameday V I think it was. The concept originally was a more stable, less ethical nisha. They succeed in spades and it's going to be a really fun PC to watch.



> [*]*Fey-touched 1/2 drow w/ lots of different class levels*
> Clueless' rightful heir, even without your and his player's confirmation.




Yep.



> [*]*Elven cleric*
> OK, could be anyone.




"So, what deity do you serve?" - one of the other PCs
"The right one" - PC cleric after dusting a wight on a turn check



> [*]*Weird tiefling/aasimar fighter*
> Tristol & Nisha's baby?




No relation to any previous characters.



> [*]*Half lupinal/half arcanaloth*
> Fyrehowl & A'Kin's baby?




Perhaps a safe bet, but I won't confirm or deny. She's an amusing bottle of conflicts and contradictions however.

Now, on that note, I have to go write up session 1


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## Clueless

This is of course ignoring two cohorts... and a lot of "sun elves are peering at the half drow warily" moments.


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## Clueless

Shemeska said:
			
		

> Now, on that note, I have to go write up session 1




Transcript has been sent via email.


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## Toras

Cohorts
- Human Fighter/Templar (cleric cohort)
- Half-Elven Duelist (fighter cohort)


As a fun game before Shemmy updates, two of the characters are related, can you guess which ones?


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## Gez

Toras said:
			
		

> Cohorts
> - Human Fighter/Templar (cleric cohort)
> - Half-Elven Duelist (fighter cohort)
> 
> 
> As a fun game before Shemmy updates, two of the characters are related, can you guess which ones?




The only possible bloodline I see is between the elf cleric and the fighter's cohort.  

Or maybe the human and one of the planetouched, maybe.


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## Ryltar

I'd guess the Human Fighter cohort and the "weird tiefling/aasimar", since the Elf connection would be too obvious .


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## Clueless

Why is it with the planetouched everyone always focuses on the outer planes heritage and no one ever asks who "mom" was?


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## Gerzel

Clueless said:
			
		

> Why is it with the planetouched everyone always focuses on the outer planes heritage and no one ever asks who "mom" was?




Actually in this case Dad was the parent with upper planar blood and mom had lower planar.  They both were elven.  Tieflings and Aasimar come in other forms than just human.  Elves have almost as wide a range as to what they will do as humans.


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## Gerzel

Here are some character histories and backgrounds for my character, cohort and followers.

Marcus Ianatoris III
Prime Male Tiefimar - TN(wavering)
	Marcus grew up as heir to the throne of Illustri, a powerful primeworld seafaring nation with an elven ruling class.  His grandfather had founded the lineage and his father after solidified their hold through the long elven centuries.  Even so, Marcus was born from his father's first wife, an elven tiefling woman from the outer planes, and as such held in his veins cursed blood of the lower planes.  However, from his father's side came a lineage of celestial marriages and the blessings of the higher planes also took hold in his blood.  With most of the populous of the country being human that he as the first son should succeed was self evident.  However among the elven nobility there was uncertainties.  To quell these fears, his father had Marcus train hard learning both the fine arts of diplomacy, and scholarly studies with the harsh realities of service in the royal navy, training as any other officer.
	When he was but 60 his mother, Maya, was poisoned and died.  He stood by his father as was his place, not showing his inner grief to the court, as they searched for the perpetrator.  There were suspicions but never was there any proof.  The matter was eventually dropped as his mother was cold in the ground.  Five years later his sister, Amelia, who was three years his junior suffered from poison that was meant for his cup. Again the perpetrator remained free, but Amelia never recovered fully.  Forty years after that his father, Marcus II, remarried an elven woman of high nobility and rank, Lady Eithne Coronas, and two years later had a son by her named Justinian.
	Over the next forty years new rumors began to spread over whom would take the throne if the King were to abdicate.  Most of these were spread by the nobility for reasons of old suspicions over Marcus III's lineage, but mostly the reasons for the rumors were over one house gaining more power than another if one heir were to gain the throne over the other.  Through this time, Old King Marcus kept his children away from the high court as much as possible, sending young Prince Marcus out on many diplomatic missions and to oversee one military campaign and he sent his younger children off to study magic or into the clergy.  His child by his new wife was kept close through her insistence.  
	As an officer and diplomat young Marcus did well and endeared himself to his men and the commanders over him in the Illustrian Navy.  It was after one last diplomatic mission that had brought a reasonably amicable end to the conflict in which he had campaigned for several years that his father was murdered.  He arrived a week after his father had died, and the burial ceremony had already been completed.  Rumors had been kindled and spread like wildfire in the strained climate.  Now his step-mother was working to have her son crowned.  The courts would not hear her, and not ten days after he had made landfall home came the mob.  A riot was incited by agents of his step-mother's house and their allies and a mob marched on the Imperial Court to find and burn those of "tainted blood."  Marcus escaped with several of his followers, raiding the armory and heading towards the Naval docks.  This was anticipated and cut off.  Narrowly Marcus managed to find shelter in the high temple in which his younger brother was a cleric.  The high priests opened a gate to the Outlands and they escaped.
	Once on the outlands Marcus and his group went to find a place they could make as a home for it would be quite some time before they could consider returning to their home plane.  That place was Tradegate, a center of industry and the perfect place to grow wealth.  Within the month Marcus had purchased a parcel of land on the outskirts of town and began to have a small villa constructed.  In town he and his followers rented and used an office in a trade house as lodging and to start business until the villa was ready to be occupied.  Eventually the business grew taking the full upper floor of the trade house and a small warehouse.  

Francesca Ferrari
6th Level Cohort
Female Human NG
	Francesca has been an adventurer for most of her life, having joined up with the navy against the doctrine of allowing human women to serve in fighting roles she was saved from a possible execution when Marcus stepped in on her behalf.  He had noted her talent aboard ship while she was still disguised as a boy, and did not wish such to be wasted for mere sake of regulations.  This initially was an unpopular decision, especially with the human crewmen, but Francesca soon was able to prove herself at sea and it turned into a mark of distinction among the ranking officers in the admiralty towards Marcus's abilities to recognize talents and abilities in others.
	Since then she has been loyal to the elven lord, and came to his side when she learned of the treachery afoot by his step-mother and her supporters.  From that day she has served as a defender for Marcus.  Also she has taken well to the planes, having joined the Navy in the first place to see new places.  She has learned discipline through practice.

Marius Ostiati
1st Level Follower
Male Elf TN - Middle Aged
Aristocrat 1
	Marius has worked closely with Marcus for many years, having known him since they were both small children.  Born to a middling noble lineage, Marius serves hoping to one day return to their homeland having gained power and wealth on the planes able to help his family.  He has seen first hand how the new court works and believes that it will not last.  While not nearly as talented or experienced as his mentor, Marius does have a sharp mind and can put his skills of rhetoric, research and writing to good use in service to his chosen master.  Mostly he works with managing financial matters for his lord and looking into opportunities for business and investment for both his family and Marcus.
	He is the fourth son in his family.  His family's holdings are mostly in a couple small islands off of the Illustri mainland.  The Aneus family had served the former king well, and was one of the newest families holding land of the mother country.  Marius while not mentioned by his family in the courts still holds ties to the rest of his clan and is able to provide Marcus with information on the current affairs of their homeland.  Back home, Marius is just another dilettante son sent away, albeit into the planes, to seek further fortune for the family.

Alfonso Basso
1st Level Follower
Male Human NG - Mid 20's
Warrior 1
	Part of Prince Marcus's personal guard on duty at the time Alfonso found himself caught up in the treachery and chaos and with his liege on the outer planes.  He has been given leave and means to travel home to his family but has decided that his place is with Marcus.  He keeps his post at the small holdings that Marcus and his followers have founded in Tradegate and otherwise works various errands around the town.  Being a hard worker by nature he fits in well with the rest of the citizenry of the city and has made many friends.

Calvin DeGalvo
1st Level Follower
Male Elf LN - Young Adult
Expert 1 (Merchant)
	Son of a low noble but successful merchant, Calvin works for Marcus knowing that old disputes between his house and the houses currently in power with the "Pretender-Child" King would never allow his family to gain such a foothold.  Still back home his family makes their ways keeping more of their holdings out in the colonies and using their wealth to secretly support Marcus.  For his part, Calvin works to manage and grow his own and his Prince's holdings on the outer planes.

Umberto DaVici
1st Level Follower
Male Human NG - Young Adult
Expert 1 (Alchemy and Firearms)
	Working in the palace armory when the riots started Umberto discovered the plot to let the mob into the palace.  He sabotaged the main gate and ran to the Prince's aid.  Caught up in the ensuing chaos he has chosen to stay by Marcus's side having heard first hand of treachery from the other side.  He currently works to keep stocks of powder and ammunition as well as keep the group's arms and armor in good repair.

Kavi
1st Level Follower
Female Tiefling NG - Mid-Teens
	Cleo grew up wandering the streets of Sigil and through the portals to the gate towns.  She was hired by a tout by Marcus and when a fiend to whom she owed a debt showed up to collect, her, Marcus offered to pay the balance.  The fiend refused wanting the girl's suffering more than the money and rushed to take her.  Marcus came to her defense.  From that day on Cleo has hung around Marcus and his followers providing her knowledge of the planes and secrets of the workings around the city of doors.


----------



## Gerzel

Clueless said:
			
		

> This is of course ignoring two cohorts... and a lot of "sun elves are peering at the half drow warily" moments.




We are not sun elves.  THose are from a backwater primeworld.  Ok ok so we may look like them, and occationally act uppity like them we (Cleric and Tiefimar Fighter who are brothers by the way) but we are children of the moon.  


The two elves in this party are brothers.  
We come from a nation that is similar to Rome and Rennaisance Italy.  For humans it is the high rennaisance there.  The ruleing class is made up of mostly elves with a good percentage of elven-aasimar (Aasimar with elven roots rather than human).  Since elves live so long many remember back to the days of the Empire.  The nation controlls the small continent that is its homeland and many far off colonies.  The continent primarly is populated by humans and elves with a few minorities like gnomes, halflings, and dwarfs.

At least that is my take on it.  Need to talk to david about that some more.


----------



## Clueless

Gotcha.


----------



## Toras

Actually Gerz, from a theological persepective we are children of the sun (due to our long and glorious lives), humans are children of the moon (short lived and changing), and each of the other races are children of stars, elements or the earth.


----------



## Shemeska

Enough with banter between players. 

Here's the first update of this particular storyhour.


***​


	Victor awoke with a start. He blinked and his eyes focused on his surroundings, unburdened with the fog of sleep; he had simply stepped away from some moment in time and found himself somewhere else. He was cold and hungry, his throat was parched from thirst, and his clothing was damp with foul smelling moisture that clung like an ice-cloaked imp to his flesh.

	The sun elf sat up suddenly, reflexively clutching a hand to the symbol of his god.

	“Where the hell am I?”

	His eyes glanced rapidly to survey the dim room in which he sat surrounded by the still forms of six others who lay still slumped on the floor. He wasn’t sure if they were dead or alive, but he was the only one who had woken. Metal walls all around, floor and ceiling as well, a dull gray base color that was unwelcoming and drab. Under the soft glow of a diffuse arcane light focused in the center of the chamber he could see the walls were tarnished with age and marred by the rust from tiny rivulets of moisture that collected, pooled and dripped from tiny cracks in the surface.

	He briefly looked at the five exits from the room, the cardinal directions and another in the ceiling some fifteen feet above the floor. A small pedestal sat in the very center of the room, the light centered upon it, and some symbol scratched into the floor surrounding it. But that was not what drew his gaze as he struggled to his feet.

	“Marcus!” He whispered harshly as he touched his brother’s shoulder. “Wake up! I don’t know where the hell we are or why we’re here.”

	His brother stirred and blinked his eyes, “What? What are you doing here?”

	Though full brothers, both descended from elven aasimar and tieflings, Victor appeared wholly elven while Marcus clearly showed both of the planetouched heritages of their parents. The last thing that Marcus remembered was being in Tradegate, and his brother was off elsewhere in the Outlands.

	Outside of their elven features it was somewhat hard to tell that the two were in fact brothers. The physical resemblance was tenuous, and the normal sibling mannerisms were more or less muted; they hadn’t had much real time together over the past century. As well, their vocations were very much different. Victor had become a cleric of the primary deity of sunlight, life, and time for their world on the prime, and Marcus had gone down the path of the cultured aristocrat and nominal military officer. Victor was dressed in clerical vestments and Marcus was dressed in armor and uniform that would have not been the least out of place on a sailing vessel back on the prime.

	Victor glanced around at the other forms in the room, “Where were you the last time you remember anything?”

	Marcus shook his head and stood up, drawing one of the half dozen pistols hung in a bandoleer across his chest. “In Tradegate. I was working on hiring some mercenaries for a trade caravan.”

	“You know any of the others here?”

	Marcus pointed to a human woman on the ground next to him, “Francesca there. She was with me in Tradegate as an attaché. You?”

	Victor pointed at a man on the ground near where he had woken up, “Garibaldi had been traveling with me in the outlands as a service to the church. I don’t know any of the rest of these people though.”


***​

	As Marcus was busy talking to his brother and then waking up their two vassals, one of the others stirred from the murky haze of whatever slumber had claimed them all and led them to their current location. Inva Ebonblade opened her eyes and the violet slits of her pupils dilated instantly as she regained her bearings. She didn’t move and kept her breathing shallow as her ears perked to the voices of the people around her.

	She didn’t recognize their faces, nor their style of clothing, and their accented common bespoke of a quartet of primes. But this didn’t seem like the prime to her. The last thing she recalled was having been in Sigil’s Lower Ward, and then the memories simply vanished in a slow trickle of details till it was gone. That didn’t make sense. There was no sudden break in her recall of the past, no violent action that might explain a loss of memory and a sudden change in location. But the cold trickles of foul smelling water that dripped from the ceiling of the room told her at least a little, and possible more, it was Styx water.

	She pondered slitting the throats of those with her, even mentally whispering a prayer to her goddess as she tapped her fingers across the hilt of her blade; but that would serve no immediate purpose and she did not yet know them or why she and they were in their present circumstances. And so, silently, unseen and unheard by the elves and their cohorts, Inva stood and slipped into the shadows a few feet behind herself and vanished, blending in seamlessly with the darkness.


***​

	Marcus looked back up as the sound of another voice reached out to his ears. A slim human female, seemingly a mage of some sort given her attire, was sitting up and glancing around nervously. Marcus also noticed that one of the unconscious figures that had been there a minute before was gone.

	Ankita looked around as the fog that had shrouded her mind lifted and she realized that she wasn’t in Sigil, nor did she have a clue of how she had gotten to where she was. Her coppery brown eyes darted to the walls, ceiling, and then to the others in the room, shifting into the spectrum of magic and watching the contorting flux of dweomers on the others in the room, and the lack of such otherwise save for the light.

_No fiends… good…_ She thought inwardly, easing the terrible, wretched, sinking thoughts that had immediately come to her mind when she had awoken.

	She looked at the two elves and the humans who stood next to them. They seemed friendly enough and they didn’t have any real weapons drawn that she really needed to concern herself with. A cleric and three fighters, not likely to be responsible for whatever had happened to her.

	“Welcome back to the waking world there. And you would be?” The cleric said to her from across the room. His tone immediately set her at ease, something that given her history and even her nature, was something that came hard: trust.

	Ankita stood and brushed the hem of her robes; they were damp and cold, though the cold didn’t bother her in the slightest, but the reek of Styx water brought back those flashes of concern.

	“Ph… Ankita,” She said in planar common. “You?”

	The blond elf in the clerics vestments pointed to his holy symbol, “My name is Victor and these others are my brother Marcus and our two companions Francesca and Garibaldi.”

	“It’s odd that we’d be here together since we were half a plane apart in the last memories we have. And given our relation, whatever has us here it wasn’t anything random.” Marcus said as he gestured around the room. “Is there anything that you can think of that might explain all this?”

	She brushed her chestnut brown hair back from her face. “No clue. I was in Sigil so unless we’re still there, it wasn’t magic that transported me here. Cleared out memory, sure, but a wizard didn’t go around playing snatch and grab with us randomly.”

	“I take it that you’re a wizard?” Victor asked, noting her oddly cut robes.

	“Close enough. A sorceress. The robes probably gave it away, even if they’re styled a bit differently than most.” Ankita replied back.

	“Not as ‘different’ as the other woman who _was_ here a few minutes ago.” Victor said with an emphasis on the word ‘was’ hoping to give her the grace of showing back up amicably.

	“Come on out…” Ankita said. She had noticed the vague presence of a dweomers in the shadows earlier, but Victor’s comment about ‘missing’ one of those who had been present settled the issue.

	A moment later a slim figure slipped out of the shadows at the edge of the room like a snake slithering out from the edge of a placid body of water.

	“Where the hell did you come from?” Marcus asked.

	The tiefling smirked with flair, “Oh I’ve been here the entire time just watching in case any of you had something to do with me being here in the first place. But you berks are here in this mess all the same.”

	Victor gave a soft nod, “Fair enough. And your name? You haven’t mentioned it yet.”

	“No, I haven’t said it have I?” She said with a grin as she trotted out of the shadows and gave them a better view.

	That she was a tiefling was obvious by any means, and given the nature of her features, she seemed more Tanar’ri than not. Her legs from the knees down were hoofed and goat-like, and a long, thin, dark scaled prehensile tail curled and waved in a sinuous pattern behind her, its tip ending in a slim, black metal spade. Inva’s skin was a dull sort of grayish color, blending almost to a pale yellow when she was more firmly illuminated by the room’s dim light. Offsetting her skin was the length of scarlet shoulder length hair that she kept tied back in a ponytail. As far as clothing, she wore loose fitting leather breaches which were tinted a slight red to match her hair, and a leather corset of the same color.

	The tiefling wasn’t exactly modest in any capacity, and it seemed likely that the corset was held up solely by its lacing at her back and the tight pressure applied by her cleavage on its front. The males in the room had to pause and turn their gaze from there and back to her face, and the tiefling seemed well aware of the fact as she smirked.

	“Well, you’ve already heard the rest of us make our introductions and what we do and where we were before waking up here. So what sort of stuff do you do?” Marcus asked.

	“A bit of magic, a bit of this,” She tapped her fingertips on the hilt of a slender, black bladed rapier at her hip that seemed almost to be a more elegant, larger version of the spike that tipped her reptilian tail.

	“Sounds like whoever dumped us here got all of the bases covered.” Ankita mused.

	“And we don’t seem to be missing anything so this wasn’t just a dump after a kidnapping. And we’re not hurt either, so it was probably magic.” Victor nodded in agreement.

	“Any idea how long we’ve been out for? I’m starving…” Marcus asked.

	“It’s been a while as far as I can tell.” Inva pointed the tip of her tail towards the last person on the ground, “And there’s always one more to ask if he ever wakes up.”


***​

	The final form on the ground was breathing more visibly and he blinked his eyes and looked up, though with less of a start than might be expected; he’d probably been awake and listening for a short period before the others had noticed him being active.

	“Wow. I need to stop drinking dad’s liquor.”

	Velkyn glanced around the room and the sea of unfamiliar faces with a nervous furrowing of his brow as he brushed back his blond, nearly white hair from a thin, fine angular face and dusky gray skin that bespoke of dark elven heritage and perhaps something more obscure in his blood. Three earrings ran in a line down his left ear as he brushed the hair back and looked up with a set of piercing blue eyes; an odd color for a drow, or a half-drow in his case.

	‘One of the evil ones!’ Victor immediately thought to himself in a reflexive panic as he brushed a hand over his holy symbol. He knew better frankly, but it was something ingrained to an extent in his people on the prime, though he’d been exposed to the wider views of the planes for some time.

	Both Inva and Ankita noticed his manner of dress, and the spellbook at his hip that bespoke a wizard. Ankita however recognized his face immediately: she’d been sitting with him in Sigil around the time that her memories became a blur. However the fey-touched half-drow mage didn’t recognize her since she had yet to take her true form. Given the others in the group, taking that form might not be a safe idea until she knew the exact circumstances behind wherever they were and how they had gotten there.

	“Where the hell am I?” Velkyn said as he stood up, revealing a frame that was even more lithe than had seemed originally. While a drow might ordinarily be considered slight by human standards, Velkyn’s features were even finer than a typical elf. It was only the soft leather cloak, really a greatcoat, which he wore, that gave him a fuller appearance. But at least it was insulation against the cold.

	Velkyn brushed himself off and ruffled any loose water from the edges of his cloak. Underneath the greatcoat he wore supple leather pants and a blue shirt, open slightly to the chest to reveal an odd sapphire pendant. While he wasn’t a physical paragon by any means, it was obvious that he kept himself fit, if by nothing else than by the way the pants hugged his form.

	“Same question we’re all asking. Beats the hell out of us.” Inva said, obviously a bit colder than the others given her manner of dress.

	“Wonderful…” He muttered as he glanced around at his surroundings just the same as the others had done when they had regained their senses.

	“For what it’s worth, I’m a mage out of Sigil. Last thing I remember I was sitting and sipping a drink in a bar in the Clerk’s Ward. And from what I heard from the rest of you, you all don’t remember anything that might have led up to this.” Velkyn said with a stretch. “And from the looks of you all it seems like I’m not the only mage, and a cleric and some fighters too.”

	“Someone had their bases covered when they stuck us here.” Inva said as she curled the bladed tip of her tail behind her, tapping it against the metal of the wall.

	“Wherever here is.” Ankita said, hiding any suspicions, just the same as Inva was doing.

	“So what about the room and the doors. Anyone looked at them for anything special about the place?” Velkyn said as he looked at the five exits and the pedestal at the room’s center.

Victor recited a soft prayer and glanced around the room, looking at the doors, then the pedestal in the room’s center, and finally the others whose company he found himself in. The prayer would have allowed him to sense any latent evil, either from a spell waiting to be sprung, or the taint of evil in a person’s soul.

	Inva heard the prayer and inwardly grinned as she spun a small ring on her left hand in an otherwise unremarkable manner. The Lady of Loss wouldn’t allow her followers to be outed so easily, not that she had any need to do them harm since more than not she would need them to get out of wherever they were. Keep the pretty face for the moment and see what came of it.

	Victor blinked in surprise as he felt a distinct background presence of evil that pervaded the ground, walls, ceiling, and even the very air in the room. Perhaps a spell, or perhaps it was suggestive of their location on the planes. Then his vision went white for split second as an overpowering aura of evil flickered and then vanished.

	“You alright?” Marcus said to his brother.

	Ankita chuckled nervously to herself. She had that effect on people sometimes. She was a bag full of contradictions, poisoned candy, knives and velvet, love and hatred on a fulcrum. No wonder the cleric was confused. But if he even glanced in her direction because of that spell, she didn’t notice. Hells, they’d probably be looking at Velkyn or the spunky little tiefling if anywhere. She herself was just a human sorceress with nothing spectacular about her. No, nothing at all.

	Victor shook his head, “Just got a really strong sensation of evil for a moment and then it was gone. The whole place is evil though, either from a spell or the plane that we’re on. Not one of the extreme lower planes if that’s what it is, but it’s there permeating everything. Make your guesses. Or the place just might be cursed or unhallowed.”

	“So what about the book?” Velkyn asked with a glance to the others. “Has anyone taken a look at it yet?”

	Victor looked to Inva, “Any chance you’d like to check if it’s trapped for me?”

	She flicked her tail through the air and tossed her hair to one side flippantly, “Not particularly, but if it’s trapped I don’t care to be caught in the aftermath of anyone’s ham handedness. So by a roundabout way, I’d be pleased to check.”

	The tiefling winked as she trotted up to the book.

	Meanwhile Ankita was staring less at the book, which didn’t glow with even a flicker of magic, but rather at the symbols carved into the floor surrounding the pedestal. It was magical, but not. She’d seen similar symbols before, and this one was inscribed entirely in draconic whereas the ones she had seen had mostly been in infernal or abyssal. It was a teleport circle, but an incomplete one. There were several symbols intentionally missing, and elaborate lines and additional runes traced from the points they should have been and up to a pentagram symbol that the book lay within, five slots or notches set into the points of the figure.

	“Well, it’s not magical.” The sorceress said as she looked up from the book, “and there’s a partially completed teleport circle around it.”

	Inva meanwhile had flipped open the otherwise unmarked cover of the book with the tip of her sword. The soft leather cover opened with a soft tap of its cover on the stone of the pillar and its pages rustled loosely in the soft breeze that periodically blew from under one of the room’s exits.

	She flipped through the pages quickly, noting that it was mostly blank but for two pages at the front. The first was a series of passages written in draconic by a practiced hand, either a mage or a native speaker, and the second page was a list of signatures… 7 of them. The tiefling noticed her signature and the soft glimmer of her own personal arcane mark immediately next to it, second to last on the page.

	“Well… this is getting more disturbing…” Victor said as he described the list of signatures on the page. There was even a melted and pressed wax seal next to his brother’s and his names; not something that could easily be faked.

	“Why in the hell would I sign my name for something like this?” Velkyn mused.

	“Well whatever it was, they had to be paying me a pile a jink to even consider it in the first place. If they did I’d agree to it, whatever this all is.” Inva said as she started to match names in the book to faces of her companions.

	“This is looking less and less like something entirely forced on us.” Victor said, “I wouldn’t give my seal unless it was something I’d agreed to. And neither I nor Marcus give our word lightly.”

	“What’s the first page say?” Marcus asked.

	“It’s in draconic.” Victor replied. “Who here besides me speaks it?”

	All of the hands in the room went up with the exception of Victor and Marcus’s vassals.

	“Well, that settles that.” He replied as he started to read the words on the first page aloud:

_ “I am the millstone, the device by which the kernels of grain are forcibly separated from the chaff. The grain is purified, weighed, valued, and judged. Chaff is consumed in the fires of the ovens in which the finished product is formed and baked. So it shall be with you.”

“There is a single exit and it exists through me. There are four keys to your salvation, three without, and one within. Find them and you will find me. Do not, and 24 hours from this point I will devour one of you, randomly, to amuse myself. If one of you is already dead by that point, well, you’ve made the choice for me and I do enjoy initiative from the as yet unproven.”_

	“Yeah, they’re paying me a lot for this…” Inva said dryly with a twitch of her tail.

	“Well sh*t…” Velkyn cursed.

	That original shudder of fear rippled through Ankita again. Trust came hard, and she didn’t like the sound of their captor or captors’ intentions. And not only her, but the nervous atmosphere from when they had just all regained consciousness returned in full force as they glanced at one another and then at the five doors that led out of the room.

	The elves started to walk a slow circle around the edge of the room, glancing at the doors and talking amongst themselves. Velkyn was still paused and looking at the book, Inva had once more seemed to vanish into the shadows, and Ankita was glancing up at the door in the ceiling.

	“Alright. So five keys and five doors. Seems simple enough and fairly straightforward.” Marcus said as he looked at the doors.

	“I dunno, what was it saying about four without and one within?” Velkyn asked.

	“Do we have one already on us, or maybe we’re the fifth key?” Ankita mused.

	“Lemme see that book again…” Victor said as he picked the book up and examined the front and back covers, feeling for anything within the leather. Not finding any bulges or compartments in the leather, he put it back down.

	Inva, once again seeming to appear out of nowhere, slinked over to the book and put a thin claw into the binding of the book and rattled it softly. She grinned and raised the blade on the end of her tail, cutting into the material on the spine and then with her hand, removing a slim metallic object.

	“Cute…” She said as she held up the slim, metal tile. “One down.”

	The others looked at the object. It wasn’t a key in the conventional sense, but it seemed to fit one of the spaces among the five slots in the pentagram that would complete the teleport circle. It slipped neatly into place.

	“Five doors still left, so presumably one of them is a dead end.” Victor said.

	“Even more cute…” Inva said darkly.

	“Well, let’s take a look at the doors then. Some of them have a carving above them, probably about what’s beyond them.” Ankita said as she pointed to the door in the ceiling.

	Looking up at that door, they noticed a mural shaped or molded into the metal above the wood door. Two rampant dragons or great serpents were embraced in a fierce battle. Judging by the shape of the drakes, one of them was a blue and the other was a rust dragon.

	There was something odd about the dragons that seemed to dance about the edges of Velkyn’s mind, but it didn’t quite come into the forefront for him to snatch upon it and realize what was significant about it.

	“… I’m not up for dragons right now. What’s next?” Ankita said as they turned to the next door on the western wall.

	That door was made of wood as well and featured a carving of an armored man turned away from something and raising his shield as if warding it away from sight. Otherwise there was no other clue.

	“Is the shield mirrored? That might explain it.” Marcus asked.

	“Can’t tell from the mural really.” Inva replied. “But obviously there’s something directly harmful past the door.”

	The south door was made of metal and caked in rust at the edges. Water was pooled at its base and tiny rivulets ran down its face in much greater frequency than the random drip of the same from the walls and ceilings of the main chamber. A mural above the door showed a female figure standing in a pool of water, motioning seductively to a armed man while holding a dagger behind her back.

	Velkyn pointed to the woman in the mural, “I know what she is. A type of fey known as a Rusalka, usually Unseelie.”

	“What do they do?” Victor asked the mage.

	“Sing or otherwise beguile people, usually men, into falling in love with them. If they’re of the Seelie variety they’ll enchant them to be able to breath underwater and then they force them to love them and live with them till they die of old age. The Unseelie don’t let them breath underwater and they kill them for fun after they’ve used them for fun.”

	“Lovely.” Victor said as he looked at the mural.

	“For what it’s worth I’m immune to the effects if we meet her. My bloodline is… odd.” Velkyn said with a shrug.

	“Outside of gender, if that even matters, I’m immune to most enchantment effects as well.” Ankita added to the conversation.

	Inva eyed the sorceress oddly at the comment, wondering why she would be immune to a school of magic like that.

	The eastern door was made of wood and carved with the image of a laughing fool, smiling as he leapt off of a cliff with his neck wrapped in a noose of chains. At his heels, a small dog seemed to be chasing him and barking, running off the cliff as well. The archetypal ‘Fool’.

	“Yet another of these wonderful images.” Inva added as she noticed the soft breeze flowing out from under the door. “Nothing overtly dangerous to us though.”

	“Looks like the figure on the ‘Fool’ card that the fortune tellers in the Great Bazaar use all the time, or that some less apt diviners might use for showmanship.” Ankita said idly.

	“It’s all about showmanship there. The cards are pretty much a façade.” Inva remarked.
	The last door, the one to the north, was made of metal just like the southerly door, only this time there was no mural or carving, but the entire door radiated a definite chill and was coated in a thin, reflective veneer of ice and frost.

	Inva crossed her arms. “Fun.”

	“No murals.” Marcus said as he tapped at the ice. It was fairly solid and the door would have to be forced eventually.

	“No clues.” The tiefling replied.

	“Sounds like one to try after the others.” Ankita said with a shrug.

	“I’m in favor of the Fool’s door. It doesn’t seem as immediately dangerous, given what it’s got on the murals. Anyone else have an opinion?” Marcus said as he drew his saber.

	There were several slow nods.

	“Sounds as good as any other idea.” Victor said.

	“Hey, do we really want to leave the first key here by itself?” Inva asked the others with a fair amount of skepticism.

	“Might be other people here as well.” Ankita said warily.

	“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Velkyn nodded in agreement to the tiefling.

	The key was already out and slipped somewhere on Inva’s person.

	And so with one final look at the other doors, they approached the Fool’s Door and tentatively glanced at its metal surface. There was a soft breeze blowing out from under the door and from the spaces between it and the doorway, rustling their hair like the breath of a lurking giant.

	“It’s not even locked.” Inva said as she looked for one of the others to open it first.

	Francesca shrugged and pushed open the door. The breeze was stronger as the door was opened and it seemed almost cyclical, like actual breath of some monstrous being. Nervous glances were exchanged and they proceeded forwards through a short metallic corridor and then into a larger chamber shrouded in darkness.

	Ankita whispered something under her breath and a globe of light hovered about her head, illuminating the first thirty feet of the room’s interior. The radius of light extended outwards before it was swallowed by darkness; it didn’t even reach the edges of the room in any direction except the ceiling. Inva would have done the same except that she couldn’t, a usually unbridling restriction that paid off in spades in other areas.

	The room was a forest of chains that hung from the ceiling like softly swaying metallic vines, all of them graced by that same cyclical and steady rush of air. The metallic clatter of the chains rang out like a discordant chorus of bells as they tried to discern more detail about the chamber’s contents.

	Several limp forms hung suspended from the chains further into the room. Half rotting corpses, they were run through with jagged spikes or barbs that dotted some of the chains as they swung slowly and rhythmically on the eerie breeze. Perhaps four bodies in all, with another possible fifth one wrapped and snarled nearly from head to toe in the jagged chains.

	Then they heard it, the serpentine slither of chain upon chain, winding and unwinding from out in the darkness and something slinking from nest of chains to nest of chains all suspended in the airy darkness. Something was moving and it knew where they were.

"How much do you wanna bet there's a kyton in there?" Inva mused, drawing steel, as they heard the sounds further back in the chamber’s umbral recesses.

Velkyn brandished a short length of polished ashwood, tipped with a sapphire. "How much do you want to bet this is an invisibility wand?"


***​


----------



## Dakkareth

I've held off reading this SH so far, but I wasn't strong enough ... no spoilers, though, and a new Planescape SH - I win .


----------



## shilsen

Sounds like a group of misfits, like most adventuring parties  Very nice update as usual, Shemeska.


----------



## Shemeska

Dakkareth said:
			
		

> I've held off reading this SH so far, but I wasn't strong enough ... no spoilers, though, and a new Planescape SH - I win .




No spoilers for any real conceivable time period. If there are, I'll warn folks ahead of time.


----------



## Clueless

Us? Misfits? Neeeever.


----------



## Tristol

Shemeska said:
			
		

> More sane, and without the chaos, and without the good.
> She actually showed up in a oneshot game I ran for NC gameday V I think it was. The concept originally was a more stable, less ethical nisha. They succeed in spades and it's going to be a really fun PC to watch.




I'm enjoying it so far, so we'll see how it goes. It's a decided turn from my normal character lineups, so hopefully it works out. In essence, she's certainly not of the good variety that Nisha was, and certainly more level-headed, but the touch of chaos is there. I think everyone has their moments.

Given my lack of reception to the previous diary I created for Tristol, it's somewhat unlikely I'll try a diary this time around. Besides, Ankita's player has sort of taken up the mantle in that regard. You'd need to bug her to see if she's into sharing it with the world at large. And on the same note, it would be unlike Inva to actually keep a diary anyway. The whole 'no one needs to know what you're up to or what you did' thing comes into play there. I will point out that I do occasionally get ideas stuck in my head that require writing up. If that happens, with the appropriate amount of coercion I can be persuaded to post them here. We'll see what happens.

On a lighter note (and of ideas getting stuck in my head), once the other story hour gets to the closing point (a long way off) I've got a conclusion for Tristol I'll post. Less of an end and more of a 'what he was up to' in the 150 years between games. Written in the third person point of view instead of the first person the diary was in. So it's a bit of a change for me.


----------



## Clueless

On the other hand. I'm doing art.


----------



## Gez

Hello everybody, little hi-jack: some of you (especially Shemmie and Tristol) might be interested in looking at this thread.


----------



## Soullessweare

Heya, have been reading your first storyhour faithfully, I guess it will be the same with this one. 

Seems you are kind of DM that gets parties together on a 'mysterious unvoluntary basis'. I never do, but I can see the benefits, especially with the 'epic' campaigns you're playing. Regarding that, I was wondering, do you give your players some lines along which to design their characters? Alignment, personality etc?


----------



## Gez

I like how everyone agreed that the Fool's door would be the less dangerous. Reading that, I felt like I heard Fate laughing and snickering "suckers!" while pointing at them.

I pity the fools.


----------



## Clueless

> Seems you are kind of DM that gets parties together on a 'mysterious unvoluntary basis'. I never do, but I can see the benefits, especially with the 'epic' campaigns you're playing. Regarding that, I was wondering, do you give your players some lines along which to design their characters? Alignment, personality etc?



Not really actually. At least *he* doesn't. This is the same group of players who have been playing for years together now. We're all friends - so we all pretty much want to share the stage and let others enjoy the stage as well, which works pretty well. SH #2 has a lot stronger personalities (not the least because we know it'll be a long term game, not a one shot as we thought SH #1 would be). 

The most inner group collaboration we did was to make sure we were balanced enough that we had all the skills and classes we needed without stepping too heavily on each others toes. Lots of people wanted wizard this time, not too many wanted tank status. I think the only thing we're missing is someone who's actually lighthearted. Victor may qualify though.

As for personality compatibility - that'll be tricky this go around. Some of the personalities will fit better than others and watching them fall together is actually going to be one of the more interesting parts of this game. There are no *utter* incompatibilities (I wanna play Tanarri! I wanna play Baatazu!), no one wanted to do that so that problem didn't come up. What we're watching for right now is to make sure that we don't end up playing our characters true to self, and ourselves into a corner - where the only reason to Not bump a party member is 'PC glow'. We have managed to RP a character out of playability int he last SH after all.



> I like how everyone agreed that the Fool's door would be the less dangerous. Reading that, I felt like I heard Fate laughing and snickering "suckers!" while pointing at them.
> I pity the fools.



Actually - ironically it probably *was* one of the safer ones. One thing you learn after playing under Shemmie for awhile is how to interpret his clues. You think so far into them and then you learn where to stop because you're overthinking. It's nice when you've learned a DM to that point where the clues can actually be *useful*.  Watch for something simular to this scenario coming up in the SH#1.


----------



## Gez

Clueless said:
			
		

> We have managed to RP a character out of playability int he last SH after all.




The "suicice-by-DM" succubus, or something that hasn't been written yet?



			
				Clueless said:
			
		

> Actually - ironically it probably *was* one of the safer ones. One thing you learn after playing under Shemmie for awhile is how to interpret his clues. You think so far into them and then you learn where to stop because you're overthinking. It's nice when you've learned a DM to that point where the clues can actually be *useful*.  Watch for something simular to this scenario coming up in the SH#1.




Reverse psychology? Had I been the DM, it would have been some sort of trapped dead-end with a "Told ya so!" glyph for those surviving the trap.


----------



## Clueless

Gez said:
			
		

> The "suicice-by-DM" succubus, or something that hasn't been written yet?



Not writen yet. And trust me - you'll recognize it when you see it.  It actually *has* been referred to on the boards before...




> Reverse psychology? Had I been the DM, it would have been some sort of trapped dead-end with a "Told ya so!" glyph for those surviving the trap.



I think Shemmie as a DM isn't willing to go that route - that might destroy a lot of DM to player trust - and with stories like his you *have* to trust that the DM is backing you even if the Big Bads aren't - or you'd get too depressed/angry to continue to play.


----------



## Shemeska

Soullessweare said:
			
		

> Heya, have been reading your first storyhour faithfully, I guess it will be the same with this one.
> 
> Seems you are kind of DM that gets parties together on a 'mysterious unvoluntary basis'. I never do, but I can see the benefits, especially with the 'epic' campaigns you're playing. Regarding that, I was wondering, do you give your players some lines along which to design their characters? Alignment, personality etc?




I just don't like the 'So you're all sitting in a bar...' sort of campaign starts. Had too many bad experiences with those. Plus, initially forcing them into a situation gives them a later reason to continue working with one another outside of 'we're the PCs, and while I don't know you nor do I trust you, we're working together for no specific reason'.


----------



## Shemeska

Gez said:
			
		

> Reverse psychology? Had I been the DM, it would have been some sort of trapped dead-end with a "Told ya so!" glyph for those surviving the trap.




Not my style. Now I'm all for irony, but I don't view the game as a DM versus PCs thing at all. I won't go out of my way to intentionally screw over a character, but neither will I go too terribly out of my way to save you from the consequences of anything you do. Hit on a fiend and you get what comes to you, spit in the eye of a wealthy noble and the same, etc.

Plus, the setup of the traps and everything else in the 'dungeon' (for lack of a better term) for this second campaign was hardly random and hardly there just to kill people for the sake of killing them.


----------



## Gez

Oh, I don't view it as DM vs. players either, it's just that, well, I probably don't think like you do. For my players, the fool would have been a clue one must be a fool to take this way. Quite straightforward, in fact.


----------



## Shemeska

Invisible by virtue of Velkyn’s wand of invisibility the group stepped into the dark of the room as the chains softly clattered in the cold, breath-like wind. Ankita summoned a globe of light to illuminate the room to a few more yards away from where they stood, but no end was in sight, only the rippling chains like twisted trees in a metallic jungle.

	Inva stepped back from the conjured light and held up a copper coin between two fingers. “Let’s see how deep this room is…”

	The tanar’ri-blooded tiefer tossed the coin and mentally counted out the seconds before she heard it strike a solid wall on the other side. Several hundred feet deep at the very least, but at least it was dark and that suited her just fine. 

	“What the hell are those?” Velkyn said as he squinted and shifted his sight into the darkvision spectrum.

	Tangled within or hanging in the masses of chains were a trio of forms. Two of them were obviously corpses of humans, but the third was so encased in the chains that it was less certain as to any firm details.

	Victor fingered his holy symbol as the third corpse twitched slightly beyond the rattling of the chains in the wind.

	Ankita smiled and gestured her hand towards the chains that ensconced the figure and several seconds later they began to give off palpable warmth. The figure twitched more.

	“What’d you do?” Marcus asked curiously as his brother continued to keep his holy symbol ready.

Ankita smiled and pointed at the twitching figure, “Just a spell to heat metal. Doesn’t last long but I can do it as many times as I want as long as I’m awake.”

As if to punctuate her statement the chains around the wrapped form flared up and began to glow like red-hot irons in a forge and the reaction was immediate. The being gave an infuriated snarl and swung itself backwards and away from the rapidly warming nest of hanging chains. The chains around its body seemed to latch onto those hanging behind it and swing it away like extensions of itself.

“Yeah, that would be a kyton. Lovely.” Inva said from where she stood at the dim margin of Ankita’s summoned light.

“Alright, what are Kytons vulnerable to?” Marcus asked.

Ankita answered, “They’re not resistant to much of anything, but they heal wounds unless the weapons are enchanted to at least a certain degree.”

Marcus and his cohort raised their weapons, joined soon by Victor’s vassal Garibaldi.

“Won’t be much of a problem I assure you.” Victor’s brother said as he raised a saber in one hand and a pistol in the other.

	With the fighters in the front followed closely behind by the cleric and with the casters standing at the rear they tentatively advanced into the darkness. Somewhere beyond the range of their light they could hear the slink and rattle of chains moving independently from the soft sway imparted by the breeze.

	As they passed the two dangling corpses they noticed another hanging corpse and a glimmer of movement at the edge of the light.

	“There’s more than one thing moving back there. Probably two kytons instead of one.” Victor said.

	Then the two kytons came rushing out of the darkness and at the same time the other corpses lurched into activity with pinpoints of reddish light suddenly erupting in their unliving sockets.

	“Gaaaahh!” Velkyn shouted as one of the wights struck him a heavy blow on the shoulder, a sense of chilling cold pervaded the wound, and several of his more powerful spells drained from his memory like dreams that slipped away upon waking.

	“Take the fiends!” Victor shouted as he turned to the undead threatening the spellcasters.

	The two chain wrapped fiends swung into the light and lashed out at Marcus, Francesca and Garibaldi. They scored a few glancing blows but the fighters were heavily enough armored to ward off most of the damage. 

	Velkyn rolled away from immediate danger and hurriedly cast a spell to batter one of the wights with a trio of unerringly accurate magical bolts. A second later the same creature was burnt to a crisp by a glowing beam of light from Victor’s outstretched hand.

	The fighters were having difficulty with the kytons, as it seemed to be that more than half of their blows that connected with the devils were simply negated by the beings’ innate resistance to damaging blows. They scored cuts and slashes on them but most of the damage simply sealed itself up in mere moments.

	Another wight came shambling out of the darkness and Victor decided to end their threat as soon as possible. The cleric brandished his holy symbol and shouted out an invocation to his deity at the top of his lungs. A brilliant halo of sunlight surrounded him and enveloped the two snarling wights, leaving behind naught but ashes.

	Free from the risk of the undead, Ankita whispered an incantation and summoned a rolling sphere of flame onto one of the fiends as Marcus cocked his pistol and aimed it for the head of the other. The sphere missed its target, but a hellish shriek of pain that rose over the loud and sudden crack of the pistol made it clear even before the smoke cleared that Marcus hadn’t missed his target.

	Several more flurries of blows from the fighters and Inva’s sword suddenly bursting from the throat of one of the two kytons and the fight was over. The bodies of the fiends began to slowly burn into piles of chains and foul-smelling ashes and there was little left of the undead as it was.

	Velkyn winced at the lingering chill that had crept into his bones from the earlier attack as he looked over towards Victor and then down at the smoldering remains of the wights. “What god did you say you worshipped?”

	“The right god!” Victor said with a triumphant smile and a single eyebrow raised.

	Velkyn and Ankita chuckled.

	“Whatever…” Inva said to herself as once again she slunk off into the shadows with a grin.

	A brief survey of the remains turned up little besides a scattering of gold and silver coins; not much but a minimal reward for their troubles they all figured, even if it didn’t really bring them any closer to escape or even an explanation of what had brought them to their present circumstance. Inva retrieved her bent copper piece that she’d tossed across the room earlier and then cautiously glanced down the passageway that led out of the room.

	“Seems clear to me. Looks like it runs about forty feet and hits another room.” Velkyn said, more for Francesca, Garibaldi, and Ankita’s benefit than not since they, as humans, had neither the darkvision of the half-drow and the tieflings, or the low light vision of the elf. Of course, Ankita was anything but, and had better vision in the dark than any of them save perhaps Inva who seemed to thrive in the shadows like she was a part of them. But, no need to tell the others anything more than they knew unless it was needed; it might not be taken well.

	The room was made of the same rough metal as everything else, though the floor was polished by repeated foot traffic more than before. Three metal doors blocked exit from the chamber and a solid metal column stood provocatively in the center. Almost unnoticed till they had entered the room were a number of small piles of rocks and gravel.

	“Hold on…” Ankita said as she noticed the gravel.

	Inva slipped out of the shadows at the warning and whispered a few words under her breath just as Ankita did the same.

	They glanced warily at the metal column that stood from floor to ceiling in the very center of the room. It was pentagonal in shape and unadorned except for two short levers that graced identical slots on each of the five faces. A soft mechanical whirring emanated from its interior, and as they listened to it they could hear a regular pattern to it, but it gave little clue regarding the ten levers.

	“Three doors and ten levers. This isn’t going to be pleasant if anything so far has been an indication. There’s today’s lesson in the obvious.” Velkyn said sarcastically as he examined the base of the column.

	Marcus and his cohort were both busily checking the three doors that led out of the room, but outside of a bit of rust on each of them they could discern little. The doors were thick enough to prevent any determination of how deep their other sides might be, either room, wall, or passage.

	Inva was kneeling on the floor, tapping a claw upon a thin stain on the ground. She twitched her tail and traced up the column to where the spray of liquid that caused the stain would have originated. Sure enough she found a small, almost undetectable pinhole in the metal surface. Another circuit around the column and she was certain that none of the other faces had such a feature.

	The tiefling tapped the face of the column with the spade at the tip of her tail. The others turned at the hollow clang.

	“One of the two levers here spits out some sort of liquid, either a trap or a water source. I can’t tell from the stain on the floor which it might be. Anyone care to find out?”

	Victor held out an empty glass vial, the remnants of a quaffed healing potion from the fight earlier. “At the least we can trap some of it here and then make a decision.”

	“Fair enough.” Inva said as Victor took the vial and held it over the pinhole. 

A second later as the others braced themselves Velkyn pulled one of the levers and a stream of colorless liquid filled the vial.

“It’s… it’s a healing potion of some sort.” Victor said as he sniffed at the liquid.

“There’s an irony. I was expecting acid.” Ankita said.

They pulled the lever a second time, using another empty vial, but the second time the amount of liquid was only half what it was the first time. They shrugged and passed it off as perhaps some internal reservoir needing time to refill. And so, not wishing to tempt fate on a third try with the same lever, they picked another at random.

Marcus was about to pull another lever before Velkyn stopped him.

“Wait a second. If anything is behind those doors when they open, why don’t we all stay invisible? I’ve got enough charges on the wand, at least for the moment.” The half-drow said as he held up the wand. “Not cheap, but it’s better than being dead.”

	“Work’s for me, and I can pull the lever without being close to it: Telekinesis.” Ankita said as Velkyn tapped her with the wand.

And so with all of them invisible, Ankita reached out with a tug of invisible force and pulled another of the levers.

There was a sudden brimstone smell that flooded the room and a sound not unlike the loud ringing of a bell or a gong. A second after the sound had given its hollow echo, a flash of light erupted in the room and a nearly twenty foot tall man appeared. Red skin and a thick black beard, the giant’s eyes were like lumps of burning coal set in his sockets and they darted around the room, looking angrily and hungrily for anything alive as he hefted an enormous axe.

The fire giant roared something in his own language which none of the group understood and they quietly backed away from him as he looked around in vain for where they might be hiding.

“Hey Dumbass – over here – behind the door.” Inva’s voice echoed out to the giant from a sudden magic mouth that she conjured into place on one of the exit gates.

The giant roared and pounded on the door several times to no avail. Despite his prodigious strength, the door barely moved on its frame.

“Yeah sh*thead, I’m talking to you. Come get me behind here.” Inva’s voice echoed out again, seemingly from behind the door.

The giant bellowed again in rage, pounding on the door one last time in abject frustration before he turned to the column and its levers and began to pull them at random.

And then something happened. Inva’s magic mouth, for the briefest of moments, was snagged from her control, looked at where she stood invisibly and smiled as if it were amused by her actions.

“Someone noticed…” Ankita’s voice said inside the minds of the others.

The giant, ignorant of what had happened, yanked one of the levers down and suddenly one of the gates opened into an empty cell.

“Wrong one dumbass. Try again.” Inva said mockingly.

Another scream of rage and another lever pulled.

The next gate swung open into a long, dark passage where if Inva hadn’t been throwing her voice by magic, she would have been standing.

“Whoops. Wrong again.”

And then the giant pulled a more unfortunate lever. There was another ring of a large, hollow bell and another flash of light. This time something emerged inside the previously empty cell. Roughly the size of a large dog, a pinkish-purple brain on four squat legs and with a lashing tail like that of some monstrous rat scuttled out and towards the only creature in the room: the fire giant.

Without a moment’s hesitation the group ran past the giant and into the darkened passage as the intellect devourer pounced it. They ran some fifty feet down the corridor with the agonized screams of the giant fading into the distance before they stopped at the sudden cloying stench of rot.

Victor swore in elven and covered his nose with his sleeve. The others stopped abruptly as well and winced at the carrion wind that blew down the passage. Somewhere up ahead there was something foul and rotten.

The stench however did nothing to stop the advance of Marcus and Francesca. However what the stench didn’t do, an unseen glyph on the floor did. Both of the fighters were enveloped in a brilliant static flash from the discharging rune and the subsequent explosive blast.

“Way to go guys. How about I just let you check for any traps from now on? You seem to be doing fine on your own…” Inva said from somewhere in the shadows.

Marcus glared as he swallowed a quaff of a potion and handed the remainder to his vassal.

Victor sighed, “If you would please check for anything else down the hallway Inva we’d appreciate it.”

The tiefling ran a finger over the cleric’s chin as she passed him, flashing him a smirk as she walked past the two burned and stunned fighters.

Ten feet ahead, Inva found a second pattern of marks on the floor, traced in diamond dust, glowing brilliantly under the effects of a cantrip allowing her to see their dweomers. Deftly and with obvious practice she nullified the rune by smudging a specific portion of its complex pattern.

“Done.” She said as the progressed further down the hall till they reached the source of the foul smell.

The rot blackened and desiccated remains of at least one or two corpses were plastered upon the floor and the adjacent walls of the corridor. The bones were mostly crushed to powder by whatever it was that had killed them, but there was otherwise no clue what had done the deed. All eyes however turned to Inva.

	She gave a cursory glance at the floor and found nothing outside of the gory splatters that coated the metallic surfaces. She passed it off as the past remnants of a fight or some spell’s effect on some berk. Then with a shrug she stepped forwards as a massive block of stone slammed down from the ceiling as she tripped its pressure plate.

	Somewhere on the other side of the block of stone Inva softly snarled to herself for having missed the trap.

	“Inva! You alive?!” Victor shouted as the air cleared of dust.

	“…whoops…” came her only reply.

	Of course the others gave her a deserved ribbing as they managed to squeeze past the side of the block of stone and then continued down the passage. For her part, the tiefling simply smirked and took the bemused commentary of her fellows in turn as she faded into the shadows with only the spade at the end of her tail flicking out of the gloom to announce her presence.

Soon enough the corridor sloped upwards and the emerged out into the source of the light and the blowing breeze. The cavern they entered was massive by almost any rationale, even containing its own local weather system. While it was still cut from the same dull gray metal as the rest of the tunnels and chambers, a white light erupted out like an artificial sun from nowhere in particular overhead and clouds dotted the upper reaches.

Velkyn squinted as his eyes adjusted to the sudden illumination, making him for a moment a scene of the stereotypical drow squinting at the light of a surface dawn. Though unlike a drow, the half-drow was over the squinting in a second or two, and of the group, only Inva seemed less than pleased at the fairly comfortable level of illumination.

	The group stood at the top of a valley with a single road leading down through a forest of iron trees that erupted like living things from the cold metal of the valley floor. The path wound its way through the trees and then switchback up a mountain at the center of the valley. At the very top of the mountain there was a single tree and something else, though it was miles off from their location and they couldn’t make out much more detail without walking there.

	They all glanced at one another tentatively before following the road through the valley. Though very obviously made or grown from rough iron, the treetops all seemed to blow gently in the wind. Then however it became obvious that it wasn’t wind, but that the trees were all moving, rustling with their proximity to the forest. Even more, the leaves, branches and thorns of the plants in the forest were razored.

	“All we need now is razorvine to make this complete.” Inva said with a chuckle as the others nervously watched the movements of the forest clustering around them.

	“Oh shut up.” Velkyn said with a smirk that bordered on a grin.


	Over the next hour or two they slowly made their way through the moving, hungry forest and up the mountain. Near the start of the trail that wound its way up the iron slope they noticed an inscribed stone plate in the path. Further up they say another and then another. Ascending the mountain like the stepping-stones of titans were the inscribed stones.

	The stones weren’t magical and there was no evidence of traps, though they made certain that Inva checked just in case. In sequence they read:

*"I was a man, and I was condemned here..."*

*"And then I found a key"*

	“Finally…” Inva whispered harshly.

	“Yeah, about damn time. It’s taken us hours just to get up here and we’re on a timetable.” Marcus grumbled.

*"I was so very happy"*

*"And then I met another man, he was purple."*

*"And then the mind flayer ate my brain."*

	“Ouch…” Velkyn said. “There’s something we’ll probably run into eventually in here I hate to say.”

*"And then I met this pretty lady who lived in a pond."*

*"But I wasn't shiny so she didn't like me. But she liked my key and so I gave it to her."*

*"I wasn't happy anymore."*

*"So I came back here. And here I am."*

	Standing on top of the mountain they glanced at the single dead tree that was tethered to the metallic soil at the edge of sheer precipice. A noose hung from the branches and the corpse of a man in haphazard clothing swung in the breeze, laughing insanely every few swings. At his feet the skeletal remains of a puppy snapped at his feet and gave a lifelike bark in response to the giggling, swinging corpse of the fool.

	“Sh*t…” Velkyn said as they looked at the giggling corpse.

	“Damnit.” Victor said as he didn’t even bother taking up his holy symbol. The corpse wasn’t a threat, it was a cruel joke played on them. Hours had passed and taken away from the limit they had to find the keys in, and there was no key here to be found. But they did have a clue at least.

	“The other door. The one with the fey woman… sounds like he gave a key to her.” Ankita said as she tried to hide her disappointment in the long trek up the mountain for no purpose.

	“But hell if there’s a mind flayer in here… damn.” Velkyn said. “That might be what the other door was hinting at, the one with the man and a shield warding off something.”

	“Maybe. But let’s get moving.” Marcus said as he glanced and shook his head at the skeletal puppy still yapping blindly at the heels of the fool.


***​
Clueless's illustration for the end of this update  Very spiffy


----------



## shilsen

Shemeska said:
			
		

> *"I was so very happy"*
> 
> *"And then I met another man, he was purple."*
> 
> *"And then the mind flayer ate my brain."*




Sounds like someone having a bad day


----------



## Ryltar

Wow.

This is really, really creepy and twisted.

Me likey .


----------



## Gez

Two updates on the same day! That's cruel, I got all confused between the two complexes after having to take a break from the computer...


----------



## Gerzel

All I'll say is that I hate shadows and their no save str drains.


----------



## Shemeska

Gez said:
			
		

> Two updates on the same day! That's cruel, I got all confused between the two complexes after having to take a break from the computer...




*chuckle*

It'll probably be two updates next week as well since I'm not running a game this weekend because of players taking exams next week and I've got research to do in the meantime.


----------



## Gerzel

Shemeska said:
			
		

> *chuckle*
> 
> It'll probably be two updates next week as well since I'm not running a game this weekend because of players taking exams next week and I've got research to do in the meantime.




D### YOU EXAMS D### YOU ALL TO HELL!

But let me pass them.


----------



## Spider_Jerusalem

Kytons and Mindflayers. I imagine someone gave you my 'what to include in a SH to make him read it' portfolio. 

I'm sorry to say that I never read the first planescape SH (but always wanted to, but too much water under the bridge to catch up. or something   ). I'm loving this so far - reminding me of that film Cube - which is a good thing. 

Well, keep up the good work and looking (from behind the sofa, covering my eyes   ) forward to the next update.

Spider.


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## Shemeska

Spider_Jerusalem said:
			
		

> Kytons and Mindflayers. I imagine someone gave you my 'what to include in a SH to make him read it' portfolio.
> 
> I'm sorry to say that I never read the first planescape SH (but always wanted to, but too much water under the bridge to catch up. or something   ). I'm loving this so far - reminding me of that film Cube - which is a good thing.




I'm happy that you're enjoying it! I've got the next update half written or so for next week already. 

It's not too late. It's several hundred updates and two years in material behind before that one's all said and done. You've got plenty of time. Plus, as this 2nd storyhour progresses, I have a firm feeling that the PCs may do stuff that intertwines with relics of the plot(s) of the 1st storyhour. It's not intended on my part, but the fallout from that campaign was rather large and it'll be hard to not stumble into it at some point. So the 1st storyhour may eventually fill in some background details. However this 1st plot arc, and the 2nd plot arc that I'm current in the process of running IRL, they're independant of the 1st storyhour, and so is the 3rd plot most likely.

And as for 'Cube', I watched all 3 Cube movies (And the Exorcist prequel) the weekend before planning this all out, so there's some background inspiration at least for the initial 'you wake up'. Though I'm taking as much inspiration from a previous DM of mine (who introduced me to Planescape) that involved the PCs waking up abruptly in a slave train in the Outlands without any memories of how they got there.


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## Ashy

Excellent update, as usual, Shemmie!    Oh, and some of you folks please drop by my new story hour, ok?  Lemme know what ya think.  See da sig!


----------



## Shemeska

*The clock is a' ticking...*

Another stretch of hours passed as they descended the mountain and wandered back through the forest. They were mostly quiet and sullen as they made the trek, given that they had wasted their time and had nothing to show for it. Velkyn’s mood was soured even more due to the lingering effects of the undead that had attacked him earlier.

	About three quarters of the way through the forest they heard the sounds of something heavy approaching. Inva, as per usual, was nowhere to be seen, and moments later Velkyn had turned the rest of them invisible as the fire giant from earlier came shambling through the wood.

	“Oh hell, this guy’s back. Doesn’t look like he can see us though.” Velkyn whispered.

	“Looks like the intellect devourer got control of him…” Victor said as he looked at the staggering, awkward movements of the giant and the glassy look in its eyes.

	“Somebody push him into the trees…” Inva whispered harshly from somewhere seemingly in Victor’s shadow.

	“Not a problem.” Ankita’s voice echoed in the others’ minds.

	The fire giant took several more steps forward when an invisible blow swept its legs out from underneath of it and sent it teetering off the path and into the tree line. Given that the intellect devourer lurking somewhere inside of it was having an awkward time controlling its new and unfamiliar body, the giant had little chance to right itself and avoid toppling into the forest.

	The results were sudden and immediate as the trees swarmed like rusted iron locusts over the giant’s flailing and screaming form. Blood splattered on iron as the trees began to rip the possessed giant to shreds with the preternaturally quick movement of their razor tipped limbs. It was over in under a minute and the group simply stood there and stared, slack jawed at the gory aftermath.


***​

	Under raised eyebrows and after nervously edging back from the forest’s edge they quickly made their way back to the central chamber in which they had awoken. Once there they glanced at a glowing illusion of an hourglass and the steady trickle of sand from its top to bottom chamber. Time was passing and as of yet they had little to show for it.

	“Alright,” Velkyn said, “The Fool said he gave a key to a pretty woman in a pond…”

	All eyes went up to the southern door and its mural of the Rusalka.

	“And that would seem to be her.” The half-drow said with a chuckle.

	“Lovely. This place is all full of joys.” Inva said as she swung the door open.

	Past the door the passage sloped upwards at an incline with tiny rivulets of water running down the metallic walls and pooling at a small drain just before the doorway. A pale light glimmered down the hallway and reflected off of the rust-streaked walls and floor from some unseen source.

	The group slowly trekked forwards till the passage reached a set of spiral stairs that ascended towards the light source somewhere high above. The source of the water was presumably in that direction as well and it dripped habitually down the length of the stairwell. The stairs themselves were made of the same metal as the rest of the passage and were fairly wide and shallow as they meandered up two complete turns till they exited somewhere above.

	The group paused at the bottom of the stairs and glanced warily at a set of bones on the steps. Whatever they were from originally, they had been there for a very long period of time as evidenced by their rounded, water eroded features. There was also a metal dart among the bones.

	“So I think it safe to assume that the stairs are trapped.”

	“Yeah, and that would be where I come in again.” Inva said as she tentatively stepped onto the stairs and peered upwards, looking for the source of the dart if it had been a trap.

	The tiefling paused and moved the bones aside. There was a pressure plate on the stair and another similar pressure plate two stairs up from it. Glancing up further there were likely others. The stairs were riddled with traps and it would be slow going if she was going to make sure that they didn’t blunder into an of them.

	But then there was the metal ridge, almost an over glorified banister, that stood to either side of the stairs. It was certainly wide enough to walk upon assuming that any person doing so had a decent sense of balance. Inva glanced down at her companions and chuckled.

	“The stairs are all trapped to hell. Climb up either side. Just watch yourself, the metal is wet and might be slippery. So watch yourself.”

	The next thing the tiefling saw when she regained her bearings were the faces of the others looking down at her. Inva gritted her teeth from the bump on her head and grinned at the design of the stairs as she realized what had happened.

	“Sons of b*tches. Clever sons of b*itches… the left banister is slicked over with and oil of slipperiness…”

	“Help?” Garibaldi said from the right banister where his feet were seemingly stuck to the surface.

	“And they put sovereign glue on the right side. Damn smooth design…” Inva said with genuine admiration as she hopped back up to her feet.

	“It’s going to be really awkward if Garibaldi has to lose his boots here. Anyone have anything to get him unstuck?” Victor asked as he winced at the situation and dreaded having to actually go up the stairs.

	Inva passed the cleric a small bottle of universal solvent, “That’ll work. And we won’t have to go up the stairs, just be careful going up the slippery side…”

	“Umm… given your stunning example of how to be careful on that side, you care to run that past us again?” Marcus asked warily, given that he and the other fighters would have a hard enough time ascending wet stairs as they were weighted down with armor and weapons, much less an artificially slicked incline.

	Inva grinned as she glanced up the stairs, chanted under her breath and a network of black, inky strands solidified into being like a shadowy version of some giant spider’s web.

	“Just be careful on it, but that should take everyone’s weight.” Inva said as she started to climb the black network of strands like a fiendish spider.

	“Don’t remind me of home.” Velkyn said as he started to climb up after the tiefling. “Spiders on everything…”

	Ankita looked at the webs and shrugged before she started to levitate upwards, only using the webs or the stairs as a means to guide her ascent up to the top.

	Collectively they ascended to the top of the stairs and found the hint of several more traps on the stairs as evidenced by bones on the steps, and then other things stuck to the right banister of the stairs as well: boots, weapons, clothing, and even an entire skeletal foot that looked to have been crudely hacked off to free its original owner.

	“By comparison I’d say we’re having a much easier ascent than the past few people.” Velkyn said as he finished his climb up to the top.

	At the summit of the stairs the passage opened into a single chamber, the center of which was dominated by a twenty-foot radius shaft in both directions up and down. From above, a waterfall cascaded from the inky heights of its source and fell downwards to a brilliant sparkling blue-white light that danced and refracted off of the falling current of the water. A lip of a few feet surrounded the shaft and was decorated with numerous statues of fey creatures molded into the metal of the walls.

	“Hmm…” Inva said as she looked at the shaft.

	The tiefling’s eyes glanced to a single corroded iron chain that dangled from a spike that had been magically set in the floor. The chain dangled over the lip of the shaft and descended for nearly a hundred feet to the bottom. Six or seven ropes, or their rotted remnants, also dangled over the side of the shaft from where they had been anchored to the statues at the rim.

	Looking to the bottom of the shaft, the waterfall fell into a large pool of indeterminate depth, making a sudden dive an uncertain prospect. From somewhere off to the side of the room the source of the magical light washed over the choppy water of the pool with brilliant intensity and a shadow of something to that same side seemed to reflect out over the water’s surface, though from their height they couldn’t make out any firm details.

	“I don’t trust it. Give me a bit to check out the side of the shaft for traps.” Inva said as she quaffed a potion, paused and then began to slowly walk down the walls from the sheer, slick lip of the shaft.

	“Well there’s no dweomers on the walls or the chain.” Ankita said.

	“I know, but I don’t trust this place to not have mechanical triggers, or weight activated traps. It’ll just take a minute.”

	Inva slowly made her way down the shaft, being certain to examine the walls for any unpleasant surprises. About a third of the way down she discovered one of them, but not the way that she had hoped as a dart shot past her and barely missed embedding itself in her side.

“Son of a…” She cursed as she traced the dart’s path back to a small, almost imperceptible spot on the wall. A moment later she had discovered a second such trap and blocked both of them.

“Alright,” she called up to the others, “Two traps so far but nothing else. Let me get a closer look down here though.”

The others nodded and watched her descend. Twenty feet more down the shaft and there was a flash of light from off to one side of the pool of water at the bottom and Inva gave a yelp as the magic binding her to the walls vanished and she plummeted downwards.

Ankita immediately jumped over the side and began to lower herself slowly down the shaft and Velkyn threw a rope down and began to quickly descend as well. Inva fell several dozen feet before managing to grab hold of the chain that dangled down from the top, snarling softly as she gripped the rusted iron with bruised, raw hands.

“Stupid dispel!” She called out to no one in specific as she turned to glance at the female figure that seemed to lurk near the source.

Velkyn quickly caught up with her as she was staring daggers in the direction of the figure, and probably close to throwing them as well.

“Hold on. Let me at least try to talk with her. She might be willing to just give it to us, or maybe bargain.”

Inva snarled and lashed her tail as Velkyn called out to the putative figure of the Rusalka.

“Greetings Madame. Could we speak with you.” Velkyn said politely to the figure that he could now clearly see was that of a slim, marble white woman with her back turned to the pool.

The Rusalka didn’t respond. Velkyn slipped from common to Sylvan and said the same. Again the Rusalka gave no reply.

Velkyn descended another fifteen feet and looked closer at the woman, finally calling out to her one final time. Still no reply, but he finally knew why.

“It’s a statue. The Rusalka is just a marble statue of one of them. No wonder she didn’t give the Fool much of a response…”

“Then she won’t mind when I break her arms off…” Inva said under her breath as she climbed to the bottom of the shaft and joined Velkyn at the slim lip of metal that surrounded the pool.

The others slowly began to climb down while Ankita slowly finished her magical descent. At the bottom of the shaft the pool’s surface was still choppy but they could make out the glimmer of a dusting of coins, possibly jewels, and a mixture of rusting and some still brilliantly gleaming weapons at the bottom of the water. Additionally, they could see dozens of skeletons of those who had presumably fallen to their deaths or been killed by the traps in the shaft.

Beyond the statue of the Rusalka the source of the gleaming light was an intact door made of some gleaming silvery metal. Opposite it was a smaller, darkness wrapped passage that seemed to serve as a drainage point for the pool.

	Inva and Velkyn glanced down at the pool and then to the door as Marcus and Victor joined them, and then there was a shout from above as Garibaldi slipped on the slippery links of the chain. The fighter fell a good two dozen feet into the center of the pool and it was deep enough to cushion the force of the fall, but then the ‘water’ began to ripple and surge around him.

	The fighter shouted for help as some manner of jelly or ooze that had been lurking otherwise unseen in the depths of the pool began to suffocate him. Victor and Marcus unsheathed their weapons and began to stab at the creature as best they could while Velkyn instead shouted something up to Ankita.

	“Heat the metal at the bottom of the pool if you can!”

	The sorceress nodded and gestured in the direction of the coins and weapons that littered not the pool, but the inside of the creature that was attempting to devour Victor’s cohort. At first there was no effect and the fighters below continued to stab at the amorphous being, but then the carpet of coins began to glow with heat and the gelatinous creature began to contort and spasm.

	As the spells continued to burn at the creature, its grip on Garibaldi loosened and his companions dragged him free of the creature’s grasp shortly before it gave its last convulsion and died as the water of pool was set to nearly a boil. As the jelly died, the water of the pool grew briefly discolored and then slowly drained away down the small side passage.

	Victor quickly saw to his cohort’s injuries while the others glanced down at the various items of both mundane value and likely magical status as well that were left behind in the wake of the pool guardian’s death. Marcus put down his weapons and shucked his armor before he dove into the pool and began to collect some of the objects he could reach before having to come up for air. As well, for her part, Ankita telekinetically snatched up several items that caught her eyes.

	Inva sat next to the statue of the Rusalka carving her name and an obscene epithet into the bare chest of the water fey, “You know, we can come back for this later if we have time. I’m less concerned with making money now than I am with getting done what we need to get done before our loving captor makes good on his promise to kill one of us.”
	Victor nodded as Garibaldi coughed up the last of the water from his impromptu swim. “I’ve got to agree with that. We only have one key and we wasted too long going down the wrong path to begin with. Let’s keep what we have now and come back later.”

	“Works for me.” Marcus said as he shook himself off and dried himself as best he could as Francesca handed him a towel from her backpack.

	Inva nodded and hopped down from the base of the rock the statue had been perched upon. She walked over to the gleaming magical doorway, knelt down in front of it and glanced back at the others.

“You might want to stand back. And hope I do this right because there’s something on the door that looks keyed to go off if you botch trying to open the lock…”

	The rest of the group did indeed back away from the door as the tiefling knelt down in front of the door and slowly, carefully picked the lock. Several minutes later there was a loud click and the door swung open.

	Inside was a dry, barren room that seemed to have once been used as a wizard’s study, or at least made up to resemble one. If it had once been fully stocked as such, it had long since been ransacked and stripped bare of most anything valuable. A table stood in the room’s center covered in a stack of books and a cracked crystal ball. A bookshelf on one wall was littered with moldered parchments and ancient, brittle scroll cases.

	Velkyn whispered a few words in draconic and scanned the room for dweomers.

	“The books on the table are magical but nothing else. No traps. Seem’s safe.”

	Marcus nodded, “Just so long as there’s a key.”

	The group passed into the room and slowly sifted through the ruined scrolls on the shelves and examined the room itself for any hidden cubbyholes or doors. Finding nothing of note they examined the books on the table. Each of the slim books was bound in the same otherwise unremarkable leather binding, and no titles were present.

	“Hmm, something written in the dust…” Inva said, pointing to a line in planar common written on the table in front of the books. “It says ‘Be Not Greedy’.”

	Marcus looked at the line, then back over his shoulder at the pool of water. He sighed and walked back, tossing half of the things he had recovered from its bottom back in. The others looked at him oddly as he walked back in but he dismissed the looks and pointed to the line in the dust.

	“Seems worth paying attention to. Whoever set this up is already watching us and I’d rather not tempt punishment on their part.”

	Ankita shrugged and picked up one of the books. She read its first page and immediately regretted the act, as she suddenly felt ever so slightly clumsier and less dexterous.

	“Damn it…” She said as she looked over at Velkyn as he too looked at the books.

	The half-drow had likewise picked up one of the books, and similar to Ankita, he wished he could have taken it back as he suddenly felt weaker and less hardy. He grumbled to himself and said nothing else. Things weren’t going his way, completely outside of having no memory of how he got to where he was or what was going on, things just hadn’t been working out: First a wight ripping his health from him and causing him to lose some of his most powerful spells and now a cursed book doing almost the same.

	Marcus, feeling a bit headstrong, picked up a book and felt somehow stronger as he read the first few lines on the otherwise blank page. He smiled and put the book back down on the table.

	“Not all bad apparently.”

	Ankita looked at the last book and snatched it up. “Let’s hope so because I didn’t have good luck the first time.”

	The sorceress read a line from the final book and felt nothing immediately occur, but the others suddenly saw that her eyes seemed to glimmer more and perhaps her demeanor seemed all the slightest bit more attractive and full of presence.

	Ankita shrugged and looked at the scroll that, unlike the books, wasn’t magical as far as they could tell. It was gibberish as far as she could see and so she handed it to Inva who was already trying to peer over her shoulder.

	“Go ahead, it’s nonsense.”

	Inva took the scroll and immediately disagreed, “No, it’s just mostly gibberish. There’s repeating lines of backwards elven in it.”

	The tiefling grinned and read the lines out to the others, “Sometimes things are easier to find than not, take the past of least resistance in this case. Now we have to reset the wards on the door; a pity.”

	Victor smacked his forehead. “The other tunnel where the water was flowing down. It’s probably in there and it probably isn’t even trapped…”

	“But here we are breaking through warded doors. Cute.” Inva said with a smirk up towards the ceiling in case anyone was listening in on them at the moment.

	Feeling a mixture of foolishness, irritation and optimism at being moments away from having one more of the keys they needed, they left the room and entered the other tunnel that led off from the pool.

	The tunnel was dark and irregular, seemingly having been partially eroded from the metal by the constant flow of water through some natural fault or fissure. As they passed through the passage they searched for shelves, hidden recesses or some other such area where a key might be hidden. They found nothing until Garibaldi stepped into a hole and sank into the fetid water up to his waist.

	“I think you found the path of least resistance there.” Inva said with a smirk as she looked down at the fighter. “Can you feel anything down there with your feet?”

	Garibaldi muttered about the water and then paused, feeling around with his feet in the depression till he brushed against something. “Yeah, there’s something down here. Feels like a box actually.”

	And indeed it was. A slim, watertight box about a foot long revealed itself as they pulled it out of the depression and brought it back into the well lit room with the pool. Inside, much to their relief was a slim metallic tile similar to the one that they already possessed.

	“Two down. Hot damn.” Velkyn said as the all grinned at one another.


***​

	Back in the center chamber once again they glanced at the remaining doors as their elation at some small measure of success was still freshly on their minds. There was still the unmarked, ice-covered door, the door with the mural of a man holding a shield defensively, and then there was the passage leading up. Velkyn was looking up at the mural of the rearing, entwined dragons that were fighting on the mural above the upper passage. The half-drow scratched his head and took a hard glance at the mural again.

	Velkyn had grown up with his father having several wyrmling shadow dragons and so he was somewhat familiar with dragons in general from them. The dragons on the mural weren’t fighting…

	“Those two dragons are f*cking each other.”

	Six sets of incredulous eyes turned to Velkyn.

	“Say what?!” Victor said as he looked up at the mural.

	Ankita snickered as she glanced at the mural. True enough the two ‘fighting’ dragons were copulating in the utter depths of passion with one another. It certainly put a different spin upon what they might expect up above.

	“Like I said, they’re f*cking each other. Look!” Velkyn said as he pointed up at the mural. “I’ve seen dragons before, and well, it sort of looks like they’re fighting if you don’t know what’s going on.”

	“Ankita? Can you levitate up there and send down a rope so the rest of us can climb up there?” Marcus asked as his cohort Francesca tried to suppress an awkward giggle at the cavorting dragons.

	Ankita nodded, “Not a problem.”

	She took the rope that Marcus handed to her and slowly rose into the air as she concentrated. The sorceress passed up the passage and after a decent thirty-foot ascent she let down the rope and called out for them to follow.

	“Couple problems though. There’s nothing for me to tie the rope to, so please send up someone light so they can help me with the rest of you. I’m not exactly the strongest person here. Plus… hope you don’t have any attachment to your armor…”

	“Huh?” Marcus shouted up the shaft.

	“One of that pair is a rust dragon…”

	“Cr*p…” Came the collective reply of the fighters and the cleric.

	Once they had all awkwardly ascended to the top of the shaft, they emerged into a large metallic cavern that was covered to at least an inch in a reddish-brown carpet of rust. Bit of weapons and armor and oddly scorched bones littered the floor of the chamber with unsettling regularity while various sets of tracks, both newer and more ancient, crisscrossed the blanketing layer of oxidized metal.

	Leading out of the chamber were two tunnels, one to the left and one to the right, both directly opposite from the other, and both with tracks leading into or out of them.

Inva sniffed at the air and made a face, “Ozone.”

	True enough, the acrid and pungent reek of ozone gently wafted out of the left passage and on closer inspection the blanket of rust was thicker to the right.

	“Probably a blue and a rust then. Mating? Screwed up kids…” Velkyn muttered.

	“Well presumably one of them has the key we need, though the gods only know how we’re supposed to kill them to get it. Maybe they’re in a bargaining mood…” Marcus said as he glanced at the carbonized bones.

	“I’m all for the blue one, it’s less likely to wreck our weapons if we then have to take on the other one.” Inva said.

	The others agreed and slowly, carefully began to make their way through the left tunnel. It emerged into another cavern littered with scorched bones and there was a reaction almost immediately as the bones rattled, joined together and animated with their approach.

	Victor grinned and raised his holy symbol. It was over in seconds.

	“The right god, huh?” Velkyn repeated as he recalled their earlier experience with the wights.

	Victor kissed the symbol of his deity and glanced down at the inanimate bones, their unholy energies scoured clean by the might of his god.

	“Well, that wasn’t so bad at all. Now we just need to find… oh…” Marcus said, trailing off as a sapphire blue reptilian head as big around as he was descended out of the murky gloom at the rear of the cavern.

	The dragon blinked and snorted derisively, sending a current of reeking ozone to wash over the group while tiny flickers of static discharged across its hide. The wyrm moved forward and the gentle rustle from the shifting of its bed of coins echoed across the cavern.

	It narrowed its yellow, luminous eyes and snarled, “I suppose that I’ll have to reanimate those little puppets now. Wonderful…”

He snorted again in irritation and his lips retreated slightly over ivory fangs the size of daggers, “So, did my b*tch of a wife send you? What does that old fat sow want this time? Because she isn’t getting it till I have back what’s mine.”


----------



## Gerzel

aaah...
L'amore!


----------



## shilsen

Shemeska said:
			
		

> He snorted again in irritation and his lips retreated slightly over ivory fangs the size of daggers, “So, did my b*tch of a wife send you? What does that old fat sow want this time? Because she isn’t getting it till I have back what’s mine.”




So what's the only thing worse than getting involved in an unhappy marriage? 

Getting involved in an unhappy draconic marriage!

Me likey


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## ajanders

*Woohoo*

Dragon Divorce Court.
Nice.

"Next, on Fantasy Family Feud, sibling rivalry in Chimerae.  Dragon head, would you like to speak first?"
*Foosh*
"Aiiee!"

--We are having technical difficulties.--


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## Ryltar

Might it be too much to suggest that old love does indeed "rust"? 

*ducks and runs*


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## Gez

Cool update.


Poor giant. It really wasn't his day. First ridiculed, then mind-controlled by a monster that ate its brain, and then, to add insult to injury, telekinetically pushed into a grove of flaying trees.

And yeah, it's always fun to get entangled into the affairs of creatures like great wyrms.

Oh yeah. Editing time.  “The books on the table are magical but nothing else. No traps. Seem’s *seems* safe.” There, it's over.


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## demiurge1138

I do feel sorry for that fire giant... his only crime was being big and stupid and wanting to kill the PCs... OK, so that's reason enough. But he died in a really bad way. 

And I love the idea of unwary adventurers caught up in the aftermath of a messy draconic relationship.

Demiurge out.


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## Gerzel

Lets see
Next episode we get into the big kobald conspiracey
Also we see some wrap-ups from the first game.  Like what color of women's panties does Vorkey Really perfer, and how his marrage with Shylara has been going (not too well).















If you belive that then can I sell you a Dabus?


----------



## Gez

Ooooh.... I always wanted to own a dabus!


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## Hammerhead

Yeah, I'm kind of stupid that way, so sure. How much?


----------



## Clueless

*impatient twitching* *harrasses Shemmie about getting new posts out*


----------



## Shemeska

*Issues of the Draconic Kind*

A note for this update: It's a hell of a lot longer than I expected, largely because if I'd stopped at the first decent pause point it would have been maybe 5 pages long, so instead you've got one about triple that. I figure it makes up for the two week pause in this storyhour, though admittedly this one will be like that with about 1 update for each 2 or 3 of the first SH.

Enjoy 
	

	
	
		
		

		
			







***​

“We’ve never met your wife… umm… sir?” Ankita said quickly.

	The wyrm quirked an eyebrow and shifted on its bed of coins to get a closer look at the intruders. As it moved into the light and leaned forwards more, it became painfully obvious that the dragon was indeed male, and a rather healthy one at that too.

	“Then I suppose that you want something else from me then. That’s what most of the dust here on the floor wanted at one time or another before they did something wrong, or made some offense, or got greedy, or maybe I was just in a bad mood. Something like that…”

	Ankita glanced over to Victor.

	Echoing softly in the cleric’s mind, and then to everyone else save the dragon, _“He’s huge. There’s no way in bloody burning Gehenna that we could reasonably kill him if he has the tile we want.”_

	Inva made no response to the telepathic warning as she stepped forward and bowed to the wyrm. “We mean no disrespect sir, but we came looking for a tile, likely metallic, and part of a puzzle of sorts that might let us leave.”

	The dragon nodded, “As I said, what they typically want. And yes I have it.”

	He reached down, dug under his scaled bulk for a second and then held out a slim tile very much like the two that the group already possessed.

	“If you want it, you’ll have to get something for me in return.”

	They looked at one another and nodded to the dragon who seemed pleased as he gave a wide, toothy grin.

	“I want my spellbook back and my wife has it. I don’t really care what you have to do to get it back, but I want it back badly. The b*tch can’t even get out of her own cavern. Our parents send us off to have a clutch of our own and she sets herself up, all bottled up in her own lair, and does nothing but gorge herself on coins. So much for a clutch and all that entails. She can’t do more than waddle by this point most likely.”

	Despite what the blue wyrm was saying, it was also obvious that his own solitude hadn’t done wonders for him either. He would have probably gone to ask her himself, but given his own size he probably couldn’t fit out of his own cavern either. The problem he decried her for, he had himself just as much.

	“Well, we’ll go ask her on your behalf then sir.” Victor said with a bow that was followed up moments later by the others.

	“Whatever, I don’t expect much out of you. She’ll probably just mope and moan and eat you like she does most everything else. She’s like a pig, a giant pig, a giant dire half-nalfeshnee piggy with scales. I swear that…”

	The dragon was still droning on about his wife as the group backed out of his cavern. Trying not to say anything too loudly that might offend him, they wandered out into the chamber that joined his and his wife’s adjoining lairs.

	“The brute couldn’t fit out of his own cave, and he’s whining about his wife?” Marcus said as he rolled his eyes.

	Ankita put a finger to her lips. “Not so damn loud. He hears you saying that about him and our deal with him might be gone.”

	Marcus waved a hand dismissively and brushed it off. Somewhere behind him, Inva’s tail bobbed silently with its bladed tip an inch away from his back, but she did nothing and walked out into the light.

	“Well, we don’t have much of a choice in the matter given that he could fry us with an errant sneeze.” Velkyn said with a sigh.

	“True enough. We might as well go see what the mistress is like.” The tiefling said as she trotted up to the start of the other cavern.

	They slowly followed her as the carpet of rust grew deeper as they went, several inches deep in places, and the walls were streaked with verdigris and pockets where perhaps a sneeze or errant breath by the wyrm had raked the side of the passage, perhaps against intruders entering her lair in the past. The latter thought was not pleasant and weighed on Garibaldi, Victor, Marcus, and Francesca’s minds as they glanced at their weapons and armor.

	But then they were through the small and winding passage that connected from the middle cavern and into the lair of the rust dragon, the female of the draconic pairing. It wasn’t difficult to find her in the least. She wasn’t hidden, nor was the light dim like in her husband’s lair. Just as large as her mate, she sprawled across a giant bed of golden coins, those being immune to rust and tarnish, with a literal dune of rust several inches deep built up around her.

	Her hide was a dull greenish-brown color with darker patches like tarnished pewter or dull tin, and her folded wings were more membranous, almost insect-like in some strange way, than those of her husband who was a fairly typical chromatic dragon as far as his own features went. And while her husband had smelled of ozone, a harsh and distinctive odor, she herself reeked of oxidizing metal like a ton of iron left to corrode in an acidic rainstorm.

	As they approached, she glanced up from where she lounged on her side with a large bone or ivory goblet in front of her that seemed filled to the brim with copper coins. She barely paid attention to the group as they slunk closer and closer. Instead she exhaled softly on the coins, liquefying a bit of the top layer of metal and then sipped the corroded metal like a vintage wine.

	“Madame?” Velkyn asked tentatively.

	She perked an eyebrow and turned towards them, shifting her rather chubby bulk forwards rather than truly getting up and moving. As she did so, the carpet of rust around her shifted and three golden colored constructs, each shaped like a wyrmling dragon, rose up to face her guests.

	The rust dragon waved one hand dismissively to the constructs like so many curious hatchlings she never had. “Oh don’t worry babies, Hlal’s joke on the world next door sent them.”

_“Oh yeah… no chemistry. Damn.”_ Ankita’s telepathic voice confirmed to her companions the exact same thought on their own minds.

	She rolled her eyes and exhaled a long, carefully controlled snuff of browning air over the goblet of copper. Instantly the coins shimmered and broke down into a greenish, semi-liquid, bubbling haze that she partially snorted and partially drank in a single pass of her tongue.

	As she finished, she motioned for the group to go ahead and say what they came to say. And all the while the golden constructs kept watching like clockwork draconic toddlers.

	Ankita spoke first, and tentatively. The last thing they could afford to do was royally piss off a dragon. 

“We wanted something from your husband, and while he was willing to give it to us, he wanted us to get him back his spellbook from you first.”

	The reaction couldn’t have been worse.

	“Oh… Garyx take his tail…” She rolled her eyes. “The limp little jack*ss stole my favorite mirror! And he expects me to give him back his spellbook? Pah!”

	Ankita’s voice whispered in the minds of the others, _“And I say again that wow do these two have absolutely no chemistry whatsoever…”_

	The wyrm had rolled over on her back, her neck extended out, looking at them upside down as she continued to ramble about her ‘darling husband’.

	“The stubby little runt could drag his ozone smelling ass into my lair and just ask me for it. But oh that’s right! He can’t! He’s too fat to fit out of his own lair and he never learned that polymorph spell when mummy offered to teach it to him.”
“And of course I don’t have the option of just leaving him and finding myself a boyfriend half my age, sharing my hoard with him, and…”

	She coughed and trailed off. “You get the picture.”

	Velkyn laughed and nodded, “Well, I know some but they’re a bit young, and not really your type at all. Otherwise I’d suggest them.”

	The half-drow gave a wink to her and she seemed to take it in good humor, but promptly used it as an excuse to segue into a further rant on her current partner. Old married humanoid couples had nothing on the two dragons in the least.

	And so they politely stood there and allowed the dragon to vent what probably was centuries of pent up grief over a failed and seemingly arranged marriage.

	“Well mummy and daddy said it was for the best to have us together. Said it would keep the family line pure and all. And so we went along with it, but then he changed the moment we had lairs of our own.” She said with an extended and melodramatic groan.

	Something broke in Velkyn’s head all of a sudden and he felt worse for it. _Oh damn. They’re f*cking inbred. Inbred dragons… I don’t want to think about this… that’s just disgusting…”_

	The others winced over the next minute as they came to the same conclusion while the rust dragon continued to ramble.

	“So, how does that sound?” She said, gaining their attention again. “He gives me the mirror back and –then- I’ll give him his spellbook back. That’s all I’ll do, otherwise you’re snacks. Go work it out yourselves with him now.”

	“That won’t… oh hells, alright.” Velkyn said with a sigh, as he walked back out of the lair with the others in tow.

	The moment that they had gotten clear of the rust dragon’s lair, Ankita made a retching motion. “Scaly perverts… they’ve got larger issues than marital problems. Ugh.”

	Inva made to smack Ankita on the rear with the flat of the blade on her tail, stopping at the last minute but leaving the insinuating in place. “Fiends are worse ‘hon. Dragons have nothing on them; ‘s the reason I’m here after all.”

	Ankita shot her a weird look, both for the unwanted suggestion and for reasons she wasn’t going to reveal to the rest of the group. _‘You have no idea about fiends. None at all.’_ She thought to herself as they wandered back to the blue dragon.

	“So I take it you have my spellbook? Or do I have lunch?” The wyrm said with a massive, toothy grin.

	Marcus spoke first. “She’ll give you back your spellbook if you give her back her mirror.”

	Ankita winced and Inva backed away from a direct line with the others.

	“Oh Falazure rot her rancid guts!” He snarled before giving a resigned sigh. “And here I was, going about stealing that to make her actually take the time to visit me. B*tch just moped around though.”

	“So…” Velkyn asked tentatively. “Will you give it to us to bring back to her?”

	“Hardly. She’ll just kill you and keep the mirror and my spellbook. Or you’ll keep the spellbook and use it to get out this place.” He snorted with a wash of ozone-tinged air spilling from his snout.

	Inva coughed and gave a suggestion to the dragon. “How about if several of us stay here as collateral if you will, for making sure that the rest of us actually bring you the spellbook back?”

	The dragon reached up a claw and tapped the massive bony spike at the end of his snout. He seemed somewhat intrigued. “You and him.” He pointed to Marcus. “You two stay here and if you double cross me…”

	He left the threat unspoken as he produced a large bejeweled mirror. The others nodded and accepted it as he handed it over to them to go present to his wife. 

	They ignored the little rustproof faux wyrmlings when they walked back into the female’s lair and presented the mirror to her, hoping for the best.

	“Haha! Oh you have my mirror!” The rust dragon exclaimed as she leaned forwards to snatch it out of their arms and promptly stare at her own reflection with a giddy smile.

	Almost as an afterthought she tossed a large, hidebound tome to them.

	“That’s what my husband wants. Tell him to learn something so he can actually talk to me for once without having to go through others.”

	Ankita ventured a suggestion, “You know, you two could try to talk to each other, maybe try to work something out. Send a construct out to pass messages, maybe strike up a dialogue?”

	She continued to look in the mirror, smiling and looking at her teeth. “It would have been so much easier if he’d actually learned that polymorph spell you know.”

	Velkyn spoke up and added his own thoughts. “Well there’s ways besides that, and he isn’t really angry at you so much as the situation. He just seems grumpy, and the separation seems like it’s just making it worse. Really, I think you can work things out if you try. He really does have feelings for you regardless of being cranky.”

	The dragon had put her mirror down on the ground and was scratching her scaly chin thoughtfully as they left and returned to her husband.

	Back in the other lair, the blue wyrm snatched up the book with classically draconic greed. He tossed them the tile without a second thought as he opened his grimoire and began to go page by page, muttering to himself about ‘so did she take any of the pages to snub me?’.

	Velkyn spoke up and mentioned to the dragon, “She seems to be doing rather well actually.”

	The dragon looked up and peered down over the length of his snout. “You don’t say…”

	“Really she is, she was just grumpy about the mirror, just like you and your spellbook. She does like you. The separation just seems to have taken a toll on you both. Maybe you could work things out. She didn’t seem averse to the idea if you two could find a way to talk more regularly, maybe eventually find a way to visit one another.”

	Like her with the mirror, he put down his spellbook and seemed to give a long hard look at nothing in particular as he pondered it.

	Finally he spoke. “It has been terribly long, and maybe I was being too hard on her. You know, I remember her back when we first came here. She had the most lovely pattern of verdigris over the scales between her wings. I really do miss her come to think of it.”

	Ten minutes of discussion with the wyrm later and they left carrying their newly found tile, their third of five. Behind them, snouts sticking out of the passages to their individual lairs, the happy couple was, for the first time in years, looking at one another with a pleasant, reconciliatory expression. And by the time the group had begun to climb back down to the center chamber down from their lairs, the two dragons were looking rather… well… frisky at one another and their tone of voice and choice of language was starting to match the gleam in their eyes.

	Not wanting to be present, and not being ones to stand in the way of love, regardless of how you might define it, they hurried down the rope and left the happy couple to their own devices.


***​

	Finally back into the central chamber they glanced at the two remaining doors. Still wary of the idea of a mindflayer lurking somewhere unseen, and given the seemingly obvious danger indicated by the mural above the western door, they moved to the northern one.

	Metallic and covered with its thin sheen of ice, it at first resisted their efforts to dislodge it from its frame.

	“I’ve got it. This can’t be that bad.” Victor said as he approached the door, braced himself and tugged at the handle.

	It ended poorly, and he realized that fact as he hit the ground and looked up, dazed with flickers of light running through his field of vision after his foot slipped on the doorframe where he’d braced himself.

	“Niiiiiice…” Inva said as she bent over the cleric and glanced down at him.

	Softly his brother chuckled.

	“Oh to hell with that door.” The elf said as he picked himself up off the floor, dusted his vestments off and kissed his holy symbol before fiercely yanking at the door handle a second time.

	With a sudden fierce cracking sound, a shudder ran through the ice coating the edges of the door and it broke free in a cloud of frost and flecks of ice. Victor beamed with that minor triumph as he held the door open with a flourish for his companions.

	“I repeat my previous statements about my god.”

	Ankita looked over to Marcus. “Next time we need him to do something, you laugh again and make like he can’t. That seems to work.”

	Marcus said nothing openly, but Victor’s cohort Garibaldi glanced at the sorceress and gave a quick, surreptitious nod of agreement.

	The corridor was bitterly cold as they ascended its upward slope into the darkness. Roughly five minutes later they began to see a glimmer of light at its terminus and a slight rush of fresh, if cold, wind from the same direction.

	“Looks like another cavern this time.” Velkyn said, as his eyes began a slow transition from one spectrum of vision to another as the light grew closer.

	“So long as there’re no carnivorous trees I’m alright with it.” Ankita said with a groan.

	“So long as there’s no mile high hike up a mountainside with nothing but a bad joke to show for it.” Inva chipped in from somewhere in the darkness.

	But when they emerged from the cave mouth and into the light, what they saw was very much not a mountain that filled the cavern, one even larger than the previous one. A forest stretched out across the shallow bowl of a valley, the soil of the forest floor coated in a glittering carpet of frost like a winter’s morning in some verdant barony on the prime.

	“Well, no mountain at least. Trees yes, and they might even be hungry ones for all I know. But no sodding hike up a mountain.” Inva’s voice was as optimistic as she got.

	Victor shrugged, “Well, mountain or not, the place is huge and we’ll have a hike ahead of us either way.”

	Following the trail that led away from their position and down towards the forest it seemed to pass through what resembled fallow agricultural fields, or at least fields that had been untended and gone wild. Beyond the fields the forest emerged, in places looking less like a forest than orchards that had grown wild in the years since they had been abandoned.

	All around, everything glittered with ice in the light like a scattering of diamonds strewn across the frozen surface of a field. But things glittered even outside of the ice that coated the trees like salt rime on a sailing ship.

	Ankita grimaced, “What the hell is up with the trees down there. I swear if they’re like the last ones…”

	Velkyn reached into his satchel that also held his spellbook and drew out a long telescoping spyglass. The half-drow pulled it out to its full length and turned his gaze down to the wild orchards and thicker forest beyond them. The frost glittered in the light, but the trees themselves glittered as well. Every one of them seemed to be carved from metal, from gnarled roots gripping the shallow soil, down to the blades of grass that grew up through the frost across the untended fields.

	“Everything down there is made of metal.” Velkyn finally said, answering the question that hung on the lips of the others.

	“More and more I think I know where we are.” Inva said with a petulant shrug.

	Victor nodded with a grimace, “And it’s not a healthy thought either.”

	“And that’s not all that’s out there either. Hmm…” Velkyn muttered as he focused with the spyglass.

	Past the glittering forest, shrouded in frost, was a stone keep atop a hillock, or at least the ruins of one. Nearly opposite it on the other side of the cavern was also what appeared to be a clearing and a cave mouth.

	Velkyn mentioned both locations to the others and they nodded.

	“We’ll figure out where to go once we’re through the wood. And let’s stay clear of the trees this time also, just to be safe.”

	And so they slowly made their way down the trail and into the valley, the frost crunching softly under their boots or hooves as they went. By the time they had reached the fallow fields before the edge of the orchards, they could make out more details.

	“The trees may look like metal, but they’re still alive and growing up right out of the soil of this place, though there’s presumably metal under the soil at some point.” Velkyn said as he glanced at one of the fruit trees; apple if he judged it right based on the dull silvery fruit that grew from the branches.

	“Silver.” Marcus said as he bent over to pick up a handful of loose leaves from the ground.

	True enough, each leaf upon the ground was made of the thinnest, almost pliable silver, tarnished at the edges and dotted with black in places like the rot upon a living, organic leaf. It was alive, or had been, and was made of solid silver.

	There was astonishment in Marcus’s voice as he walked up to the nearest tree and examined it. “The trees, they’re made of solid silver, everything here, right down to the fruit.”

	Rancid fear suddenly shot through Ankita’s mind as she glanced at the trees, all dangling silvery promises of pain, and fallen individual leaves that would be a nightmare in a stiff breeze. She proceeded very hesitantly as they continued through the fields and into the orchards.

	As the trail continued, it soon became obvious that the source of the bitter cold that washed over the valley was not a meteorological phenomenon, but a property of the strange silver trees themselves. The living metal apple trees and grape vines of the orchard, and the argent firs of the forest beyond them, they all exuded a chill onto the air cold enough to frock their limbs with icicles and patinas of frost. The trees seemed to leach the heat from the group as they made their way into the wood.

	Soon the trail began to meander, passing through the forest that was patchy and disorganized. Here and there might be snow dusted clearings, while in other places the forest was so thick with trees and frost that it formed nearly a solid silvery wall around them save for the path. Soon enough though, the path abruptly forked at the base of massive standing stone.

	“Does anyone know where we are in relation to that keep and the other thing Velk saw? I’ve lost my sense of direction here in the woods.” Victor said.

	“It’s too damned cold.” Inva grumbled as she walked up to the tall spike of stone. The tiefling’s attire was as brief as might be possible and yet remain entirely practical for her skill set. But if it was one thing, that one thing was not warm.

	Velkyn suddenly became much more appreciative of the greatcoat that he wore as he wrapped it around himself a bit tighter and glanced up at the sky.

	“Same here, the path hasn’t been straight, so I’m in the same position here. Ankita?”

	The sorceress nodded, “I could try to levitate up above the tree line and look, but I’d rather not risk it.”

	She left the exact reasoning for that decision unspoken.

	“I wouldn’t suggest it either.” Marcus said as he looked up into the sky.

	A flicker of movement above the forest and a soft shadow that graced the ground were all they saw as something passed high overhead. Looking up for a few minutes they saw it again: a flap of heavy wings, a dark form against the sky, claws and fangs.

	“What the hell was that thing?” Victor asked warily.

	Whatever it was, there was more than one in the sky and it seemed to pay little attention to them, though they weren’t entirely sure if it was aware of them or not.

	Velkyn looked up with the spyglass and slowly tried to focus on one of the creatures.

	“Gargoyles, of a sort. They look partially silver colored, just like everything else.”

	Ankita winced, “Lovely.”

	Inva tapped the spade on the end of her tail against the standing stone with a dull chink of metal on stone. “It might not be necessary.”

	Ankita raised an eyebrow and walked over to see as she bundled her cloak up, though entirely for effect rather than from actual cold. “Oh?”

	The tiefling brushed away the frost on the surface of the standing stone. It was more than just a decorative stone or a boundary marker, it was an archaic signpost. Two arrows pointed in opposite directions down the two branches of the path, and a series of runes were cut into the stone under each along with a pictogram. Oddly, the stone itself was either cut from a silver rich ore, or in and of itself it was being slowly transmuted to silver.

	Ankita tilted her head sideways in an odd perplexed expression. “I’ve never seen that language before.”

	The others said more or less the same thing; though Velkyn thought it similar in some ways to the dwarven runic script, and Marcus was almost certain it was related to a script he had once seen on a weapon of giantish making.

	“Don’t look at me, I don’t speak it either and I don’t have any spells to read it.” Inva said as she tapped the marker with her tail again. “But, I’ve worked out a little bit from context and some smatterings of other languages I’ve heard before but not fully learnt.”

	The pictograms were of a castle while the other was of a serpent of sorts coiled around the runes.

	She flicked her tail in one direction and than the other, “Something about a lord of the land; self explanatory with that castle image. And something about danger and a mine.”

	“I’m in favor of the castle myself. I’m rather getting tired of caves.” Victor said.

	Velkyn nodded, “Same here. But either way, we’ve got a long walk ahead of us. Maybe an hour, and if we don’t find a tile there, it’s double that over to the cave. But time’s wasting as it is.”

	“Irony as the drow agrees about caves.” Inva said with a chuckle.

	Velkyn rolled his eyes, “Don’t get me started. Or about spiders. Spiders everywhere, webs on everything. It’s an unhealthy fixation… or something.”

	“The castle sounds as good as anything else really. So lets be off then.” Marcus said as he started down the path with the others soon to follow.

	Over an hour and a half later they arrived at the edge of the forest and the base of the hill atop which rose the keep. It was centuries abandoned; the roof was caved in, the walls cracked, the eaves coated in ice and the windows shattered, their panes covered in frost. A broken path led up the hill to the fortress where the gates stood open and rusted, their tarnish that of silver rather than of ferrous rust.

	“I’m not holding my breath about this.” Inva said as she gazed up at the rubble.

	“Hell, it might just be hidden here even if there’s nobody home.” Victor added with a hopeful shrug.

	And so they approached the keep, wary for traps or lairing beasts but they found none of either as they made their way to the gates. Beyond the yawning doorway was the entry hall of a once grand manor, the demesne of some lord or baron, assuming of course wherever they were wasn’t just created for their torment.

	The entire keep and its interior walls were made of a smooth gray stone, and like the stone plinth in the forest, the stone was either an ore rich in silver, or it had begun to slowly transmute to that metal over time. Tattered flags and tapestries fluttered in forgotten glory of places and people lost to the ages as wind intermittently blew down from the holes in the roof open to the sky.

	The group walked into the entry hall slowly and cautiously, all except for Ankita who remained at the threshold. She was looking at the streaks of silver running across the floor with dread. She did not want to have to expose herself to touching that metal. She briefly considered not entering at all, or levitating and perhaps pushing herself along with a stick.

	“…wait…” She thought, feeling incredibly stupid for a moment. “…I’m wearing shoes. Never mind that.”

	She laughed at herself as she caught up with the others.

	“You alright?” Velkyn asked her, having noticed her hesitancy.

	“I’m fine.” She said, brushing off the question.

	Velkyn shrugged and continued into the keep.

	There was little left but ruined walls, tarnished suits of armor standing like silent, rusting guardians, and the cold frost-borne wind that whistled down through the crumbled, collapsed roof.

	The doors and ceilings were oversized and so were some of the pieces of dry rotted furniture. Between them and the banners and ancient heraldry that still hung upon the walls, they confirmed their earlier suspicions that the ‘lord of the land’ was a giant or similar creature. One of the intact banners showed a tall man who towered, smiling benevolently, over peasants tilling fields and tending orchards and vineyards.

	Then there was the final intact room of the keep, what had once been a banquet hall and throne room, and it was still occupied by its lord of years long past. A single figure sat in the room, nestled in the corner and talking to himself in a pleasant tone as he looked at a painting of persons long gone and passed away.

	As they stepped into the chamber the man looked up at them. His skin was a pale shade of blue, a pair of small white horns grew from his forehead, and his features were middle aged, bordering on elderly and he was very obviously blind. He was dressed in the faded, archaic clothing of nobility, and had he stood he would have been at least twelve feet tall.

	“Greetings my loyal servants, welcome welcome. Do the fields do well this season? Do the grapes still taste as sweet from the vine as they have in years past?”

	The group gave glances to one another.

	Victor spoke preemptively. “Yes. Yes they do. All is good and well.”

	A smile passed over the man’s face. “That is good. I was worried that the great serpent might once more be terrorizing my lands and my loyal subjects. But all is well. I am so very happy for this.”

	Ankita’s weary voice echoed in the minds of her companions, _“Damnit, he’s a f*cking petitioner. He won’t remember much, if anything, about this place if he really did rule over it at one time, however damned long ago that was. We might as well be talking to a wall.”_

	A rain of pebbles clattered across the floor and Velkyn and Inva glanced up. A dozen or more, maybe even as many as twenty of the silvery gargoyles sat perched on their haunches above them on the remnants of the keep’s roof, rafters and outer walls. How long they had been there, they couldn’t say, but the beasts were watching them intently.

	Ankita looked at the others after they had all been made aware of the watching creatures.

	“I don’t think they’re hostile. They’d have done something long before now.”

	Victor nodded, “I’ve got to agree. Can anyone here talk to them?”

	The sorceress nodded and reached out her mind to the first of the gargoyles.

_“Hello. We came here without meaning any harm. We’re looking for a small metal tile, part of a lock of sorts preventing us from returning to our homes.”_

_“If you had meant harm you would have been dead in the forest. You have been respectful to the voievod, and we appreciate this. He still thinks himself the king and protector of his people of old, and we see to it that he remains in his blissful nostalgia, untroubled by his ancient foe.”

	“Ancient foe?”_

	The gargoyles looked to the east in the direction of the cave or mine, the place denoted with a serpent on the stone in the forest. _“The twin serpents. The wyrms who troubled him and his province and his people for so many years. In the end they ransacked his lands, destroyed his keep and slew him. They are still here with him now in death and we keep watch over them to ensure that they do not come here. One of them wanders from the mine while the other remains within guarding their stolen hoard always.”_

	Ankita nodded and relayed the information to her companions.

_“Do you know if your lord here has the item we are looking for?”

	“He does not. All that he has are books and portraits of the long dead. He reads them and remembers, he talks to them at times, his world of his memories is his bliss before he eventually fades. He does not have what you seek, though the serpents might. The others who came to the wood several days ago, they were searching for something as well. That may have been it.”_

	Ankita blinked. _“Others? Who? Are you sure?”

	“Yes, though they did not approach the keep and so we left them observed but unmolested.”

	“What did they look like? And how many?”

	“A half dozen of them in all. One in robes, a leader perhaps, one who we sensed but could not see and who flew as fast as we did, and the warriors that went with them; black as soot was their armor. Very strange, we had never before seen such as they.
	“They fought one of the serpents, the golden one without limbs, and they may have killed it, but one of their own was killed.”_

	Velkyn ran his hands through his white hair. “Sh*t, we have competition.”

	“Not for long…” Inva said darkly.

***​


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## Ryltar

Nice update, once again .

Now, does Ankita have some kind of lycantrophy thing going here, or does it have to do with her (assumed) past dealings with / possible origins as a fiend? I wonder ...

Introduction of "another party" is always nice, as this is the point where the adrenaline kicks in . "What, you mean we can't just take our time anymore? Hurry!" However, their description doesn't give away much. Damn, now I'll have to wait another two weeks .

[edit] And I just love the tail-blade. Great idea, that.


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## Clueless

Ryltar said:
			
		

> Now, does Ankita have some kind of lycantrophy thing going here, or does it have to do with her (assumed) past dealings with / possible origins as a fiend? I wonder ...




The answer to that has already been covered earlier in the thread.


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## Ryltar

I am aware of the fey aspect, just thought there was still more to come .


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## Clueless

Ryltar said:
			
		

> I am aware of the fey aspect, just thought there was still more to come .




*confused look* Um - Velk's the quarter fey, not Ankita.
Loths are horrifically allergic to silver - like the way fullblooded fey are to iron.


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## Ryltar

You're right, of course... I hold the terrible heat responsible for that mix-up.

*slaps self*


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## FyreHowl

It's alright. Ankita's a strange little thing. 
I think she confuses just about everyone sometimes. Including herself.


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## Shemeska

Man, I need to update more, can't let this slip down to page three  





It took them over two hours to make their way from the ruins of the keep and its petitioner king over to the edge of the frozen silver forest where it rose into hills and up towards the supposed lair of the great golden serpent. As they wrapped their cloaks tighter against the bitter chill, the gargoyles flew overhead, watching them out of curiosity rather than any malice.

	“I’m not looking forward to this. Another group in here with us changes everything.” Velkyn said as he shivered in his cloak.

	“I am.” Inva said as she tapped the edge of her sword against the sheen of ice on an adjacent tree and then skewering a fallen, tarnished husk of one of its silvery apples. 

	“Well, it might not come to that, and it might even help actually. Maybe they have the key from beyond the other door that we haven’t been through yet.” Victor mused.

	“Or it might end up that we’re being pitted against one another for the amusement of someone.” Ankita muttered. The cold didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest and at times she was forgetting to pretend to shiver.

	“I find that much more likely given what we’ve seen so far.” Marcus said as they continued walking.

	Gradually the forest thinned, the path rose, and they stood before the approach to the mouth of the mines and the lair of the twin wyrms. The gargoyles no longer flew overhead. They were wary of the presence of the serpents that they had spoken of.

	“Damn there’s been a fight here…” Victor said as they walked up into the carnage.

	Around them, the evidence of a recent battle was obvious. The remnants of a fierce display of magic were visible; charred patches of terrain, melted silver that had cooled into misshapen puddles on the grown, the scent of cinders and ozone and the bitter smell of acid. And then there were the two corpses at the heart of it. Both of them lay in the open space that stood before the yawning entrance of the abandoned mine.

	The so-called wyrm was massive; though rather than a giant snake or a true dragon, it had the head of a human woman. The ‘wyrm’ was a naga. The corpse was scaled from head to tail in a glittering patina of emerald and gold, though blue-black blood discolored it where it pooled according to the whim of gravity and where it gave way into the viscera in bloody gashes and angry bruises from physical blows. But though its hide was marked by the gashes of blades and spears and magic, it seemed to have been killed by whatever retributive spell seemed to have erupted before or upon the death of the second corpse that lay near it in a veritable smoking crater, seemingly a wizard.

	That other corpse was little more than a charred husk, possibly from some final attack of the naga or perhaps from its own dying contingencies. The man, if it had been male, was dressed in the remains of a black robe, sullied with soot and bits of ice. Portions of the corpse were gone entirely as if they had been melted away by acid, but from what they saw, he had not been human. Bits of fur remained on the body and the blackened, fire seared skull was elongated and vaguely canine.

	“A gnoll perhaps?” Victor said, looking for some sort of holy symbol and failing to find one. “They’ve got a known practice of being led by their shamans, so this might have been one of them.”

	Inva stepped around it, tapping the burnt remains of its robes with the tip of her sword.

	She frowned. “Whatever it was there’s not a bent copper left on the body. Either is wasn’t carrying anything or their companions stripped them clean after they died.”

	“The wyrm though, it’s a guardian naga.” Velkyn said as he looked at the corpse.

	“You say that like it’s strange. Why?” Marcus asked curiously.

	“Well, they’re not evil as far as I know.” The wizard replied. “Lawful yes, but not necessarily good. And the petitioner king didn’t strike me as an evil type either. Probably a dispute over something that didn’t really amount to malice by either of them.”

	“Kingdoms have been to war over less, believe me.” Marcus said with a sigh.

	For a few more minutes they clustered around the body, giving it a more detailed examination and looking for track or other evidence on the ground that might tell them about the other group that was presumably already in the mines.

	Ankita said nothing, but she knew how wrong they were. The body wasn’t damaged by anything the naga had done. Rather, the body was dissolving on its own, leaking back in pieces across the planes to its home, dissolving into a puddle of acid and manifest evil as it broke down into its metaphysical constituents. Far from being a gnoll or some other monstrous humanoid, the wizard had been an arcanaloth.

	Though she said nothing, the metaphorical wheels in her head were spinning like those of a train gone off its track and hurtling down with the ragged flow of gravity over the edge of a cliff. Thoughts came unbidden to her, thoughts of family, the smiling jackal’s countenance of her father, the withering and snarling disdain of her grandfather; she saw all of that reflected back up to her in the eyes of the dead.

	Looking past the corpse and into the yawning mouth of the cave, she worried what they would find past it, down into the darkness. How would those things react to her? And how would her current companions react to such?


***​

	“Ankita, you ok?” Velkyn said, nudging the sorceress from her thoughts.

	“Oh, yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” She said as she brushed it off and walked towards the cave entrance where the others were waiting.

	The fighters went first with Marcus, Francesca, and Garibaldi heading into the darkness. Victor went next with a conjured globe of light fixed to the tip of his mace. Last were the two casters standing behind the more heavily armored members of the group, and finally Inva slunk behind them all, intentionally staying out of the fringes of their lights.

	They descended down into the gloom of the mines, their light glinting off of the silver-veined rock walls. The passage was winding, highly irregular in its descent, and a coating of rock and silver dust coated the walls and the floor.

	Ankita winced at the surroundings and began to hover slightly off of the ground, allowing gravity and a few nudges against the wall to propel her in line with the others. She was frightened just as much by the surroundings as she was by the possibility of full-blooded fiends waiting for them down below.

	“There’s a light up ahead. Hold on.” Victor said as he held up a hand for the others to stop and cover their own light sources.

	Though they worried about persons lurking in the mine, the source of light was anything but. Further down the passage the walls were covered with a sort of semi-organic, phosphorescent silvery moss that gave off a dim glow. It was fine, almost like metallic tinsel. They gawked at it for a moment before shrugging and continuing down, noticing the oddly shaped footprints that tracked through the moss. They didn’t look human. In fact, in places where the moss was trampled they saw the evidence of flecks of dried blood, and the air was despoiled with a growing stench of brimstone.

	“Whoa! Stop!” Inva hissed suddenly from the rear of the group. “There’s something on the ground.”

	The tiefling stepped out of the shadows like she stepped out of a thick layer of oil; it clung to her for a moment before letting go and giving her up to the light.

	“Sh*t… you already stepped over it.” She said before she added a curse in an archaic tongue and slipped past Victor.

Directly beneath Marcus was something that glowed with magic as she whispered a cantrip to make out its nature and patterns. Inva looked at a faint symbol there, a rune traced in the air and the silvery dust of the tunnel floor, holding the powdery metal like iron filings to the lines of force of a loadstone.

	“What the hell is that?” Marcus asked as he looked down, finally seeing the outline of the symbol that lurked below his feet.

	“It’s a variation on an explosive rune spell. It’s a poor-man’s symbol, but it doesn’t seem to be active for whatever reason. Normally you’d be missing your legs at this point. Bully you.” Inva tapped the blade on her tail against the stone and smirked. “I can’t really tell anything more about it though. It might be keyed to go off for something specific, but I can’t say for certain. Don’t directly touch it and everyone should be fine.”

	Inva glanced up to Velkyn and the wizard nodded in agreement. While she had been talking he had whispered the same cantrip and reviewed the quiescent rune. He couldn’t tell anything more about it than her.

	And they were fine as they gingerly stepped over the latent rune, all until Francesca crossed its border and it erupted in a discharge of heat and flames. Francesca had been the first of them to cross it who had been good.

	“Sh*t!” The fighter said, as she winced against the burns across most of her lower body.

	Velkyn was at her side and activating a wand to heal her wounds almost immediately.

	“Knew this wand would come in handy.” He said as Francesca slowly recovered.

	“Well, now they know that we’re coming. And if not that, then you berks in heavy armor who don’t know the meaning of the word quiet.” Inva smacked a hand against the wall and sighed.

	Once they had recovered, bickered over fault, and made certain of no more traps waiting for them, they continued. Fifteen feet down and the passage opened up into a cavern, and ten feet into it the radius of their light was swallowed by darkness.

	Velkyn blinked. The darkness wasn’t natural and his own heritage wasn’t piercing the gloom. The darkness was conjured by magic and something lurked behind it, waiting for them and watching.

	“Guys, that darkness is magical. There’s something back there.” Velkyn said as he fingered a wand at his belt.

	Ankita sighed and stepped forward to the dim strip of failing light, that no-man’s land between them and the fiends. She reached out with her mind, broadcasting to any who might listen. 

_“Who are you?”_

	There was an insectile chatter in the conjured darkness and the rustle of wings high above them. Something reached out to answer the sorceress. The voice was septic, a smug snarl of something newly elevated to a position of power.

_You’re an odd one… what’s wrong with you?_

_Absolutely nothing._ She replied back to the mind of the other fiend. It felt like a greater ‘loth, but only barely. _And if you ever wish to be more than you are now you’d know not to question your superiors in such a way. Am I clear on that?_

	The figure up in the darkness seemed surprised and momentarily cowed by her tone.

_What are you doing here?_ The sorceress mentally demanded of the being up in the darkness, a Nycaloth she was certain. _Show yourselves._

	Back in the light, Ankita held up her hand to calm her companions as a trio of black-shelled mezzoloths, their eyes like smoldering coals, stepped out of the magical darkness and the dim figure of a bat-winged nycaloth, nearly seven feet tall, hung from the ceiling as it dispelled the darkness that had cloaked it as well. After a pause, and a glance behind itself, the nycaloth snarled softly up in the gloom as it looked down at the sorceress and her companions.

	“We were summoned here under the immediate command of the Yagnaloth, Rezzivus.” The nycaloth said, addressing Ankita and ignoring the others entirely. “We are currently bound to this place till we can recover a series of items.”

	“And where is the Yagnaloth?” She asked him skeptically.

	“The room behind us.” He replied. “Rezzivus is bound to the chamber there and it is also warded against our kind. We cannot release him, nor gain the item we require. The arcanaloth who had been with us previously would have dispelled the wards, but the bloody b*tch naga outside the mine killed him.”

	Victor and Velkyn both narrowed their eyes at the fiend, Inva was conveniently not visible as far as anyone could tell, and the fighters were nervously considering the odds of having to fight two mezzoloths in close combat. The fiends were unimaginative, dumb of rocks, the least manner of yugoloth there was, but they were brutally effective fighters as fodder for the Blood War. If they came to blows they would not be assured of victory.

	“You however. You could break the warding I assume, yes?” The ‘loth said with a hungry look in its eyes.

	“I don’t have the spell myself, but our wizard does.” Ankita stepped forward and glanced past the fiends and into the room beyond. There, sitting within a glittering circle of runes was a red skinned, massively muscled Yagnaloth, a petty baron as far as ‘loths went. “I think we can work out some manner of deal.”

	The sorceress then paused suddenly and looked out across the room. Something wasn’t entirely right. There was one other mind out there in the darkness.

	“How many of you are there?” She asked, narrowing her eyes.

	The nycaloth raised an eyebrow and smiled. “You see us. Why do you ask?”

“Don’t lie to me.” She said with a shake of her head. “There’s one more of you out there in. What was it I said before, do you remember that?”

	What she had said to the fiend, about promotion, about how to address his superiors, that was something she hadn’t spoken out loud, and something she had no intention of getting into with her companions. They didn’t know what she was, and she wasn’t of the mind to tell them given the current situation.

	Swathed in shadows, Inva was staring at the bound fiend in the chamber beyond them. The tiefling surreptitiously whispered a cantrip and took a close look at the yugoloth. It glowed with illusion magic and a fierce glow of abjuration. The ‘loths were indeed likely warded from entering the chamber, but there was no Yagnaloth therein.

	Inva stepped out behind Ankita and whispered into her ear. “That Yagnaloth isn’t real. It’s an illusion.”

_“The nycaloth.”_ Ankita said into the minds of the others. _“He lied to us, probably wants us to walk in there and set off a trap, or whatever else is inside.”_

	“A Yagnaloth hmm?” Ankita said with a glare up at the nycaloth. “That’s twice now that you’d lied to me. What, you think I wouldn’t notice? Do you take me as stupid?”

	“…my apologies. We could still come to some manner of bargain with regards to the wardings on that chamber however. Yes?”

	Ankita frowned. “Let me discuss it with my fellows.

_”Now. If you’re going to make a move on them, do it now. We can’t trust them not to dick us over on this.”_ The sorceress’s mental voice echoed to her companions and they sprung into action.

	Velkyn was first, gesturing with his fingers and whispering harshly in draconic. The spell leapt from his hands like an electric spark into the midst of the fiends. Nothing happened. Nothing at all happened as it was swallowed up by their innate resistance to magic.

	“Damnit!” The half-drow shouted as he withdrew several more feet behind the fighters.

	The fiends were next and two of them were suddenly surrounded by rapidly swelling clouds of sickly black vapor that caused the group of stumble and cough. But if the fiends had been hoping for it to incapacitate them, they had been far too hopeful as both Marcus and Francesca charged the closest of the three mezzoloths.

	The fiend raised its trident to block the first blow from Francesca but it was stabbed twice by Marcus and given a shallow cut by a backhanded blow from his cohort. Still, much of the damage was healed immediately by the fiend’s supernatural flesh.

	The third mezzoloth leaned backwards and hurled its trident at Victor. The black iron weapon whistled through the air and slammed into the cleric’s shoulder. He winced against the pain as he nocked an arrow and shot at the commanding nycaloth, putting off the wound in his shoulder. The arrow that impacted the fiend a moment later was ensorcelled with a magical sleep effect, but though it struck home, the fiend was either immune to it or its magical resistance had once again protected it from harm. Victor cursed.

	“Lying son of a b*tch…” Ankita snarled as he pointed to the nycaloth and hurled a bolt of lightning at it with a sudden resounding clap of thunder. The greater yugoloth managed to evade a portion of the bolt and it seemed little more than singed as it glared back at the sorceress.

	With a laugh at the sorceress’s ineffectual assault, the nycaloth launched off of the ceiling with a single flap of its wings to hurtle towards Victor. It caught him with one of its hind claws as the cleric tried to dodge and opened a foot long gash across his chest before flapping its wings again to carry it out of the range of attack.

	Velkyn was chanting again, calling forth another spell from memory, and once again cursing the undead from earlier that had robbed him of his most potent spells. They would have been supremely useful in their current fight, but as it was he hurled a series of glowing missiles at the nearest mezzoloth, only to again watch them be swallowed up to no effect.

	“F*ck this!” The wizard said as he backed up and hid himself as best he could in the darkness.

	As Velkyn withdrew and Victor cursed against the pain that threatened to make him black out, Marcus and Francesca had both drawn pistols and taken aim at the mezzoloth in close combat with them. Their guns went off with sharp percussive snaps and the fiend’s chest was nearly ripped open clear to the other side by one of the shots. It staggered and collapsed in a twitching pool of blood, acid and chitin.

	The other mezzoloth, seeing its fellow collapse, turned and charged the two fighters as they held empty pistols with no readily available weapon to block its attacks. The fiend jabbed its trident into Francesca’s chest in rapid succession. She screamed in pain as crimson blossomed across her clothing and she stumbled, woozy from the loss of blood.

	Ankita was ready to hurl another spell when Velkyn harshly whispered to her out of the dark.

	“You have telekinesis. The floor is covered in silver dust. Grab it and shove it down the damn nycaloth’s throat!”

	She blinked and looked down at the floor as up above the nycaloth was preparing to swoop down again to rake its claws over another victim. The greater fiend had spread its wings and begun its descent when the dust twitched and stirred, began to eddy like a dustdevil, and then rose up in a funnel to meet and envelope the nycaloth in its burning embrace.

	A scream rent the air as the fiend inhaled the cloud of silver and had the metal forced into its eyes, its pores, and the membrane of its wings; every fold and pocket of its flesh was coated in that cloud of agony. It broke off its dive and began to writhe and bat and claw at its own flesh, trying in vain to divest itself of the allergic agony that burned it like a hot brand, like cold iron to a pixie. Ankita laughed at him even as she concentrated on his death.

	One of the two remaining mezzoloths brandished its trident and charged the sorceress. It caught her unaware as she continued surrounding the nycaloth with that burning cloud of silver dust. The trident sunk into her chest with a sickening crunch and the mezzoloth snarled in triumph for but a moment before the wounds sealed themselves without any lasting damage.

_Stupid, stupid fool! You think you could attack me and accomplish something? Idiot!_

	Ankita snarled at the insectoid fiend as it realized to an extent just how f*cked it was for attacking what it believed to be a higher caste fiend and thinking it could have gotten away with it. The mezzoloth lowered its trident, clacked its mandibles together in worry and fell back whimpering submissively.

	Velkyn put off his shock at the effect of the mezzoloth’s attack on the sorceress as he glared at the cowed fiend from where he stood in the shadows. “Switch sides. NOW.”

	The mezzoloth whimpered and glanced at the half-drow wizard, then to the snarling sorceress and finally back to his nominal commander. The nycaloth had stopped screaming in pain and seemed to momentarily phase out of existence, but all was for naught as he lost concentration and his attempt to teleport away to safety failed miserably. The mezzoloth’s morale was breaking.

	The other mezzoloth was still blindly following orders and it was preparing to hurl its trident at Velkyn when Garibaldi charged it. He landed a blow that staggered it, disrupted its intended actions, but did little actual harm to the fiend. Still, its guard was down, its position compromised, and moments later Inva’s blade was buried in its back as she emerged out of the shadows.

	The fiend winced and stumbled forwards, taking another series of blows to its body as Marcus and a terribly injured Francesca moved up on it as well. They were doing little damage versus the yugoloth’s innate resistance to weapons, but they were slowly wearing it down. However, in the meantime it was savaging them with one or two rapid jabs from its own polearm.

	Marcus was caught under the ribs by the fiend and hurled backwards before it swiveled and jabbed the blunt end of the weapon into Garibaldi’s face. Given a momentary respite as Victor backed off to heal his brother and Inva had once more vanished, the fiend glared angrily at its fellow mezzoloth who had simply stood there and not given it aid.

	Ankita snarled at the nycaloth as she continued to hold the burning, searing cloud of silver dust around it like a white-hot cloak. It was dying, and there was little it could do to escape the cause of its agony.

	“Whose side are you on anyway?” The sorceress said to the whimpering turncoat mezzoloth. “Make a decision now.”

	The answer was blunt and succinct, and it was entirely ‘loth: “The side that’s winning.”

	There was no time to respond though as the other mezzoloth snarled at its former companion and turned on it. It jabbed at the traitor fiercely, and in turn the traitorous ‘loth leapt at it and slashed at its neck where the chitin plates joined at an exposed angle. The still loyal mezzoloth was doomed though, even if it could defeat the other fiend it was being assaulted by the three fighters at once as they surrounded it. Even though the fighters were all injured, some brutally injured, they had numbers of their side.

	But while that fight was drawing to a quick and bloody end, the Nycaloth’s thoughts had turned from escape and self-preservation to revenge. Ankita had only a moment to look up into the flaming figure’s snarling face as it launched out of the darkness and sunk its claws deep into her flesh, grappled her in its embrace.

	“Get the f*ck off m…” She screamed into its mind a second before it grabbed her head, breathed in a cloud of silver swirling around it, pressed its lips to hers and forcefully exhaled into her lungs.

	Ankita gasped for breath and belched flame out of her mouth in ragged bursts of searing bloody mist as she collapsed onto the ground next to the corpse of the nycaloth as it shuddered and expired. It was dead but it had shared its pain with her in a vicious perversion of a lover’s embrace.

	Victor had healed himself and then quickly approached her to offer the same to her, but he was stopped by the mezzoloth as it raised its trident and glanced down at her. It snarled at the cleric and interposed itself as he tried to reach the sorceress.

	The yugoloth looked down at her as she struggled to get to her feet on slashed and bleeding limbs, and regain her breath through crippled lungs. It spoke to her obediently, like a puppy seeking the approval of its master. “Mistress… one of your servants wishes to reach you. Shall I allow him?”

	“Yes,” she said to it through ragged speech that left spatters of blood and tissue on the ground. “Assume unless I tell you otherwise that they are acting with my approval. They know what they need to do, and they know their place. Be aware of yours.”

	The fiend bowed its head nervously and slunk after her like a dog that had been smacked on the top of its muzzle. It did not speak without being asked a question after that point as the cleric chanted a prayer to his deity and began the process of healing the sorceress’s horrific burns and slashes. Still, the fiend exuded a deep disrespect for the cleric, but as the elf was useful, and helping his new mistress, he was to be tolerated.

	The others periodically stared at Ankita’s ‘pet mezzoloth’, but so long as it didn’t harm them, they didn’t press the issue. Questions were left lingering in their mind though, even if they didn’t ask them.

	In the aftermath of the conflict Inva had walked up to the edge of the chamber the ‘loths had been trying to get them to enter. Past the doorway, the illusory Yagnaloth still strained against the nonexistent wardings that bound it.

	“I’ll be right back.” The rogue said as she nodded at Ankita.

	The tiefling ducked her head into the chamber and immediately back out.

	“No Yagnaloth, but there definitely is something bound in there.” Inva said with a wary chuckle. “They’ve got a very angry looking bone naga coiled in front of the back wall, right in front of a small chest you can see in there.”

	“Ankita?” Velkyn asked the sorceress. “Can you snag that chest in there without actually walking in? If we can avoid having to actually fight that thing…”

	She nodded. “I’ll try, but it depends on how far away and how heavy it is. But given that I used half my decent spells just now, I’m not in the mood for another immediate fight.”

	A minute or so later, the illusion faded to reveal a coiled mass of serpentine ribs and vertebrae topped with a humanoid skull, greenish light leaking from the eye sockets. Ankita didn’t look at it as she reached out a hand and delicately tried to grab hold of the chest behind it. The distance was longer than she was used to, and the box was heavy. She managed to make it rattle, but she couldn’t fully lift it up. And even if she could, she might not be able to lift it up high enough to avoid the naga simply snatching it away.

	Victor looked at the bone naga. The wyrm was very obviously undead, though he wasn’t entirely sure how powerful it might be and how resistant to his deity granted powers over such creatures it was. Still, it was worth a try.

	“I can’t turn undead many more times while we’re here, but I’m going to try and hold this thing at bay. I really don’t think I can destroy it, but if I can manage to hold it back, do you think you can run inside and grab the chest near it Inva?”

	The tiefling looked at the cleric askance. “You turn it first. And if you manage it, then I’ll run.”

	Victor nodded and held out his holy symbol towards the undead naga. He shouted an invocation to his deity and the room was brilliantly lit by a rush of sunlight that streamed forth and pinned the serpent against the back wall of its chamber. The wyrm screamed and hissed as it tried to edge away from the light. It seemed incapable of taking any other action at all as Inva dashed into the room, snatched the box, and then bolted out as fast as she could.

	‘And I won’t even get into a discussion with you about which god is or isn’t the ‘right’ one. Another time.’ Inva thought as she exited the room and held up the chest once Victor stopped channeling the power of his deity.

“Another one down.” Inva said as she popped the lock on the chest and held up a slim metallic tile.

Behind them, the bone naga raged impotently as its prize was snatched from it without it having so much as a chance to fight them.

	“Not bad.” Victor said with a grin. “One more and we can finally get out of this happy little place.”

***​

	Back in the central chamber they looked at the final door and hesitantly approached it. The mezzoloth was still behaving like a fearful, loyal pet to Ankita, still treating her companions wordlessly like they were chattel and nothing more. It was protective of the sorceress even as it seemed to be in awe and fear of her.

	“Alright… I’ll go first.” Victor said as he glanced at the fiend that had stepped between the door and Ankita, visually prompting the others to enter first and expose themselves to any danger that might lurk within.

	Ankita shrugged and gave an apologetic look to the others as they stepped into the passage beyond. Eventually the fiend would become a liability, and before that happened she would need to find some way to be rid of it. Besides, she had no special loyalty to it other than it was currently useful to her, a mentality that probably came right from the same source of her heritage that had also birthed the ‘loth. For the moment the other half of that lineage was being quiet except for a disdain for the fiend that would eventually cause it’s death most likely. In that final respect, both halves of her essence were in agreement on what would happen.

	The passage opened into a small room with three iron doors, each with a still, silent figure standing before them. The figures were golems, one before each door, guarding them presumably and currently inactive as they gathered into the cloistered confines of the room. The first golem was an awkward, lopsided aggregate of the stitched and sutured flesh of a dozen races, many of them only vaguely compatible. The second was a convoluted mass of dangling chains, some of which seemed to be taught and rigid, allowing the thing to stand and keep its mass at shoulder height. Finally, the third golem was a rough humanoid carved of stone, male, but with vague serpentine features.

	“I hate golems. Please don’t tell me I have to fight them.” Velkyn said.

	“Second that opinion.” Ankita muttered. “Bloody magic immune wastes of jink.”

	“Consider that opinion shared.” Inva added as she glanced at the lack of handles or locks on the doors.

	“So…” Victor said. “Three doors, three golems. Flesh, chain, and stone.”

	“The stone one.” Ankita pointed at it. “What sort of thing is it carved to be? Yuan’ti?”

	“No, I don’t think so.” Velkyn said. “Look at the hair, there’re snakes carved in there. Some Yuan’ti have that, but if you ask me, it looks like a male medusa, a meadar.”

	“_Male_ medusa? Aren’t they all female?” Ankita asked.

	“Then you wouldn’t have a species if they were, unless you’re a Night Hag, and then nobody knows how it works.” Velkyn replied.

	“And nobody wants to find out either.” Victor said with a shudder.

	“And then there’s the joy of yugoloth gender distinction.” Inva said with a glance at the mezzoloth.

	“Please, let’s not discuss that.” Ankita said wearily.

	The mezzoloth snarled and drooled a thick stream of mildly acid mucus onto the ground. It was loyal but it was dumb; tact and subtlety was lost on the fiend.

	Marcus approached one of the doors, the one in front of which stood the flesh golem. He’d meant to examine the door itself, but as he approached, the golem suddenly animated with a crackle of electrical discharge.

	“I do not have what you want.” The patchwork golem said in a slow, warped and stilted voice.

	It held out its hand and the door behind it opened into a small room. Nothing was visible inside.

	Marcus stepped back abruptly, and as he did, the golem fell silent and inanimate once more, and the door closed again.

	“Well, at least one of them won’t kill us for looking.” Marcus said with relief.

	“Doesn’t mean that the rooms are safe. Or that they won’t make a move after we walk inside.” Inva remarked.

	“True.” The fighter said as he backed up.

	Victor approached the stone golem. It animated and the door behind it opened.

	“I know who has what you seek.” It said with a smile. Beyond it was not a room but something else, though they couldn’t easily tell just what immediately.

	“I’m up for at least looking. We can always come back if we don’t find it.” Victor said.

	They stepped warily through the door, half expecting the golem to suddenly attack them, but it didn’t. Still, despite that, the mezzoloth was turned towards the construct with its trident held to strike out at it even after they had all passed into the chamber beyond.

	Rather than a passage or a small room, they had emerged into a cavern once more, though it was nowhere near the size of some others that they had seen during the last few hours. The terrain was a study in sloping hills, each covered by a carpet of thick, dense lichen or a similar plant that sprouted up from the metallic surface. Further ahead, crowning some of the hills were actual trees, themselves seeming to sport a carpet of lichen, possibly surviving in symbiosis with the smaller plants. 

But there were also other figures that dotted the landscape other than the trees. Statues, or the crumbled remains of statues; they dotted the hills in small clusters. They were carved into various creatures of a dozen different races, mostly humanoids, but some more exotic types, all mortal and all strikingly lifelike. All of them were either smiling and looking forward or half averting their gaze from something or shielding their eyes with limbs or shields.

	“The meadar.” Inva said. “Sh*t, those aren’t statues. There’s probably a medusa here.”

	They exchanged wary glances as they slowly crept up the hill and peered over the lip and into the vale beyond. In the bowl of the valley, nestled between a series of rolling hills they saw a small clearing strewn with statues and the bits of refuse that were the telltale signs of occupation. At the far side of the clearing was a darkened cave mouth out of which the soft, eerily pleasing sounds of music or humming seemed to emanate from, beguiling almost as it carried softly across the valley to their ears.

Two men, naked but for loincloths, and armed with spears, stood within the clearing, one of them sitting and smiling as he watched two young children play. Both of the men had snakes entwined with their long dark hair, and their skin had an odd, silvery-green tone to it, almost like a sheen of scales. Of the children, there was a young boy who was strikingly similar to the two adult men, and a young girl had her back turned as she played with a tiny rag doll and hummed in a singsong fashion like the same sounds coming from the cave. The young girl’s hair was a mass of tiny wriggling serpents.


***​


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## Gez

A pet fiend! And then cute baby medusaes! 

Great update. They're in a weird and dangerous place, but at least, they've got interesting sights to see. Too bad they don't have a camera. 

Editor's note because I can't help it. 
[sblock]
In fact, in places where they moss was trampled they say the evidence of flecks of dried blood and the air was despoiled with a growing stench of brimstone.​... where the moss was trampled they saw the evidence of dried blood, and the air...


“Well, now they know that we’re coming. And if not that, than you berks in heavy armor who don’t know the meaning of the word quiet.”​... if not that, then you berks...

The voice was septic, a smug snarl of something newly elevated to a position of power.​
“We were summoned here under the immediately command of the Yagnaloth, Rezzivus.”​Not sure what to do about "immediately command", and I think it's Yagnoloth rather than Yagnaloth.[/sblock]


----------



## Shemeska

I'll check later to see if I spelled Yagnaloth wrong. And to please you, my editor  I've been trying to do a better job of proof reading these updates lately. Hopefully it shows at least a little bit.


----------



## Clueless

"But though its hide was marked by the gashes of blades and spears and magic, it seemed to have been killed by whatever retributive spell seemed to have erupted before or upon the death of the second corpse that lay near it in a veritable smoking crater, seemingly a wizard."

Yo. Lovecraft boy. There's a reason your players offer to help edit.    'Seemed, seemed, and seemingly' all in one uber-claused sentence. Is there nothing that actually *is* what it appears to be?


----------



## ajanders

Clueless said:
			
		

> Yo. Lovecraft boy. There's a reason your players offer to help edit.    'Seemed, seemed, and seemingly' all in one uber-claused sentence. Is there nothing that actually *is* what it appears to be?




Actually, I'm getting the impression the answer to that question is "yes".
And I don't even have the privilege of playing in the campaign.


----------



## Clueless

Ok. On a campaign level - yeah. I'll grant you that.  It's true for SH #1 too.


----------



## Shemeska

ajanders said:
			
		

> Actually, I'm getting the impression the answer to that question is "yes".
> And I don't even have the privilege of playing in the campaign.




Hey, some of the blood thirsty fiends were exactly as they seemed. The Keeper of the Tower never tried to say he wasn't evil, nor did he ever actually lie over the course of the campaign. So, yeah, there's 1.


----------



## Clueless

Yes he did!! I distinctly remember getting *'d over when he didn't uphold his end of a deal!


----------



## Toras

In fairness, they are essentially elementals of treachery and deceit.  If it wasn't for the fact they get all money, troops, and secrets from the blood war and their own machinations, no one in their right mind even think of dealing with them.


----------



## FyreHowl

And here I thought it was about blackmail, having what you want, and the fact that you may not realize you're dealing with them til you're already neck deep.


----------



## Shemeska

“This isn’t good.” Ankita said in a singsong whisper as they snuck glances up and over the lip of the vale.

	“It’s open ground,” Velkyn agreed. “There’s nothing to hide behind and ten jink says that there’s at least one adult female medusa back in the cave. If the little one doesn’t turn us into lawn ornaments, she probably will.”

	“I’m not killing a kid!” Victor whispered harshly.

	“No one said –you- had to.” Inva said with a smirk. “But I think we’d be crazy to attack them right out. Take a hostage or try to bargain with them straight is probably safer.”

	Behind them all, next to Ankita, the mezzoloth was drooling on the ground uncontrollably as it sniffed at the air. It seemed overly eager for bloodshed. It wasn’t going to get it however.

	Velkyn glanced to Ankita. “You contact one of the males down there, get his attention and try to see if you can strike some kind of deal with them for the tile.”

	“Assuming that they have it of course.” Marcus added.

	Ankita nodded and glanced up over the edge of the hill till she could see one of the meadars.

_Don’t be alarmed, we only wish to talk._

	One of the meadars immediately tensed, stepped back and raised his spear. The other looked at him with some alarm, then back to the two children.

_We mean you no harm, though we could have done so. We did nothing of the sort, and that should count for something. We wish to bargain with you for something we suspect is in your possession. If it is not, we will leave._

The first of the meadars whispered something swiftly to his fellow. The other man nodded, quickly gathered the two children, and ushered them back towards the cave.

	“What’s happening up there?” Victor asked in a whisper.

	“Sssshhh!” Ankita said, waving him away brusquely.

	The first meadar down below was scanning the tops of the lichen-covered hills, looking for the source of the voice that was speaking to him. Finally, he called out in a mix of draconic and planar common.

	“I know what you are looking for, and we are willing to deal for it. You and no more than one or two others come down, alone and unarmed, and we will bring you to our wife. It is her decision ultimately.”

	Ankita looked at the others. The mezzoloth was unlikely to allow her to go down without it at her side.

	“Victor, you go down there with me.” Ankita said before looking at the mezzoloth. _You come with me as well. And stay close._

The sorceress called down to the meadar once more.

_Very well. We’re coming down now._

	The three of them emerged up over the rim of hills and slowly descended towards the single meadar. The man kept his spear lowered, but he seemed capable of using it with but a moment’s action. As soon as the trio had approached and made no threatening actions, he glanced over to his right. A third meadar suddenly appeared as an invisibility spell faded, this one covered with elaborate designs painted onto his scales and a number of charms hung around his neck.

	“Come with us.” The meadar sorcerer said as he gestured towards the cave.

	“There’s a third one, cr*p.” Velkyn said as he watched the two meadars walk Ankita, Victor and the mezzoloth into the cave mouth.

	Inva nodded as she relaxed. “That one probably knew we were here. They likely waited to see if we would try anything. We saved ourselves trouble by not.”

	The two meadars led their guests into the cave towards a glittering magical glow at its rear. There, a bed of animal furs was surrounded by several piles of valuables and a number of musical instruments. Seated in the midst of it all was a slim woman dressed in little more than her husbands, but with a sash across her chest and a veil that hung across her face.

	“Greetings. You were wise not to resort to violence, my first husband had been watching you for some time.” The medusa’s voice was soft, beautiful, and nearly hypnotic; the voice of a singer or a bard. Indeed they had heard her earlier singing in the cave.

	Victor smiled and bowed. “You seem to already know what it is that we’re looking for.”

	She held up a slim metallic tile. “Yes,” she gave a sigh and then a soft shrug. “And you are neither the first nor the last who will likely come looking for it. But, you are some of the wiser ones to do so.”

	“Where are we? Do you know?” Ankita asked her.

	The medusa held up a hand. “That’s not for me to speak of. You will find out in time, one way or another. But I have something you need, and I wish to know what you will offer me for it.”

	Marcus gathered a sizable collection of the jewelry that he had collected at the bottom of the trapped pool near where they had found the second tile. “Would you be interested in any of these?”

	“It’s a start.” She said, as she examined a number of the finer pieces.

_How about the mezzoloth?_ Ankita said telepathically into the fighter’s mind. _We need to get rid of him somehow, and turning it to stone for the medusa and her family to eat…_

	Marcus blinked and glanced over at the sorceress.

_I’m serious._

	The mezzoloth was still, obedient, and clueless as it clacked its mandibles at random and left a small puddle of drool upon the ground.

	Ankita looked to the medusa. _Would you accept the mezzoloth as food? We step back, avert our eyes and you petrify him? He’s a liability to us._

	The medusa blinked beneath the veil over her face and then slowly nodded. “That will suffice.”

	Ankita and Marcus both stepped back and away from the lesser yugoloth and closed their eyes tight. The fiend perceived nothing at first when the medusa abruptly removed her veil and stared directly at him. It stiffened for a moment but nothing happened as it immediately realized that it was being betrayed. It snarled and started to turn to strike at its mistress, but the medusa’s gaze struck again and with a crackling sound the fiend’s muscle, chitin and viscera of solidified evil turned fast to stone.

	The medusa smiled as the deed was done and reattached her veil while the serpents about her head licked at the air and the scent of their next likely meal.

	“You may open your eyes now.” She said in her mellifluous voice. “Here, take what you have purchased and leave peacefully.”

	Ankita and Marcus both slowly opened their eyes and saw that the mezzoloth was turned fast to stone. They also saw the smiles that played across the multiple serpentine faces of the medusa’s head-serpents. Their deal was done. They thanked her, took the slim metal tile she handed to them, and then they left without a word.

	Before they had even left the cave, Ankita was telling the others what all had transpired: they had the tile, they had gotten rid of her pet mezzoloth, and they had dealt with the medusa without incident.

	They emerged up atop the hill holding the last tile up like a war trophy. With it in hand, they were smiling with unconstrained glee as they made the trek back towards the central chamber where the incomplete teleport circle awaited them now that they had everything they needed to activate it.

	“And now maybe we’ll find out why the hell we’re here in the first place.” Marcus said as he walked into the room.

	None of them had noticed the sheen of liquid across the floor just past the entrance.

	“Hell. I want to know how much I’m getting paid for this mess.” Inva said with a chuckle.

	“Well, we’ll… AAAAGGGHHHH!” Victor stopped and screamed. 

A jagged lance of green energy struck him in the back and left a furrow in armor and flesh alike, dissolving their substance to dust.

	“Holy Sh*t!” Velkyn shouted as a pale beam struck Marcus and petrified him as fast as the medusa’s gaze would have.

	Trailing drool from its mouth, a fleshy orb perhaps five feet across hung in the air above the entrance, its tooth studded maw open, and its central eye closed shut while its eye tipped tentacles turned downwards. A beholder, it had been lurking in ambush when they had stepped into the chamber.

	There were confused and frightened shouts from back in the corridor as Francesca, Garibaldi, and Ankita watched in dismay as their companions were assaulted by a being they couldn’t see.

	Inva dove for cover as the eye tyrant moved towards the center of the room where it could fire its deadly eye-rays in a wider area. Victor gawked at the statue that had formerly been his brother before turning, extending his hand, and incanting a prayer to his deity while Velkyn hastily began to cast as well.

	The beholder’s eyes pulsed again as the others attacked. As a beam of brilliant golden light shot from Victor’s hand, the beholder focused two eyes on the cleric. While Victor’s spell burned at the eye-tyrant’s flesh, one of its own rays connected with his arm and caused the flesh to erupt in a torrent of blisters and sores.

	Velkyn finished his spell and sent a flurry of glowing missiles to slam into the beholder, but while it caused obvious injuries, the beast fired two of its eyes at him in return. One of them missed and one of them connected, but whatever the intended effect, it failed to cause him any obvious harm. 

That was not however the case with Garibaldi, as he and Ankita rushed into the room. The beholder’s eyes focused on them both and each was struck by a single beam. Garibaldi was tossed backwards against the wall like a rag doll, but the beam that was aimed at the sorceress fizzled out before it struck her.

	Unseen somehow by the eye-tyrant, Inva darted beneath it and jabbed her blade upwards into its guts. The beholder jerked in pain, roaring as blood leaked from the site of the tiefling’s stab, and it abruptly hovered to one side in order to focus on whatever had caused it such harm. Inva however was nowhere to be seen by the time it turned its eyestalks to where she had been.

	Ankita held out her hand and a jagged bolt of lightning lanced out to snarl around the already burned and bleeding beholder. It quivered in the air and rotated to single her out in the gaze of its magic nullifying central eye, but it never had the chance as Garibaldi had recovered, charged, and jabbed his sword into its side. The eyes widened in pain, its pupils dilated in shock, and finally the aberration dropped from the air with a loud splattering noise to land atop the fighter as its innards spilled across the floor.

	Garibaldi waved an arm and sputtered as he struggled to free himself from under a flap of the dead beholder’s sagging flesh. Thankfully he had not been caught in the spill of its innards, and he inhaled deeply as Velkyn and Ankita pulled him free.

“Well… that went smoothly.” Inva said with a smirk as she looked at the stony form of Marcus next to the splattered remains of the beholder.

“Then next time you can be first in line. Or you can help me carry him.” Victor said.

	“Carry him?” Francesca asked.

	Inva spoke first, guessing Victors intent. “The medusa’s husbands. They can turn people back from stone, but it’ll probably cost us.”

	Victor glanced at the sack that his brother had. It still had a number of items and an uncounted amount of coin that he’d collected back from the one room with the pool. It would hopefully be enough to have the meadars return him to his normal self.

	“We’ll be back.” The cleric said. “It’s not far. You’re welcome to come along, but otherwise just stay here and don’t get yourselves eaten.”

	Inva snapped her teeth together repeatedly as she left.

	Francesca, Inva, and Victor left with the statue that was formerly Marcus. Garibaldi stayed behind, carefully watching the exits and half expecting for something else to barge into the room on an empty stomach, with bloody fangs or claws raised and ready. Nothing actually appeared as they waited, but they did hear something as the footsteps of their departed companions faded from their ears: a mumbled conversation from overhead and a soft giggle.

	Ankita and Velkyn glanced at one another and then up to the opening that lead towards the pair of dragons they had met earlier. They blinked, gawked and then exchanged wide eyed glanced before they both hastily moved away from the area and tried not to think about what might have been going on between the pair of wyrms. Garibaldi wasn’t quite so quick to pick up on it, but when he did he dashed to the opposite side of the room with a look of terror on his face. Draconic pillowtalk, and possibly more, apparently didn’t agree with him.

	Ankita shook her head and gave an embarrassed chuckle while they continued to wait. Velkyn approached her and made sure that what he said wasn’t overheard by Victor’s cohort.

	“I have something to ask you Ankita.” The half-drow said. “I've been counting. And the number of times that you’ve been hurling out heat metal spells, levitating, and using telekinesis, it’s just not possible unless you’re a damn deal more than you say you are.”

	Ankita twitched but didn’t immediately respond. Velkyn continued.

	"Either you're considerably above the level of power as a sorceress that you claim you are, or you’re something else entirely. The spells, the silver, and your _pet_ that you had for a while. Are you behind this entire plan, or just not being straight?"

	“I don’t have any more of an idea why I’m here than you do.” Ankita answered quickly with a nervous edge in her voice.

“That didn’t entirely answer my question.” The wizard replied. “Is there something you need to tell me, before you constitute a danger to me?”

	She didn’t give an immediate answer again and Velkyn continued.

“If you are - what I think you are - then at the end of this. I don't know you and you don't know me. Family history."

“A shame you think that way,” Ankita replied. “But tell me because I’m curious now, what is it that you think I am? If you’ll venture a guess I’ll confirm or deny it for you gladly.”

“Well, from what I've seen - either you're a tiefer with the worst possible showing of your blood, only receiving the allergy, or you're a loth. Considering the pet you had at your heels, I’d say that you’re at least part if not full.”

	Ankita sighed, but a slight smirk crossed her face as she replied. “Well, I’ll admit you’re right. I am part loth. But I have to say I think we do, and will, know each other.”

	Velkyn blinked as Ankita reached down to a chain at her neck and pulled out a pendant hanging at its end. Shaped like a tiny, glimmering star, it had been given to her by her mother. It was uniquely hers, and the wizard recognized it immediately.

“Phaedra? You little slich!” He exclaimed in a forceful whisper.

“Slich?” She replied with a suppressed giggle. “Now Velk, that’s a new one. Why would you go and call me a slich? How rude”

She was having far too much fun with his reaction, but he was grinning as well, even though he was cursing at her in at least 10 languages in a harsh whisper as Garibaldi glanced over them. Phaedra tucked the pendant away as the fighter shrugged and went back to looking at the doors. She raised her hood slightly and turned so that Garibaldi wouldn’t notice. Her features blurred and shifted. Velkyn gave an incredulous laugh and glanced away. It was indeed her.

She snapped back to her assumed form with a grin.

“Well, now you see why I wouldn’t reveal myself, and why I want to keep it from the rest of the party? I’ll keep this up as long as I can, at least till I know that they’d trust me more in my real form. You’re not angry at me, are you?”

	Velkyn chuckled more and shook his head. “No, it’s understandable. But eventually you’ll have to say something to the others. That’s not my issue to deal with, so I won’t say anything.”

	Phaedra, once again Ankita, nodded her head thankfully and moved away a few feet as the others returned with Marcus once more among the fully living.

	“Welcome back to the world of the fleshy.” Velkyn said as they arrived.

	“Greedy sons of…” Marcus muttered as he hefted a largely empty sack of valuables.

	“Hey,” Inva said with a shrug. “They had a service, we had a need. Nothing wrong with that. Medusas aren’t exactly renowned for being self-effacing benefactors.”

	Victor headed off any further argument.

	“But at least we have what we need, and frankly this place is getting to be a bit too confining. I want to leave. I want to find out what all of this is about. And honestly I just want to see the sky again.”

	There were no complaints as they gathered around the pedestal and looked down at the teleport circle. With trepidation, they lay the five individual tiles into place to complete the symbols within the unfinished diagram at their feet. As they slipped into place, the tiles seemed to subsume into the metal of the floor and a glow spread outwards to envelop the confines of the mystical diagram.

“It’s active.” Velkyn said warily. “Not sure where the hell it’s going, but it’s active.”

Glancing at each other, one by one they stepped into the circle and vanished.


***​

“Please step back and keep your hands away from your weapons. No casting either. Move slowly, act calm, and there won’t be any reason to react harshly.”

They couldn’t see her or make out any details of their location, but they heard the woman’s voice even before the flash of light from the teleport circle had fully faded.

Slowly the light receded and their eyes adjusted. They stood in a small, utterly nondescript chamber carved out of the same dull metal as everything else that they had already seen. There were no doors, and there was no evidence of a second teleport circle. There was only the person who stood in front of them.

She was human, perhaps planetouched in a fairly unobtrusive manner, dressed in finely fitted leather armor and a long cloak. The silvery tip of the saber she held in her right hand danced between each of the group’s members, and her left hand was equally extended and held out in an arcane gesture. Flickers of magic sparkled on the tips of her fingers.

Velkyn blinked. “Just what the hell is going on here?”

The woman’s pale blue eyes calmly regarded them. Her hands didn’t waver in the slightest as they all looked back at her with unsteady emotions, perhaps some anger, and definitely confusion. Nearly as long as her cloak, her blue-black hair extended back from her head, nearly down to her ankles.

“You’ve survived and I must congratulate you.” She said calmly but firmly. “We’ve been watching your progress, and we’ve been pleased with what we saw.”

“Just who the hell is ‘we’?” Ankita asked.

	“And what was with the threat to kill and devour one of us if we didn’t perform up to a standard?” Victor asked warily as he watched her blade. “There’s no way that I would have agreed to willingly do anything like this, that book with our signatures notwithstanding.”

“Oh, you agreed to this.” She said with a grin. “Some of you came to us, others of you we approached separately.”

	They relaxed ever so slightly and listened to her explain.

“Everything you saw with your signature was legitimate, though all the rubbish about killing and devouring one of you, well, it gave you motivation even if it wasn’t true. Had you died in there you would have been raised and sent on your way, the cost deducted from your initial payment…” She glanced at Inva, “…but it would have meant you’d no longer be in our employment. This was all a test to see how well you worked together, but the details aren’t truly mine to give.”

	“So who are we working for, and who exactly are you?” Velkyn asked.

	The raven-haired woman had never once relaxed her guard even as she explained things to them.

“You have to understand that I’m just a middle player in all of this. I’m here simply to calm you down and explain the briefest of things before you get all of your questions formally answered. Pardon me if I’m all rather curt about this since not all of those questions are for me to answer even if I knew the whole story myself.” She said before stepped back slightly. 

“Now, if you’ll allow me a moment to put away my blade, I’ll take you to meet our mutual employer.”

They relaxed, she snapped her fingers, and they were gone in a flash.

***​


----------



## PhoenixDarkDirk

It's somewhat nice for me that both of these Story Hours updated on my birthday.


----------



## shilsen

PhoenixDarkDirk said:
			
		

> It's somewhat nice for me that both of these Story Hours updated on my birthday.



 Get in line - same here


----------



## Shemeska

PhoenixDarkDirk said:
			
		

> It's somewhat nice for me that both of these Story Hours updated on my birthday.




... And it was planned that way! All along! Trust the smiling 'loth! 
	

	
	
		
		

		
			





Hope you enjoyed


----------



## Clueless

When are you getting up here for the game, Shem??!


----------



## Gez

The introduction is nearing its conclusion! (I just wanted to say that.) Though we're still on a cliffhanger.

Admit it, the beholder was because they avoided confrontation with the dragons and then again with the medusaes. 

Speaking of confrontation with the beholder, I think Inva dove, rather than doze.


----------



## Zappo

"Smile! You're on candid camera!"


----------



## Clueless

*impatient twitch*


----------



## Shemeska

*End of the Beginning*

The stood in a room, no longer composed of the ubiquitous metal, no longer dripping with Styx effluvium, and no longer cold, and with air no longer bottled and stale. The chamber was brilliantly lit by the warm glow of magic, the walls paneled in wood and finely cut stone. A mosaic glyph dominated the center of the floor, a focus for the gate, planeshift, or teleport through which they had just passed. The only exit from the room was a single wooden door.

	“Please step off of the glyph.” The woman said in a firm but patient voice.

	“Where are we?” Velkyn asked.

	She motioned them forward with a slight wave of her hand.

	“Somewhere else,” She said. “The exact location of which I’m not at liberty to say. But, as I said, our mutual employer is waiting to speak with you in the study just through that door ahead of us. He can explain things much more clearly than I can.”

	“I never caught your name…” Victor said, pausing to allow their escort to answer.

	“Aspaseka.” She said. “That works for the moment. I’ll spare you any dreadful titles or lineage based surnames. I never had much use for them myself.”

	She opened the door for them and gestured politely, finally seeming to relax, given that they hadn’t been argumentative or violent after being retrieved from their little test. The warm scent of sandalwood incense drifted forwards on the warm rush of air and golden light that escaped through the open door.

	“And this,” Aspaseka said. “Is where I take my leave of you. I’ve other duties to attend to, but I’m likely to be seeing you again in the near future.”

	She gave a short bow and a warmer smile as she continued to let go of her earlier mood of curt caution. And with that, she gestured with her hands and vanished.

	There was a cough from the room beyond the open door as someone cleared their throat.

	“Please come in.” A middle-aged male voice said in slightly accented common.

	They filed into the chamber that was very obviously the study of a wizard. And indeed, the man seated across from them behind a walnut desk, was dressed in burgundy and gold wizard’s robes, and the room’s accoutrements bespoke of a conjurer.

	Chairs for each of his guests had been arranged in front of the wizard’s desk, and bookcases and paintings of various legendary creatures lines the walls. A golden birdcage hung off to one side with a wall of force in its center separating an imp and a quasit from one another. An exotic, rainbow plumed songbird sat on a perch on the other side of the chamber, near to another, partially covered cage that contained a coiled and softly hissing shadow viper. The wizard had no familiar apparent, though in the room’s far right corner, there was a spot where it might have sat: a pile of plumped cushions, toys, a skull, and other objects showing evidence of having been gnawed or toyed with littered the area.

	“Take a seat. You’ve performed admirably and I must congratulate you.” The nameless wizard said to them, gesturing out his arms to encourage them to be at home and comfortable.

	He was in his middle years, though it might have been an illusion or an assumed form. For all they knew, the man was a six thousand year old lich. His long, white blond hair fell loosely over his shoulders, and his eyes were dark brown, nearly black. The accent and ethnicity apparent from his features didn’t immediately remind them of any particular prime world.

	“So…” Ankita said.

	“Well met,” Inva said. “Before you explain to us what all is what here, what should I call you, my apparent employer?”

“My name?” The wizard asked as he smoked a puff of tobacco from a pipe in one hand. “What works for you? Benefactor? Nameless stranger who almost got us all killed? Rich fool who likes to watch people struggle?
Myrusol the Beneficent was the last name that I took upon and used in public, so I figure that works as best as any.”

	He turned his head and exhaled a stream of smoke towards the perpetually agitated imp and quasit like some sort of mocking oriental dragon.

	“Myself, or agents in my employ approached all of you separately during the past two weeks. While you don’t remember it at the moment, we gave you our terms of employment, and informed you of our desire to test your level of skill, your ability to perform well in a group, and under duress. You all agreed to our terms, and your signatures you saw in the book earlier, those were indeed your own.”

	“Did you approach my brother and I together?” Victor asked curiously.

	“No actually,” Was the reply. “We came to an agreement with you each separately, roughly four days apart. But as all of you, and a number of others were all contacted in a pool during the same period of time, we tested you together once we discovered your relation to one another.”

	“So, why don’t we remember any of this?” Ankita asked.

	“Dilute Styx water.” Myrusol stated bluntly. “The effect is temporary, and outside of a few hours of weakness and malaise initially, there aren’t any long term effects. Some of you we did have to tweak the strength of the mixture simply to affect you though.”

	“_You in particular Phaedra._” The wizard said to Ankita telepathically, without singling her out by looking at her. She hadn’t told the others of her nature, and true identity, and her employer seemed to respect that decision entirely.

	“_Thank you for not making light of what I am_” She replied to him.

	“_If you are working for me, I grant a certain expected level of respect and privacy. Likewise I expect the same once I send you out on any specific task, but the particulars of our working relationship will be handled at a later date. Aspaseka, who has been working for me for some time now, will fill you in on that later. But regardless, you are welcome, though eventually you will need to tell the others what you are._”

	“So what do you want us to do for you, now that I assume we’ve passed your tests?” Marcus asked.

	“Oh, you’ve passed with flying colors.” The wizard replied as he then glanced at Inva. “I particularly enjoyed that stunt with the giant. Very cute.”

	The tiefling gave a polite nod of her head. Behind her, her tail twitched in self-satisfied enjoyment.

“Now, to answer a lingering question on at least some of your minds, your retainer that you all agreed upon ahead of time, and whatever bonus I decide to add, will be deposited in the 1st Bank of Grenpoli, in that particular Baatezu city. Of course, if that proves inconvenient, or distasteful to you, you may withdraw your payments from its associated branches in Rigus, Center, or Portent.”

	Inva looked at the others. “Told you I was getting paid for this…”

	Their employer chuckled.

“I will be in touch with you over the next week once I’ve decided what to hire you to do for me given your performance. As I said, I liked what I saw, and suffice to say, you’ve garnered yourself employment, as promised when we discussed terms and conditions earlier.”

	They politely nodded and the wizard stood up and shook each of their hands.

	“Collect your payment and relax for a time till I have Aspaseka contact you. This is unlikely to be as direct as telling you to do a certain thing and expecting it to be done immediately and without dissent. I don’t work that way. More likely you’ll be presented with a number of tasks, and you can choose which among them most suits your abilities, and doesn’t conflict with any pre-existing loyalties or ideologies you might have.”

	“Not bad at all.” Victor said.

	“Now, unless you have other questions for the moment, I’ve said what I immediately have to say.” Myrusol stated. “Where can I send you?”

	“Well, I’m probably going to be visiting my place in Sigil at some point.” Ankita said. “But otherwise, I don’t have anywhere pressing to go.”

	“Sending you directly from here into Sigil isn’t exactly on my, or anyone else’s scale of power.” Myrusol replied with a chuckle.

	“Well, I’m up for going to collect our payment eventually.” Velkyn said. “But those are major cities, so finding a gate to them won’t be difficult.”

	“I own an estate on the outskirts of Tradegate.” Marcus said. “I’d be more than willing to put you up as my guests for as long as we’ll be waiting.”

	None of them could think of any reason to really object to the offer.

	“And from Tradegate it’s only a gate away from Sigil,” Velkyn said. “And from there pretty much any of those cities are within reach.”

	Myrusol whispered under his breath and drew his hand not clutching his pipe in a loose circle. The air hummed with magic and a swirling vortex of light appeared to one side of his desk. In its cage, the shadow viper hissed its displeasure at the illumination and slithered out of sight.

	“That should put you near to the center of the city,” The wizard said. “Roughly a block away from the gate to Sigil if I recall the layout of the streets from the last time I was there.”

	With nothing more to be said, and many of their questions answered, they said their last polite thanks to their newfound employer, and stepped through the gate.


***​

	“You already decided on what tasks to offer them. You had that planned out a week ago.” The portal drake said as it peered up at its master.

	Myrusol glanced down at his familiar as the glow of the gate faded from the room.

	“It gives them time to get to know each other before we throw them into the fire, so to speak. The brothers need time to reacquaint, the arcanaloth and lupinal’s child needs to reveal to the others what she is, though the half-drow is aware already. Plus, if they have time to sit and relax, any problems of personality will become apparent to them, and to us. I don’t want problems to simply appear later when I could find them out now.”

	“So will they be working for you or the others?” The drake asked curiously.

	“They were my catches, so to speak, and they’ll be working largely for me. But the others have their own aims, and I’m perfectly willing to let them drift between ourselves in terms of their tasks. They’ll have choices in what they do, free will in what tasks they accept or decline.”

	“How kind of you.” The miniature dragon said with a laugh. “‘Burn down the orphanage in Excelsior or blight the crop in the Tir, choose between these two!’”

	“Oh please.” Myrusol said. “I’m hardly a Baatezu, and it does me nothing to have them betray any morals they might still hold to. I’m a businessman, an employer seeking to cultivate a base of skilled talent who holds genuine loyalty to me, even if they don’t see the big picture or know my ultimate goals.”

	“Always the selfless one you.” The familiar retorted.

	Myrusol took a deep puff from his pipe before blowing a ring of smoke at the drake as it lounged upon a cushion and gnawed playfully on the lower jaw of a skull.

	“They’ll be offered the Torilian job, perhaps finding and retrieving that particular Glabrezu that was pissing us off recently, or digging around on Celestia for a bit of the Archons’ shame.”

	“Shamed Archons,” The portal drake said a few times, tasting the way the words rolled off its flickering tongue. “You really –are- sounding like a Baatezu now.”

	Myrusol reverted to his natural form with a flicker of thought and blew another ring of smoke at the fickle little drake.

	“We’ll see how it goes.” He said in Infernal. “All three of them will need to be done at some point. I have time, and I have patience. Revenge makes it all worth the wait you know.”


***​

	“Gnomes…everywhere…” Inva said disparagingly as she glanced around the streets of Tradegate.

	“It’s a nice town.” Marcus said. “My place is about a twenty minute walk from here, maybe less.”

	“Well, how about I meet you back there later?” Ankita said as she pointed to the portal to Sigil. “There’s no line for the gate right now, and I should stop back and say hello to my folks. At least one of them is going to be curious as to where I’ve been.”

	Inva raised an eyebrow.

	“Same here.” Velkyn said. “I’m going to need to hit Sigil at some point in the near future. But right now I’m more interested in picking up our payment.”

	The half-drow lowered his voice. “And moving it to a less fiendish bank…”

	“And what’s wrong with fiendish banks?” Inva asked.

	“Genpoli… Baatezu…” He replied. “No thanks.”

	“Center…” Ankita said with a shudder. “Too many Yugoloths. Far too many Yugoloths. Portent, same problem.”

	“And Rigus?” Inva prodded.

	“That’s where I’ll be going to transfer the cash to another bank, or just to pick it up.” Velkyn replied.

	Marcus nodded. “Well at least let me give you directions to my estate so you can join back up with us later.”

	Ankita shrugged. “Well, since Velk and I both need to hit Sigil at some point, I’ll just go with him to Rigus, and we’ll both go to Sigil before coming back here. It shouldn’t take us long at all.”

	“You ever been to Rigus?” Inva asked.

	“No.” Velkyn said. “Why?”

	“We’ll be waiting here for you then whenever you finally get back.” The tiefling said with a chuckle. “And I’ll join back up with you later as well. I’ll show up when I show up. I’ve got some random things to look into.”

	More like looking into who some people –are-, and just –what- some people are, Inva thought to herself as she headed towards the gate to Sigil.

	“Well then, we’ll see you later I guess.” Marcus said to Inva “The servants typically keep rooms prepared for any guests, and usually have some food warm for when I might show up with anyone intending to visit.”

	Marcus looked to Velkyn and Ankita, then motioned to his brother and their mutual cohorts.

	“Hell, I’ve been to Rigus before. We should all go together. Trust me on this...”

	And so they went their separate ways. Inva started to dig her way into Velkyn and Ankita’s identity and the others stepped into Sigil with the intent of using its known gate to Rigus. At least, that was the intent.

	No sooner had they stepped through the swirling portal to the City of Doors however, when Ankita’s, really Phaedra’s ears, twitched with the incoming preamble of a contingent sending spell. Her father had it trigger the moment she walked into the city like a magical welcome wagon.

	“Welcome back to Sigil Phaedra. I’m simply curious how you’re doing, and so if you don’t mind sparing your father a few minutes of your time, I’d love to see how you are and to catch up on things. Stop by the Friendly Fiend if you happen to find the time.”


***​


----------



## Fimmtiu

So A'kin and Fyrehowl... um... yowza. You could really do a lot worse than A'kin for a father, though. Sweet guy. Unless, you know, the DM has some sort of horrible, twisty hidden backstory for him which will come back to haunt the player... naah. Never happen.


----------



## Shemeska

Fimmtiu said:
			
		

> So A'kin and Fyrehowl... um... yowza. You could really do a lot worse than A'kin for a father, though. Sweet guy. Unless, you know, the DM has some sort of horrible, twisty hidden backstory for him which will come back to haunt the player... naah. Never happen.




Never. Of course not. Everything in my campaign is straightforward and honest. A'kin's tale in the first storyhour will not be told in its entirety for some time, but it will be told eventually, and I think it'll be worth the wait. I don't dare say anything more though, and I'll be omiting, delaying, or glossing over material in this storyhour so I don't spoil things. A'kin is tangential to this current campaign though, so it won't be much of a problem.

A'kins backstory is like an encyclopedia. It's deep, dense, covers an incredible stretch of time, and they keep coming out with new supplements so right when you think you know it all, stuff keeps coming out that's completely new to you.


----------



## Darmanicus

Shemmie, still luvin' yer 2 story hours. Now if only Sepulchrave and Blackdirge would kindly indulge us also me thinks my literary appetite would be satiated in full!   

Keep up the good work.


----------



## Shemeska

Darmanicus said:
			
		

> Shemmie, still luvin' yer 2 story hours. Now if only Sepulchrave and Blackdirge would kindly indulge us also me thinks my literary appetite would be satiated in full!
> 
> Keep up the good work.




Thank you 

I'll try to update this one this week since it's taken a bit of a backburner to SH#1 (by intent) plus I've not had much time to write lately due to moving and tons of stuff at work keeping my busy.


----------



## Shemeska

Inva watched as they vanished through the portal to Sigil, twitching her tail slowly with a number of questions tumbling about her mind. Those two, Velkyn and Ankita, they seemed to know each other, and they’d been whispering to one another earlier, so something was up between them. Secrets were fun, secrets were fine and dandy to keep, but they also caught curious minds like tossing stingers down the street in the hive caught urchins.

	The tiefling pondered where in Sigil amongst her past sources of information she might ply a few jink and find out a little bit about that pair, it might not be easy, but it would take them time to get back from Rigus given their lack of previous experience with the rather… difficult… and rigid culture of that particular gatetown. She had time, and…

	“Umm… ma’am? You’re blocking the way to the portal…”

	Inva narrowed her eyes and turned around, looking down at the russet faced gnome who was trying to squeeze past her through the mouth of the alley to get to the Sigil gateway in the city square beyond.

	“Oh,” She replied in a suddenly syrupy sweet voice. “I was just going to go to Sigil myself, my apologies sir. Do you happen to have a portal key on you by any chance?”

	“Well yes. Why?” The gnome said without noticing her grin begin to change its meaning.

	A minute or two later, Inva stepped into Sigil and over the dazed and bruised body of the gnome that she’d hurled through the gate.

	“Bloody gnomes…”


***​

	The group, sans Inva, emerged from Sigil’s gate within a quarter mile of the fortress city of Rigus, and suffice to say the place did not in any way feel as charming or welcoming as Tradegate.

	Built upon a hill in a series of seven successive tiered octagonal rings, Rigus rose up walled section by walled section; spires, pennants, spikes and towers rising up like a massive ant colony or termite mound upon the soil of the Outlands. A road led up to its main gates, and rumor held that the lowest, outermost walls were painted with a contact poison to dissuade entry by any but the proper, approved manner. The rotting corpses that littered the base of that same buttressed wall did in fact attest to the veracity of those rumors as they neared the gates and its contingent of guards and inspectors.

	Four hours later they found themselves one ring higher in the city and waiting in a line once again to gain access to the next highest ring, ultimately trying to get to the ring containing the bank their payment had been deposited in. Each of them grumbled under the weight of the large, black slate shingles that hung by iron chains around their necks, badges indicating their visitor status and temporary immunity from accidental infringement of the laws of rank and order that applied to citizens of Rigus from slave-soldiers all the way up to generals.

	“I never want to visit Acheron if it’s anything at all like this damn place.” Victor muttered as they stood midway through the line and waited to present their papers, and their bribes, to the authorities a block ahead of them.

	“And think,” Velkyn said, “We’ve got a few more of these lines to look forward to!”

	Ankita rolled her eyes. “I should have waltzed off with Inva. She had sense to avoid this place.”

	“She’s probably been here before and knew what to expect.” Victor added.

	They nodded and they waited. And they waited. And they waited some more.

	Eight hours, and two separate military parades by the Order of the Toll of Doom later, they stood in front of the large slate roofed building two rings down from the Crown of Rigus that served as the Rigus branch of the 1st Bank of Grenpoli. And to tell the truth, getting to its main office in Baator would have likely been an easier task with less hierarchy to jump over in the process. Rigus was more law than evil, and it was a nightmare of generals and military factions all marshalling for power and prestige, each wielding the fruits of their position as blunt hammers to impose their will upon any in their particular ring of the city they held sway over.

	They only mingled outside of the bank for a moment or two, glancing briefly across the street at the sprawling, grandiose tavern known as the Broken Slate, an establishment known primarily as being the only building in Rigus free from the stifling rules that applied otherwise almost universally. As such it was the main stopping point for visitors to the gatetown.

	“Get your look now folks, because we won’t be spending the night.” Ankita said with some derision.

	Velkyn chuckled and stepped into the brightly illuminated interior of the bank, a baroque complex of glass, marble, and Baatorian greensteel. With a flicker of amusement he noted that the ground immediately outside the bank lobby and just inside as well, was laid underfoot with a plate of cold iron. Not too many Tanar’ri customers obviously.

	A short time later they found themselves accepting their payment and closing out accounts delineated for their group as a whole, and one specific to each of them containing a bonus. Their faces generally lit up when they saw the actual amounts, and they had to try carefully to not be overly curious about how much they had gotten in comparison to their fellows.

	Finally, with a sealed and notarized packet containing Inva’s payment, they left the bank and made their way back to the gate to Sigil, and from there ultimately back to Tradegate where Marcus’s servants had prepared them rooms.


***​

	Meanwhile, in their continued absence, Inva made her way into Marcus’s villa in Tradegate. She was smiling and her tail was twitching side to side with pleasure, given the information that she had found on Velkyn and ‘Ankita’. Of course, while she was smiling with glee, none of the servants and guards actually managed to see this given that she never announced her presence to the staff, nor did she actually enter through the main gate.

	In fact, for the next two hours, the tiefling proceeded to make herself at home in the villa, and profusely enjoyed making the servants ill at ease and uncomfortable. She might as well have been invisible to them, lurking in the shadows as she was, giving the edgy staff a fright or two as they might notice a pair of eyes glimmering in a shady corner of a room, hear a few clipped hoof beats echoing in an apparently vacant hallway, the metallic drag of her tail spade against a hard surface behind them when they weren’t looking, or a soft chuckle and nothing else apparent when they actually went looking for her.

	Ultimately, after her hours of fun with the staff, she simply waltzed into the kitchen and helped herself to a snack, smiling cheerily at the startled cooks, none of whom had been told that she had arrived, before walking back out to her room as if nothing had happened. Back there and by herself, she simply chuckled and waited for the others to arrive back from their trip to Rigus.


***​

	Ankita, Phaedra really, in the hours after they had returned from Acheron’s gatetown, stood in her room that had been given to her by one of Marcus’s servants and pondered how best to approach telling her companions about what she really was. They’d already realized that she wasn’t simply a tiefling, but was something more, and it would cause problems if they felt she was keeping secrets from them that might cause them harm later. It was high time to reveal her heritage to them.

	She walked out into the common room where the others were sitting and striking up various conversations, trying to feel a bit more welcome and a bit more at home. Marcus was being perhaps a bit more nonchalant and informal about allowing them to stay at a nobleman’s estate than was proper for such things. In fact, outside of the original offer of a place to stay, there hadn’t been a really firm and formal invitation, nor had their been any actual effort at hosting.

	Velkyn glanced at Marcus during one of the many random, long pauses, with a look that seemed to carry a questioning ‘…so…?’.

	Marcus gave back a look of ‘what?’ without giving a reply.

	Victor glanced down at the ground and Inva momentarily considered messing with the staff again as Velkyn looked around for Phaedra.

	“So – are we um, staying here or…?” The mage asked. “Or, you know, do you know of a good inn here in Tradegate?”

	The awkwardness was broken, and Marcus spared any indignity of answering the question, as Phaedra stepped into the room. She wore a light blue strapless dress rather than the more functional robes she had worn during their test together. It was made of silky material and while tight above the waist it fell more loosely below that point, ending about mid thigh.

	“You’re suddenly all dressed up.” Velkyn said as he noticed her a fraction of a second before the others turned their heads at her entry.

	“Wanted to be a bit more comfortable.” She answered, “And I had a few things to discuss with all of you if you’re not already too busy with anything else.”

	“Something to discuss?” Inva asked innocently, with a tap of her bladed tail against the leg of the chair next to her, offering Phaedra a spot to sit.

	“So what’s on your mind?” Victor asked calmly.

	Phaedra clasped her hands in front of herself nervously before she began.

	“Some of you probably figured out already that I’m a bit more than just a run of the mill tiefling.”

	“I’d figured,” Victor said. “The silver allergy for one thing was a bit extreme for a tiefling.”

	“And the way the yugoloths behaved around you was… odd.” Marcus said.

	“That got my attention too.” Inva said with a smug grin. “And the telepathy.”

	“Well, for starters, my name isn’t Ankita.” Phaedra said. “That was just an assumed name, one of a couple I have, and I used it simply because I was nervous and I didn’t know who any of you were. I wasn’t certain if any of you wouldn’t simply react in a negative way to what I was.”

	“Which is?” Marcus asked. “I mean, if we’re going to be working with you, I really need to know what you are in case it becomes an issue later on. I need to know who I’m trusting.”

	Phaedra grumbled as Velkyn looked awkwardly at Victor.

	“Alright,” She said. “But don’t blame me if you or the servants run screaming.”

	They looked at her curiously as her physical features shifted and melted away, reconforming to her true form. Gone was the odd but attractive tiefling, and in her place was, well, they weren’t entirely sure what she was. They might have thought she was an arcanaloth, but the muzzle was too blunt and the colors a bit off. They might have though she was a lupinal but the ears were a bit large and the muzzle a bit too tapered, and her overall body was too lean and not as muscular as that type of guardinal typically was. And of course there was the color of her coat, a swirling mixture of light and dark patterns, a monochrome motif of blacks, whites, and grays that sprawled across her exposed flesh. Her fur was like a piece of surreal Xaositect expressionist artwork framed by nearly twenty earrings that dotted her jackal’esque ears like ornaments on a slightly fiendish tree.

	Phaedra blinked her purple tinted eyes and smiled, showing fangs that were somewhat like a wolf, somewhat like a jackal. Honestly she looked like someone had taken a ‘loth and a guardinal, melted them down like a bottled Farastu and swirled them together, herself being the resulting bastard end product.

	Velkyn smiled knowingly as the others stared in curiosity and confusion, though Inva was grinning at the accuracy of her earlier suspicions, and the information she had tracked down.	

	She headed off the questions by quickly answering them preemptively.

	“One of my parents was a celestial, one was a risen fiend. They met in Sigil, spatially speaking, and met somewhere in the middle metaphorically speaking, which sorta explains me.” She said, twitching one ear slightly, causing the dozens of earrings to jangle lightly.

	Phaedra silently bit her tongue on her answers, not wanting really to get into the issue of her parents, and any questions they might bring up. She didn’t want to drag them into it, or really reveal who they actually were. None of her companions pressed the issue however, and her assurances that neither branch branches of her family had anything out for her, or any lingering attempts to influence her, did remove most of their doubts about trusting her or working with her. Of course a little white lie didn’t harm anyone, not all the time… well not this time anyway.

	“Well I think you win the prize for which one of us has the most unique heritage.” Inva said as she sipped on a drink that she’d helped herself to in the kitchen earlier on in the day. “And your one step ahead of me because I don’t have a clue what my parents were, aside from there being a Tanar’ri or two or three involved in there somewhere.”

	The tiefling flicked her tail in the air and tapped one hoof against the floor.

	“I swear,” Velkyn said. “You remind me of another tiefling my father knew, just a bit more lucid than she was.”

	“I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment then.” Inva replied. “Your father knows interesting people.”

	Velkyn paused, a bit taken aback by her insinuation that she knew more, but since she didn’t continue, at least not then, in front of the others, he held his tongue.

	“For me, it’s a bit obvious what my heritage is.” Velkyn said after he recovered. “Well, most of my heritage is obvious.”

	“Human and drow?” Victor asked, himself appearing wholly sun elf in ancestry. He left unsaid his initial reaction to the wizard of the thought of ‘one of the dark ones!’ and the urge to smite him.

	“My mother was drow, and my father was half human, an interesting bloodline, so between the two of them I have an interesting mix to work with.” Velkyn said. “Of course, while the human part of me might improve my stature, some of the weirdness from my father’s bloodline snags that right away from me.”

	Velkyn was indeed rather slight, and the shortest member of the group, with Inva even being marginally taller than him.

	“And for the love of all that you might hold holy, or unholy, whatever suits you really, don’t assume I’m like any typical drow. In fact my sister and I both sort of walked away from our mother’s side of the family, at her urging, for various reasons.” He continued.

	“Spiders –everywhere-…” Velkyn muttered with a shudder.

	Victor picked up next, introducing his cohort Garibaldi, bound to him out of loyalty not borne of nobility like his brother and Francesca, but by having saved the man’s life some years back and having the service offered as willing payment according to Garibaldi’s culture’s custom.

	Then, the cleric moved onto a little bit about himself.

	“Well, it’s probably obvious that I’m a gold elf, or a sun elf, depending on where you’re from.” Victor said before pointing towards his brother. “And yes, we’re brother. Not half brothers or anything else. All of the tiefling bloodline seemed to have jumped into Marcus rather than me.”

	“I was about to ask that actually.” Phaedra said with a chuckle.

	“And it was actually a surprise to see Marcus again,” Victor said. “We sort of went our own way a number of years back, and outside of some letters or sending magic, we haven’t really managed to keep close since we left home and went off on our own. He was the heir, being a year or two older than me, and I had joined the clergy of our world’s sun god.”

	“So, where are you both actually from originally, the prime I assume?” Velkyn asked.

	“From the prime.” Marcus said. “A small nation of around a hundred thousand citizens, broken up into a dozen baronies where our parents ruled as king and queen up till around ten years ago.”

	“Being older than Victor I was raised from an early age to be next in line to rule, and I was sent to a military academy at age ten to train in strategy, swordsmanship, rhetoric, and all of the varied intricacies of commanding respect and influence. Now it was in my first year there that…”

	All said, Velkyn’s question was probably the wrong thing to ask because it opened up a floodgate of detail from Marcus, probably too much information, and in a droning monotone. Either he hadn’t had enough sleep lately, or being back with his brother had made him feel awkward, but the nobleman wasn’t making the others feel comfortable as he carried on about his early life on the prime. Apparently he and Victor’s parents had been killed in a coup and they’d fled their world, with Marcus going into somewhat grim detail about his own plans to eventually take back his kingdom and kill the ones who had killed his parents.

	Even Phaedra, the product of –interesting- parentage, flattened her ears and gave a tilted head to the whole monotone diatribe.

_Are you sure that you’re related to him Victor?_ The half-‘loth broadcast into the cleric’s mind.

	Victor glanced back at her with an expression of ‘what do you want me to do about it?’

	Eventually though, Marcus finished and a silence descended over the room.

	“…so…” Velkyn said uneasily.

	A minute or so passed, and the look of odd unease from most all of them was broken, along with the stilted pause in conversation, as one of Marcus’s servants entered the room and cleared his throat.

	“Sirs and Madams?” He said, holding out a slim note in his hand. “There was a runner from one of the local guilds here to deliver a letter.”

	Victor thanked the servant and took the leader, glancing over it briefly and waiting for him to leave the room before reading it out loud.

	“It’s from our recent employers,” He said. “Right on time when they said they’d contact us. And it says:”

_	My employers have discussed your recent performance and matched it against their current aims, and they have given me a number of potential jobs for you. To that end I would like to meet with you two days from now to discuss this along with a number of other more mundane issues.
	I look forward to seeing you, and to having a more proper introduction versus our first meeting, this time not at swordpoint. I’ll be in a private room on the second story of the Prancing Nightmare Inn on the corner of Hags Head Avenue and Ebon’s Walk in the city of Center on the Waste.

-	Aspaseka_


----------



## FyreHowl

*Shameless Plug*

Course, all the secrets are far from had yet...*smirks and teases everybody*

In other news and shameless plugging since the description is out in the SH now of Phaedra:
http://www.planewalker.com/entry.php?intEntryID=10792

Additionally, due to some rather positive response from folks who already saw it, if there's any interest, there may be prints of this for sale. 

However, not to hijack a thread with that, use the contact info below if you've got any interest.

AIM:WatercolourPanda
email: prism@prismwuff.com


----------



## Ryltar

Shemeska said:
			
		

> “One of my parents was a celestial, one was a risen fiend.






			
				Shemeska said:
			
		

> Of course a little white lie didn’t harm anyone, not all the time… well not this time anyway.




 Now, THIS ... is where it gets interesting (and proceeds to intentionally tease the reader).

The PCs are rather ... quick at bonding as a group, aren't they? Given that they hardly know each other, I'd have assumed they'd harbour some more suspicions about each other's "true" motivations and interests, especially with a DM as fiendish as this one .

Nice update, in any case, looking forward to the continuation of this SH .


----------



## FyreHowl

Well, yes n no.

You gotta remember-
1. Phae and Velk already knew, and trusted each other.
2. Victor and Marcus already knew, and trusted each other, and that included Garabaldi and Franchesca as well. 

Not to mention the whole trial by fire work together or else introduction.


----------



## Clueless

It's also by this point the 4th game session.  In character, everyone's looking for work and wanting to cultivate a professional relationship with the team. (Even Inva  ) We've pegged certain members as more trustworthy than others, we've figured out who's evil (Inva), and we're just keeping an eye on the others... like Marcus.


----------



## CharReed

Can't wait to see what happens next 

Trying to get a little more caught up here...


----------



## Shemeska

CharReed said:
			
		

> Can't wait to see what happens next
> 
> Trying to get a little more caught up here...




*grin* This one is going to be slow in the updates, for a combination of trying to give more preference to writing SH1 every week, plus trying to delay the inevitable spoilers.


----------



## Shemeska

*Did you hear the distant lie, Calling me back to my sin, Like the one you knew before*

There was some muttering from Phaedra at the mention of having to go to Center, the largest trade city on the Gray Waste. But the arrival of the letter from Aspaseka also largely ended any further conversation and questions about Phaedra’s revelations to her companions, and also spared Victor from having to cover for his brother’s rather grim and overly detailed description of his history and his goals.

	As they broke up to go do their own things, or sleep, or perhaps have more than a few stiff drinks, Inva grinned and walked up behind Velkyn and Phaedra.

	“Interesting revelation you had for us just now Phaedra.” The tiefling said. “Though I think you might have both figured out that I already knew what was coming.”

	“I figured.” Velkyn said. “I noticed that comment you had about my father before.”

	“When everyone went to Rigus I took the opportunity to try to find out a bit more about the two of you.” Inva explained.

	“Oh really?” The half-drow asked.

	“Velk,” Inva began. “If I may call you Velk. Your father runs an inn in the Clerk’s ward. Your mother is still somewhere on the prime material and sent you and your twin sister, Stre’aka, to Sigil where you grew up. You knew Phaedra, and what she is, before her little coming out party here. In fact, the two of you grew up together more or less.”

	Velkyn blinked.

	“Does that sound about right?” Inva asked.

	Velkyn paused and gave a deep breath. She was right about it all, and hell if he knew where she’d found that out in such a relatively short period of time.

	“That’s about right.” He said.

	Inva smiled and gave a polite nod of her head to him. She spun to look at Phaedra, her red hair framing her face and giving her a slightly sinister look.

	“And you Phaedra. Your mother is a lupinal, rumored to be a fallen one, and a high placed member of the Transcendent Order, currently living somewhere on the Upper Planes, probably Elysium. Your father, and this was a bit harder to come across, is an arcanaloth: A’kin the Friendly Fiend; owns a shop in the Lower Ward and rumored to be all sorts of things that none can seem to really agree upon. Ever.”

	Phaedra’s fur bristled a bit.

	“About right?” Inva asked.

	“Yeah…” The half-‘loth said warily.

	“I’m more than willing to trust people if they tell me all I might need to know about them.” Inva said, spreading her hands. “But if you get me curious, I’ll look it up on my own.”

	“Satisfied?” Velk asked.

	“Yeah, pretty much.” Inva replied. “There’s nothing there that makes me worried, or really gives me any reason to not work with you. You’re both interesting cases, I’ll say that for certain.”

	That said, Inva walked off to vanish to wherever she felt like, and Phaedra and Velkyn sat down for a drink they previously weren’t planning on having.

	“And suddenly I don’t feel like going to visit my father anymore.” Phaedra said.

	“It can wait.” Velk replied. “Not like he’ll be going anywhere.”

	“I’ll probably go after we talk to Aspaseka.” Phaedra said, toasting her friend with a raised shot glass. “I might ask you to come along, depending on how I feel.”

	“Not a problem.” Velkyn replied with another toast.

	The next two days passed without incident.


***​

	Center was an enigma. It was one of the largest cities within the Gray Waste, a sprawl of marble, iron and wood situated at the tangent point between each of the three-fold glooms of the plane itself. It was a fulcrum between the triple layers of the lowest plane of evil in the multiverse, and it was almost ignored on the surface by the native Yugoloths. The plane itself was antithetical to life and morality, but within Center that ravaging void was still, silent, and somehow placated. Within Center you were spared that depravity, and still, the city gave to you, but what was lost? Altruism did not exist in this place, so why did it seem to shelter some for nothing in return?

	Center was a trade city. Given its location between each of the layers of the Waste, and its unusually high number of portals to various other points across the lower planes, plus Sigil, merchants and traders flocked to it like flies to a bloated corpse in an open tomb. From Center, the flesh of that corpse: weapons, magic, knowledge, mercenaries, and souls, it all filtered out to the highest bidder like rot on the wind. Gold filtered out and in, spilling from hand to hand as readily as blood spilt on the ashen soil of the Waste, and wealth and greed rose up like an idol of a god to demand worship as it sucked at the souls of all who sought refuge under its baleful gaze.

	Center was a prison. A third of the city lived under quarantine, each of those seeking to enter from the Oinos sector waited for days to determine if they would pass through the buttressed iron gates to the remainder of the city, or if they would show signs of infection and be abandoned to die of plague. Every mortal within Center lived in relative security and comfort, but one inch beyond its walls the Waste waited like a wolf at a cottage door, just beyond the lanterns, eyes twinkling like candlelight in a promise of agony and death. Those who left Center without heavy guard or inner strength and god-given luck typically did not return, be they slaughtered by fiends, one another, or simply giving in to the spiritual agonies of the plane itself and laying down to die.

	They arrived in the Niffleheim district of the city through a portal in Sigil’s Lower Ward. It was a place of wood and stone, shops and inns, counting houses and embassies, simple dwellings and marketplaces of the general goods to flow from layer to layer. The population wandering the cobblestone streets under the glow of lamplight was largely mortal: mercenaries and merchants, travelers and refugees. The occasional fiend or night hag kept to themselves and out of trouble, though the city watch was largely unobtrusive and rarely an observed presence.

	A mile or so distant, rising up in the city center like a gilded sepulcher or a dagger aimed at the sky was the massive palace of glass and marble belonging to the city’s ruler, Dandy Will. Will, a tiefling of apparent yugoloth heritage, had ruled Center for nearly two hundred fifty years, brooking no rivals except for a brief period a hundred fifty two years earlier when he was removed from power for the space of a month. Local legend claimed that he was restored to his position within twenty-four hours of the rise of the Ebon by the express order of the new Oinoloth himself. Local legend also claimed that along with his position restored to him, Dandy Will was given the head of the Ultroloth who had deposed him on a golden platter, cooked and prepared as a meal.

	Still, since that time of strife in the city, it had remained stable and largely free of conflict both within and without. Trade had prospered and the population had swelled, both permanent and transient, with Will’s policies benefiting all involved. But, as everyone knew, altruism was foreign to the Waste…

	The seven of them walked a dozen blocks along Hag’s Head Avenue past a group of drunken mercenaries and a trio of Hags offering a motley collection of mortal slaves and larvae to passersby; the larvae looking healthier by far. They ignored them, and Victor did his best to not comment or argue with any of the clerics and itinerant, self-proclaimed prophets gathered along the way, each screaming and proselytizing for gods as diverse as Nerul, Grolantor, Hades, Vecna, Talona, and Falazure.

	“I promise I won’t join in and shout over them.” Victor said.

	“Good.” Inva said. “Not the time, or the place. I’d have to bet against you.”

	“I did bring pamphlets to hand out though if I had the chance.” He replied, briefly flashing a number of parchment sheets.

	“Very much not the place.” Velkyn said as they reached the end of the block. “That cleric of Falazure was a half dragon and about twice your size.”

	“Hey, you never know when you’ll have a chance to find a person open to a few good words and maybe a change of heart.” Victor said with a shrug. “I know it’s not the place, but like I said, you never know. I’ll try to keep from being jaded, despite the locale.”

	They turned the corner, away from the din and clamor of the row of bickering clerics that stretched back two blocks behind them, stepping out onto the smooth and polished obsidian flagstones of Ebon’s Walk, perhaps a hundred feet from the entrance to the Prancing Nightmare Inn. The street was named for the Oinoloth of the same name, and was supposedly the route taken by his consort, the former Overlord of Carceri and current Oinoloth when she entered the city with the army of Anthraxus nearly two centuries prior.

	“Oh no…” Phaedra muttered under her breath with a distinct level of disgust.

	“What?” Velkyn asked her.

	She didn’t reply, but inclined her head towards the opposite corner of the street and the trio of fiends that stood there.

	Two hulking mezzoloths stood back reverently from a third figure, standing guard over him. Their black chitin shells glistened in the ruddy glow of adjacent streetlamps and the pale luminescence of the sky of the Waste that hung over Center like a funeral shroud. The least yugoloths however were not objects of interest, their superior was. A brown and gray furred arcanaloth with the head of a wild hunting dog, he - though its gender was an open question as per its kind - stood there upon the street corner dressed in black robes fringed in scarlet and silver.

	“The hell if I’m getting noticed by them.” Phaedra said, almost immediately shifting into the form of a tiefling.

	The robed ‘loth didn’t seem to notice her, and as they passed by he seemed to only be calling out like a beguiling siren to passing yugoloths, and occasionally to tieflings with obvious ‘loth heritage. All others were ignored utterly, though passing clerics and the rare celestial or aasimar drew a cold stare and a low, feral snarl.

	Phaedra had assumed herself free from notice, but it was not to be. Looking directly at her, the fiend’s eyes glowed, focused on her, as it began whispering, just audibly, and calling out into her mind telepathically. To anyone on the street, it was extolling, preaching even in some perverse way, to her in a cold, fanatic’s tone about holding loyal to the ‘rightful Oinoloth’. One of the mezzoloths even held out scraps of parchment of dubious origin going into detail about its master’s tenets.

	Inside Phaedra’s head however, the words were different, and at once they both gave promises to her like a beguiling lover and horrified her. Her heritage had mixed feelings on the matter, and she wasn’t sure how to respond, though she did not dwell on the images it showed her; terrible things. She didn’t respond, she kept walking, even as the ‘loth followed her with his eyes and continued speaking directly into her head even as its lips fell silent and blossomed into a zealot’s smile.

_Loyalty is given power. Purity begets power. That is what He offers you.”_


***​

	The Prancing Nightmare Inn was one of the larger ones in the district. It was just off from the market sector, in range of the tents and lights that framed and sequestered the sellers, dealers, swindlers and thieves of the city from those they preyed upon only blocks away, all drinking and slumbering within the slate roofed public houses of which the Nag, as some called it, was but one of many.

	Lamplight spilled out from the inn’s open door along with a bit of laughter and catcalls, a welcome beacon to the weary set of seven. Phaedra was still frowning as she stepped through the door, the upper portion of its frame cut into the shape of a rearing Nightmare with eyes of glittering red glass.

	Stepping inside they looked at the taproom and its clientele. There was a small, well stocked bar, a reception desk for those seeking lodging, and a stage around which a large collection of humans, tieflings, and one amused looking cambion sat to drink, be amused and aroused, and be peeled of their jink at the very least.

	“Oh that’s just amusing.” Velkyn said as he looked at the dancer with a minor sneer.

	An incubus was dancing around a pole set into the center of the stage, rubbing himself against it, curling his tail around it like a lover’s member, spinning around its length, and dancing provocatively. Of course, the tanar’ri was completely naked.

	“Not bad.” Inva said with an amused chuckle and twitch of her tail.

	“If you don’t mind having your soul sucked dry.” Victor said dryly.

	“Among other things.” Velk replied.

	Phaedra, Inva and Francesca both gave one or two more glances, guilty glances on the part of the last, as they all walked to the reception desk and inquired if Aspaseka had already arrived. She had, and the manager directed them upstairs to a private room just off of the walkway on the second floor balcony that surrounded the open space over the first floor and the dancer below.

	“Interesting place she chose.” Phaedra said as they ascended the stairs.

	“One way of putting it.” Victor said.

	“Maybe she likes the entertainment.” Velkyn replied. 

	“Something wrong with the entertainment Velk?” Inva asked with a raised eyebrow.

	“Not at all.” He said, perhaps a bit too quickly.

	Inva laughed and let it drop as they walked up to the door to where Aspaseka was meeting them.

	Marcus knocked on the door.

	“Come in.” Came the quick reply from inside.

	The door was ajar and a pool of warm, fluttering firelight was cast out and into the hallway as they tentatively pushed open the door to where their contact was waiting for them, seated comfortably at a table in line with the door.

	Aspaseka waved them in as she quaffed the last swallow from a goblet of wine and tossed a napkin over the remains of a meal that she’d been finishing. Unlike the last time that they had met her, at swordpoint, she was smiling and seemed much more relaxed and at ease.

	“Please, take a seat.” She said as they walked in.

	A fire was roaring in the fireplace and a pleasant smell of incense rose up in tiny curls of white smoke from a smoldering cone set in a brass dish upon the table around which eight chairs had been arranged.

	Aspaseka was dressed in the same fine leather armor as when they had first met her, but her sword hung on her chair and the cloak she wore this time was made of much finer material. Her blue-black hair fell down behind her, nearly pooling on the floor, though it was held up a foot or more by a pair of silver combs. She looked content, almost like a cat curled up in front of a fire or in a sunbeam.

	“I trust you didn’t have any difficulty getting here?” She asked.

	“Not really.” Inva said.

	“Scenery could be better.” Phaedra said with a shrug.

	Aspaseka tilted her head. “The dancer downstairs not your type?”

	Velkyn snickered.

	“No, not that at all, he’s fine.” Phaedra replied. “The ‘loths outside on the corner.”

	“Oh…” Aspaseka said. “I didn’t think that they would be an issue. Normally they only care about full-blooded ‘loths. My apologies.”

	“Eh, I’ll deal with it.” The half-‘loth said.

	“And now before we begin,” Aspaseka said. “I just want to apologize for being so curt with you all the first time we met.”

	“It’s not an issue.” Velk said. “Buy us a round of drinks sometime, show us a good time and all’s forgiven.”

	“I’ll have to remember that then.” Aspaseka replied. “Next time I’ll have the entertainment in the room rather than downstairs.”

	“So, you have employment for us?” Inva asked, getting off the topic of complaints or not regarding Center, and apologies from anyone.

	Aspaseka nodded and took out a small, leather-bound notebook and thumbed through to a page near the front.

	“As I mentioned in the letter, our employers have a number of different prospects that they feel your mutual talents make you suited for. You have a choice of which of these, if any, you might choose to take.”

	“Well, you’ve got our interest.” Marcus said.

	“And you pay well so far, so you’ve bought our time regardless of anything else.” Inva said as she played with the light reflected from her tail spade.

	“So what do you have for us?” Victor asked curiously.

	“Four things.” She said, tapping the book with a fingernail.

	“In order:

1)	A bit of tomb robbing in the far northeast of the continent of Faerun on Toril on the Prime Material. Looking for something specific.
2)	A snatch and grab in the mines of Marsallen on Acheron’s second layer. Sodkiller territory, something related to the former Mercykiller presence there a little over a century or two ago. It may or may not still be there, but we simply want you to find out.
3)	Wetwork. Hunting down and retrieving, one way or another, in the Abyss, a specific lesser tanar’ri of interest to my employers.
4)	Finding an object related to a former Lord of the 1st of Baator, likely in Celestia or Arcadia, oddly enough.”

She smiled and waited for a reaction.

	“The Abyss doesn’t sound all that fun.” Marcus said, and the others swiftly agreed.

	“I wouldn’t mind hunting down Tanar’ri, but… no.” Victor said.

	“No love lost the Mercykillers, or Sodkillers…” Velkyn said. “Bloody lines in Rigus.”

	“Messing around with them might have repercussions though,” Inva said. “Considering that they’re an active faction and all.”

	“If we went looking for something on Celestia or Arcadia, what’s the chance that we’d end up having to fight celestials?” Phaedra asked.

	“High.” Aspaseka replied bluntly.

	“Count me out on that one.” Victor said.

	They bantered back and forth for a few more minutes, each of them pointing out pros or cons to each of the potential jobs. While they talked, Aspaseka discretely put away the dish that she had been finishing when they arrived, making certain to keep the bones and rather large amount of spilt blood out of sight. Thankfully none of the meal was still twitching by the time they had arrived.

	“So,” Victor asked. “Tell us some more about that first option?”

	“Whose tomb are we robbing, and what’s there to grab?” Inva added.

	Aspaseka nodded and turned a page in her notebook.

	“I know that one of you is originally from Toril.” She said, glancing at Inva. “How familiar are you with the region of the Great Dale?”

	“Not particularly.” The tiefling replied. “Enlighten us if you would.”

	“It’s a flat, windy grassland that stretches between the forest of Lethyr and the Rawlinswood. Located approximately a days ride out of the furthest outpost of civilization there, and a two or three hour ride from the trade road that cuts through the middle of the Great Dale is a massive earthen mound known as the Great Barrow.”

	“It’s a series of concentric rings actually,” She continued. “Not just a single mound. And it’s sodding old, dating back to the period of the Imaskari war against the incarnate deities of Mulhorand and Unther.”

	They listened to her explain more, fairly well rapt with attention.

	“During the final days of Imaskar, several of the gods of the Mulhorandi and Untheric people laid siege to the Imaskari capital of Inupras. The war was largely won that day, and the incarnate manifestations of Horus-Re, Nergal, and several others fought and killed the Imaskari Sorcerer-King, Grand Artificer Yuvaraj, the Purple Emperor.”

	Aspaseka paused.

	“And in turn, Yuvaraj mortally wounded Nergal. The Untheric deity of air, darkness, and death, he lingered in a delirium wrought of magic for four days; agonized, in pain, and rambling. He died, and his worshippers carried him to the Great Dale, half a world away from the cursed sands of Imaskar, the land of his killers, considered too unholy to house his tomb.”

	“The Great Barrow…” Velkyn said almost reverently.

	“Indeed,” Aspaseka said. “But that’s simply the place, not what you’d be looking for. Now when Nergal was at his deathbed, hallucinating and babbling, all of his words were said to have been recorded. Everything he said, including the reactions of his clergy, the lamentations of his mortal children and wives, the fine details of how he had been killed; all of that was recorded in utter detail.”

	Aspaseka paused again for dramatic effect.

	“And that is what we want you to find: an object, likely a book, known as the Codex of Long Shadows and Last Breaths. And no, I don’t have a clue what it actually looks like. No one does.”

	“Nergal is dead, yes?” Victor asked.

	“Yes, and so are his clergy in Unther, as well as any faithful to him.” Aspaseka said. “His faith died with him, and what remains of him is out there floating in the Astral.”

	“So there’s no current clergy to deal with if we plunder the place,” Inva said appraisingly. “And it’s so far away from Unther than even if we do, there isn’t a soul that will care.”

	“I think we’ve got one that sounds a bit more realistic for us to go after.” Marcus said.

Aspaseka unfurled a map of the Great Dale and its local environs, stretching it out in the center of the table and pointing out the various major cities and landmarks, as well as the Great Barrow itself.

	“So what’s the catch?” Velkyn asked to a polite chuckle from Aspaseka.

	“So why is the tomb of a deity still sitting there out in the open and unplundered after all these centuries?” Inva asked. “Like Velk said, what’s the catch here?”

	“For starters, the people of the Great Dale don’t know the origin of the Barrow or who was buried there. Very few people on Toril know that bit of information.” Aspaseka explained. “Secondly the Great Dale has a very, very low population, some unhappy things lurking in the Rawlinswood to the north and the druids to the south in the Forest of Lethyr tend to not smile upon anyone ‘disturbing nature’. Plus, the druids have good reason to suspect that the Great Barrow is associated with the ancient kingdom of Narfell; their ruins dot the Rawlinswood and they had the tendency to summon and bind Tanar’ri. The Great Barrow predates Narfell significantly, but the druids, being fairly intelligent, aren’t taking the risk of having people set up towns, or dig in the area for fear of setting loose a troupe of Balors.”

	Victor shrugged. “Can’t honestly blame them, they’re being cautious.”

	“Outside of them, and the occasional incursion of blighted creatures from the Rawlinswood to the north, the place is desolate. Further to the west is the port city of Uthmere, and beyond the merchants and nobility, the only real group with any power is the clergy of Selune, though in terms of faith the various nature powers hold more faithful numbered among the people: Chauntea, Silvanus, Mielikki, Eldath.”

	“Hey, Phaedra.” Velk said to the sorceress. “You’ll do fine then, everyone’ll just assume that you’re a Selunite werewolf.”

	Phaedra scoffed.

	“Not a bad idea.” Aspaseka said. “The area isn’t used to anyone beyond humans and the occasional elf or dwarf. Given the past history of the region, fiends and tieflings are going to be viewed as objects of hate and fear to be avoided like a plague, at best.”

	“I’ll keep that in mind.” Inva said as she tapped her hooves on one of the legs of the table.

	“If you take this job, I’ll have a local guide paid to meet you, give you a rundown on the lay of the land, anything specific to worry about, and accompany you to the Barrow itself.”

	They glanced at one another.

	“We’ll take it.” Velkyn answered.

	Aspaseka smiled.

	“The site is also, according to local legend, haunted.” She said. “Overlooking the Barrow, built on a nearby hillock is an old stone keep, about a century old. It was built by a minor nobleman who claimed the area as his own and planned to dig it up to obtain whatever riches lay within. All went well for a time, but supposedly the first night after he completed his manor house and slept within its walls, he, his family, and the entirety of his staff and guard vanished in the space of a single night. The place has sat abandoned since that point, and the legend alone tends to keep would-be treasure seeker’s away.”

	“I can guess what it might be.” Victor said. “Restless dead.”

	“Or guardians bound into the tomb when Nergal was being buried.” Aspaseka added. “I’d like to be able to tell you more, but when the Barrow was constructed the builders were killed. On top of that the clergy and family of Nergal were sealed inside so that none would remember the location of the tomb outside of a handful of loyal guards, all of whom were said to have killed themselves upon the sealing of the last tomb.”

	Victor nodded again.

	“So in which mound of this complex is the Codex?” Inva asked.

	“Again, I can’t answer that.” Aspaseka said. “However, given its value and its importance to the clergy, it would either have been buried with Nergal himself, his first wife, or with one of his most senior priests or preistesses. And so either the primary, central mound, or one of the larger secondary mounds.”

	“Do we know where the entrances are?” Marcus asked curiously.

	“Not a sodding clue.” Aspaseka said. “But that’ll be the fun of it all.”

	“Outside of the vengeful dead you mean.” Victor said softly.

	“Yes, outside of that.” Aspaseka replied. “But you’ll do fine. I’m also not likely to be in Sigil for the foreseeable future, so any sending spells you send to me will be reached and responded to. When you’ve found the Codex get back in touch with me and we can meet to discuss payment. And now, before you ask, that payment is likely to be a flat amount to each of you, not a lump sum, simply to discourage people from killing one another to get paid more. And depending on how much I’m authorized to give, a bonus depending on time and any requests for aid or special resources.”

	“Now when do you want us to go, and how do you suggest we get there?” Victor asked.

	“Your call.” She replied. “Tell me when and I’ll arrange for your guide. And I can provide you with a portal to Toril, and from there, a scroll of teleport and a description of any one of a few possible spots to start from. I’d suggest either Uthmere itself, or one or the outposts along the trade road, the furthest out of which is a day from the Barrow. Where you want to go determines which guide I can get you.”

	“The closer the better,” Inva said. “Especially since I’ll have to put up with the locals.”

	“True.” Phaedra added.


***​

	Over the next hour they discussed some of the more general precautions over a bottle of wine with Aspaseka before they said their goodbyes and left to return to Sigil and then to Tradegate with the intent of leaving in the morning for Toril.

	As they left the inn, the Incubus dancing on the stage winked at them and curled his tail in a beckoning gesture.

	“Another time.” Inva said, feeling tempted to toss him a coin.

	The tanar’ri chuckled and curled a leg around the dance pole, glancing his eyes across the women in the party, and the men as well, licking his lips as he evaluated them in numerous ways.

	They ignored the fiend as they left, though he did get a coin tossed at the stage that he caught with his teeth.

	Phaedra further ignored the ‘loths outside the inn as they left and made their way back to the gate to Sigil. She was still grumbling about them though as they left them behind in the distance. 

A few blocks down the road, next to a stunted private garden and a bustling slave market, they paused next to a fenced off corral of horses, of few of them snorting flames and clearly more than mundane versions.

	“Does anyone here besides Francesca and I have a horse?” Marcus asked.

	None of the others nodded.

	“You’re right.” Victor said. “Considering we’re going to the prime, with a ways to walk to this place… good idea.”

	A bit of haggling with a Night Hag later, and pushing away her attempts to sell them Nightmares rather than normal horses, or larvae, they had five horses. They were normal and fairly healthy, if in need of more to eat than they’d been getting. But overall, they came at a fair price considering where they had been purchased, and they would be welcome once they arrived on Toril.

	“Why would I want to buy a larvae?” Phaedra asked as they walked away.

	“You do realize the irony in that right?” Victor asked.

	“What?” She replied, honestly befuddled.

	“You’re part ‘loth dear.” Inva said. “As far as most people are concerned you eat them for breakfast, poke them with sharp objects for fun, or screw them in your spare time.”

	Phaedra paused, clearly about to make some reply, but she held her tongue. It wouldn’t make any difference anyway. Perceptions were perceptions. Heck, given who she was related to, that held true even more so.

	“Anyway, let’s just get back to Sigil.” Phaedra finally said as they walked on. “The sooner I get away from this plane the better I’ll feel.”


***​

	The portal back to Sigil was a large iron archway covered over in dead and dying razorvine. The ground surrounding the portal itself was stained brown with several spots of a more recent, half dried reddish liquid: blood.

	“So, who wants to provide the portal key?” Phaedra asked.

	“What is it?” Marcus asked, warily looking down at the ground.

	“Fresh mortal blood.” She replied.

	Victor glanced around before rolling up his sleeve, willing to provide a drop or two to activate the portal. But despite his willingness, it wasn’t needed.

	“Give me a minute.” Inva said. “I’ll be right back.”

	“Where are you…Oh.” Phaedra asked as the tiefling wandered off, following discretely behind a gnome that passed by along the street.

	“Oh for the love of…” Victor muttered with resignation as he rolled his sleeve back down. “I’d swear that gnomes killed your parents or something…”

	“EEEEAAAAA!” Came a sharp, shrill cry from the direction the gnome and Inva had gone.

	“Oooooowwwwwwww…” Echoed a plaintive, vaguely nasal moan from behind her as Inva waltzed back to the portal. 

The spade on her tail was bloodied down to the first inch or so of its length and she gave an overly innocent grin as she tapped the blade through the boundary of the portal and activated it.

	“That was incredibly amusing.” Phaedra said with an admiring chuckle.

	Velk smirked, perplexed by her reaction when only minutes before she had reacted so negatively when confronted by full-blooded yugoloths. She was odd at times, but he didn’t mention the contradiction he saw her expressing as they all stepped through the portal and back into Sigil’s Lower Ward.

	“Straight on to Toril?” Victor asked. “Or does anyone want to rest at all, or maybe pick up any extra food or supplies? Now’s the time certainly, though it might be cheaper back in Tradegate.”

	Velk and Phaedra were already breaking away from the group, each to handle their own things in Sigil, though they left their horses behind with the others going to Tradegate.

	“We’ll meet you back in Tradegate in an hour or so, I just wanted to go say hello to my dad in Sigil.” Phaedra said. “He wanted me to just check in, and it’d be rude if I didn’t, especially since we’ll be on the prime for a while.”

	Inva smirked knowingly but said nothing.

	“Not a problem.” Victor said. “How long do you think it’ll take?”

	“Not long.” Phaedra replied. “Maybe an hour?”

	“I just need to shop around somewhere in the city,” Velk said. “I’m going to pick up some wands that might come in handy for the trip.”

	And so they went their own way, walking further into the smoggy interior of the Lower Ward, heading for a very specific destination while the others returned to Tradegate and waited their return.


***​

	The door swung open with the light jingle of a small, silver bell. Phaedra stepped into the shop’s interior and glanced around for her father amid the eclectic jumble of odds and ends from across the planes, both junk and rare and expensive treasures. She didn’t see him, but a black-scaled kobold, his assistant, peeked out from behind a pile of items he’d been tasked to sort, price and arrange.

	“Is A’kin here?” Phaedra asked.

	The kobold looked up at her, dressed in the black and gold robe that he typically wore. He blinked his large, luminous blue eyes and nodded obediently.

Roughly a second or two after the door swung shut and the bell ran again, the sign that hung in the door reading ‘OPEN’ flipped over to ‘CLOSED’ and the Friendly Fiend himself stepped out from the back room of the shop.

	Smiling that jackal’s smile he glanced down at his apprentice. “Take a break, go have lunch, do whatever you want for the next hour or so. Go! Have fun!”

	The kobold nodded obediently and darted out the door with a coin flipped at him by the ‘loth.

	As soon as they were alone, A’kin chuckled and put an arm over Phaedra’s shoulder, walking her towards the back room where a pot of tea was just coming to boil and a cookie jar sat in the center of a table with exactly two chairs already arranged and pulled out.

	“So, what’s on your mind?” A’kin asked.


***​


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## Fimmtiu

So the good-aligned characters here don't have a problem with Inva randomly mauling gnomes? Love the whole "A'kin as a doting father" bit, though.


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## Clueless

Good?
Oh - you mean Victor and Garibaldi. Yeah... um. Bout them.  The gnome wasn't hurt *too* bad...


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## Dakkareth

Shylara as the current Oinoloth ... well, the Ebon did call the Siege Malicious a stepping stone.  

Yugoloth innuendo ... gotta love it.

The Prancing Nightmare Inn ... a good laugh there .


All this really reminds me, that I've been off the Planescape boards at WotC and Planewalker for about two months ... far too long! Oh, the more time you have, the more you waste . I really need to get back there sometime ...

Great job, Shemeska .


----------



## Inconsequenti-AL

Just got myself up to date on this story. Cracking stuff! Definitely another one to follow.

Some really interesting characters lurking around there. Phaedra is a particularly interesting creation.

Particularly enjoyed the family of medusae (?) - another very funky use of creatures?

Thanks!


----------



## Toras

Fimmtiu said:
			
		

> So the good-aligned characters here don't have a problem with Inva randomly mauling gnomes? Love the whole "A'kin as a doting father" bit, though.




She sticks him for a second, if Victor makes a issue of it, next time she'll hide it and she could kill him.   And he is gradually going to try to reform them all, but that's another issue.  The other missed it entirely.


----------



## Clueless

.... reform!?


----------



## Toras

It takes time.


----------



## Quanqued

Planning to reform...? Good grief, there's only one character that impressionable really, and she doesn't need it anyway!  Besides she's got Mommy and Daddy to take care of the impressionable bit :>

For the record folks, I'll introduce myself when the time is right, but it's becoming nearly impossible not to post here. :>


----------



## Shemeska

*chuckle* I'm up to seven of you all now. It'll be a while before the storyhour reflects the two later additions, and the one PC swap though. Gotta go through this first major plot first.


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Sounds like more story hour goodness.  Keep up the good work Shemeska, you kept me from getting any real work done all day.    It's a good thing I am very productive when I want, or need to be.

GW


----------



## Tristol

Fimmtiu said:
			
		

> So the good-aligned characters here don't have a problem with Inva randomly mauling gnomes? Love the whole "A'kin as a doting father" bit, though.




Not to slight the artistic creativity of our DM, but it went over a little less blatantly than that at the table. It was more along the lines of 'So, who wants the cough up the portal key?'. No one seemed keen on the idea and everyone started to banter back and forth for a moment. So Inva slipped off (as she's quite adept at doing), and returned a moment later with the spade tip covered in blood. Everyone knew what likely happened, but there wasn't exactly much they could do about it now that it was already taken care of. And well, really the number of people on the 'good aligned' side of our party is rather low. I let the DM know that the actual stab was more of a pricking, just enough to draw blood. No scar or anything. I will point out that the DM's creative liberty does work just as well though, and is more of what the character is doing in my head, than what comes out at the table sometimes.

Oh, and as a side note, Inva did solve a problem, without killing anyone, and without injuring anyone in the party (knicking Victor or Geribaldi with the spade would have worked just as well). So, for Inva that's actually a step in the positive direction. Inva's evil, no doubt about it, but she's not the overly violent evil. Her methods of solving problems usually involve pain somewhere in them, but only to the point of getting what she needs. I'm having immense fun with the character, as it's neat to prove that 'evil people do have friends' (obviously gomes aren't in that list *grin*)


----------



## Shemeska

Phaedra left her father’s shop with something of a resigned sigh and a lingering smile. Her father was… well A’kin was A’kin and there was little else to describe. You had to know him. It’d been a productive visit though, and it was good to know that he was doing well for himself, quite well on a number of fronts.

 She licked her lips and the front of her fangs, enjoying the last traces of the tea she’d sipped with him over the course of the past hour, trying to figure out the exact sort of flavors that he’d spiced it with. But more so, she was trying to mull over in her mind what he’d told her and what he’d actually meant, damned layers of subtleties and double meanings in how his caste spoke. She’d be pondering that for days probably, despite what she was and despite having grown up exposed to it. It wasn’t easy.

Phaedra chuckled as she walked off into the Lower Ward, away from the Friendly Fiend. She rubbed a sleeve across her cheek where she’d grumbled and finally acquiesced to a kiss goodbye before she’d left to meet up with her companions and their trip to Toril.

	“I’m one of your kids and I still don’t know what to think sometimes…”


***​

	They arrived in northeastern Faerun shrouded in the fading glow of their planeshifting magic, standing on the shore of a rocky beach. Cold salt water lapped at the rounded pebbles under their feet, up to within a few yards of where a thick and dark evergreen forest rose up to greet the shoreline.

	“And this would not be the Great Dale.” Phaedra said. She had already assumed the form of a human. She didn’t want to be too far out of place in a backwater region of a backwater prime material world.

	“How keen of you to notice.” Inva said with a smirk as she took out a teleportation scroll.

	“I wonder how far off we are.” Marcus asked as he looked around.

	“You can just… stand off to the side there… as I read this and the rest of us hold hands then.” Inva said to him.

	Marcus raised an eyebrow and joined hands with the others as the tiefling began to cast her spell.

	“Think happy thoughts or something cliché like that.” Inva said with far too much perkiness in her voice before she finished the teleport.

	There was a sudden sensation of weightlessness, darkness, and they reappeared in the middle of a vast and open grassland, the Great Dale, barely fifty feet from the edges of Eastwatch. It was a tiny settlement, little more than a wooden stockade and watchtower that surrounded a cluster of thatch roofed buildings and a stable built up around a single artisan well. The furthest outpost of distant Uthmere, it was a well-traveled stopping point for caravans departing east for Bezentil and parts beyond along the Great Road. That traffic was less for anything spectacular about the outpost itself, but the fact that it was there, it had a source of fresh water, and it had horses and other supplies for sale. Beyond that mercantile aspect of the settlement, it also housed a minor garrison of trained warriors and scouts that served to protect merchants and the far flung settlers and farmers of the Dale itself who lived out beyond the protection that closer proximity to the more settled western reaches provided.

	A cold breeze drifted across the plain, tossing the grass towards the east in haphazard fashion. A few drifting flakes of snow fell down from the sky as well. It was late autumn, perhaps nearing winter.

	“I’m glad I brought an extra cloak…” Velkyn said with harsh look up towards a sky that was gray and heavy with a coming snowfall.

	“Son of a…” Inva said with a frown as she glanced down at her own clothing, or lack thereof. “Well at least I’ll look good while I’m cold.”

	Phaedra laughed politely as they trotted up to the gate.

	“If anyone asks, I’m an elf.” Velkyn replied as he activated the magic of a pin at his collar. His skin color faded into a light cream skin tone, not the dusky color of his drow heritage.

“And if anyone else asks,” Velk continued. “Victor is a cleric of… Lathander…”

	“Excuse me?” Victor said. “If anyone asks who I worship, I’m not going to lie and…”

	They were politely bickering as they approached the gate.

	“Well met!” Came the shout down from one of the guards atop the palisade. One problem however: the language used wasn’t one they were familiar with. None of them had a clue what was just said.

	“Greetings!” Victor called up to them, breaking off his talk with Velkyn. “Umm…we’re here to meet someone, a guide. They should be expecting us.”

	They were met with silence.

	“I don’t think they quite understood you Victor.” Phaedra said.
	The gate was already opening though with the sound of some conversation on the other side.

	“Guess someone did.” Velkyn said with a shrug before he adjusted his cloak.

	“Marcus Grenevald.” The man said in a variant of the local trade language that was shaky but close enough to their own planar common to generally understand him. He smiled as he walked out of the gate and extended a hand to each of them.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” He said while gesturing them inside. “I’ve been expecting you.”

	He was a fairly muscular man dressed in light chain armor and carrying a sword and crossbow. Nothing special by any means, but he had the look of a person who knew the region from long experience, oftentimes hard experience. Of average human height, he was well tanned from exposure to the sun and the wind of the open grassland of the Great Dale, but he was genuine in his greeting as he introduced himself. He wasn’t hardened to the point of being unfriendly, which was good. Their employers had chosen the right man.

	“I take hope you haven’t been waiting too long for us?” Victor asked.

	“Two Marcuses. This’ll be amusing.” Inva whispered as she faded like a shrinking violet into the background. Given the past history of the place, her heritage wouldn’t make her any friends.

	“No actually.” Grenevald replied. “I wasn’t at all expecting you till tomorrow at the very least. I figured that you’d be traveling along with one of the trade caravans from Uthmere, and the next wasn’t scheduled for another twoday.”

	Velkyn nodded. “So, we just know that our employers hired you to show us to the Great Barrow. How much did they actually tell you about us?”

	“Not too terribly much.” He replied. “But they paid a substantial amount of gold compared to what I’d usually charge. Didn’t recognize any of the heraldry on the coins, but gold is gold.”

	“Who actually spoke with you?” Phaedra asked. “Just out of curiosity.”

	“Tall lass, bit of an odd accent like your own, with dark hair, almost blue, about down to her boots.”

	There where some nods and smiles.

	“Aspaseka.” Velkyn said. “She handles a lot of these things for us.”

	“Well she paid me well, gave me instructions to see you to the Barrow and instruct you about anything local that I might find relevant.” He explained then glanced at their clothing. “You didn’t know it was nearing winter did you?”

	“No, we didn’t.” Phaedra replied with a brief glance over at the pair of cloaks that Inva was bundled up under, hiding her status as a tiefling more so than from the cold.

	Their guide nodded and glanced up at the sky.

	“Well, it’s likely to snow within the next twenty four hours, I’ll give you that much.”

	Marcus nodded. “How bad is it likely to get?”

	“No way to be sure.” Grenevald replied. “But, based on the season and past experience, probably a few inches deep. Honestly it was good that you showed up now rather than a day or two later.”

	“Oh?” Velkyn asked.

	“We can see the road.” He replied. “And the wind can get hard in the open plain, kicking up snow if it’s a loose fall.”

	“Could we get there tonight if we left now?” Marcus asked.

	“Likely yes.” Grenevald explained, already tying down supplies to his horse. “If we leave in the next hour we’ll get there just before dark. And I don’t want to try to set up any sort of camp there after night has already fallen.”

	“Why?” Phaedra asked.

	“You’ll see.” He replied. “Trust me on this one...”


***​

	The sky seemed swollen and pregnant as they galloped away from the settlement and out into the open wilds of the Great Dale. The grassy plain extended north and south from the road, stretching to the horizon where it was marked by the borders of the dark Rawlinswood to the north and the great Forest of Lethyr to the south.

	Flurries of snow drifted lazily on the wind as they rode at a fair clip to the east. The snowflakes which speckled their faces were slowly increasing in intensity as they progressed over the next hour, innocent harbingers of Auril’s wrath likely to burst free from its heavenly womb in the next forty-eight hours.

	“Wait…” Phaedra said as she noticed something off to the north of the road, maybe a mile distant.

	She called out to the others and drew their attention to it. There were birds circling in the sky over what she saw, scavengers attracted by a kill. Whatever it was, the grass in the area, as far as they could tell from the road, was trampled in a rough circle.

	“Probably just some dead animal.” Their guide said as he took notice of the spot.

	“That looks like many things killed many things.” Velk said warily. “If that’s a hunting kill, that's a pack. If that's a non hunting kill, that's raiders.”

	“I’m still wary of the snow hitting before darkness.” Grenevald said. “It’s not directly on our way, and we’re perhaps two hours out from the Barrow as it is. But it’s your call.”

	They glanced at one another as Velk took out a spyglass and focused it on the distant kill.

“Better enemies in front, than enemies in front and behind.” Phaedra said as she moved her horse off of the road.

	“That’s not a dead animal.” Velk said. “There’re at least six or seven bodies out there. Some goblinoids, an ogre, and what looks like a human. Not pretty.”

	“Human you say?” Grenevald asked with sudden concern.

	“Aye.” Velk replied.

	“Probably one of the homesteaders got himself killed by bandits.” Grenevald muttered with a sigh.

	“There’s a hell of a lot of blood out there…” Velk said as he continued looking at the disturbed grass through the spyglass.

	Indeed there was as they slowly and carefully moved off the Great Road and into the grass, moving towards the site of the kill. The ground was trampled and slathered in blood from a half-dozen goblinoid corpses that lay in the grass and the badly decomposed body of a single human dressed as some sort of hunter or woodsman.

	Phaedra, Inva and Velkyn immediately glanced at one another as they stared at the bodies.

	“These goblins didn’t die naturally, not all of them.” Phaedra said.

	Three of them were literally hacked apart, and pints of their blood stained the ground a sticky reddish hue for dozens of feet. But one of them was nearly cooked, burnt black and smelling of ozone like a bolt of lightning from the heavens had struck him down. Two others and an ogre showed no wounds whatsoever, but their fingers and toes were black and elsewhere their exposed skin was uniformly covered in tiny star-shaped bruises, the hallmarks of frostbite and broken blood vessels from a sudden, traumatic and ultimately lethal exposure to cold.

	“Those three there, they froze to death.” Velkyn said warily.

	Their guide was trying to keep his horse calm as he approached the corpse of the dead hunter. The body swarmed with maggots and the flesh hung slack on the bones. Birds had already devoured the eyes, most of the nose and the soft flesh of the face. The body was falling apart in front of them as if it had lain exposed to the elements for weeks.

	“Wait…” Victor said. “There’s something wrong here.”

	“I’ll grant you that.” Grenevald said as he shooed a raven away from the human’s corpse.

	“The goblinoids, they’ve only been dead for a few days at most.” Victor said. “But that human looks like he’s been dead for weeks. Maybe longer.”

	“What’s more…” Inva said. “There’re four bodies missing.”

	She directed their attention to four bloody spots in the grass, distinct and separate from where the other bodies had fallen. Each of them was roughly the size of a hobgoblin or ogre, but while they were covered in copious amounts of blood, there was no body left. In fact, it was almost as if the corpse had simply gotten back up and wandered off. There wasn’t a trace left of them to be seen.

	“Probably devoured by something out of the Rawlinswood.” Grenevald stood and looked warily to the north.

	The horizon was filled with the border of that blighted forest which had swallowed the ancient kingdom of Narfell. It was not dead though by any means, it was occupied by newer horrors, and even those lived in no small measure of fear about the things that still lay beneath their feet, tenuously bound and imprisoned of old.

	 “This man.” Their guide continued. “He probably was infected with the blight.”

	“Blight?” Victor asked.

	“The Rawlinswood.” Grenevald said with hesitation. “It’s cursed, diseased. Creatures that wander from there are dead while they still manage to walk, rotting from the inside out. Disease and dark magic.”

	“Dark magic?” Marcus asked.

	“The Rotting Man.” Grenevald replied in barely a whisper. “A cleric of Talona, and the ruler of the Rawlinswood. Some say he consorts with demons. Experience has told me it is probably more truth than rumor.”

	Victor coughed, breaking the chill and nervousness that had seemed to descend over their guide. He was taking out a shovel and a vial of holy water.

	“There’s something I need to do.” He said, motioning towards the bodies.

	Velk shot him an impatient look. “Oh for… fine… go ahead. We’ll wait.”

	Victor began to bless the bodies and dig them each a shallow grave. But as he did so, the others who watched him noticed a few other incongruities in it all. The goblinoids were carrying nothing beyond improvised or crude weapons, no food or water at all, nor any valuables. In fact it was almost as if they had been stripped of anything of value by whatever had killed them. It didn’t seem right considering what their guide was convinced had killed and perhaps devoured some of them.

	Velk frowned and whispered the words of a cantrip. His eyes flickered red for a moment and the ground began to glow under his vision. The entire area was blanketed with the sickly glow of necromancy, especially potent on the corpse of the dead human, and on the four spots where corpses should have lain but were conspicuously absent.

	“Nothing ate them.” Velk whispered to Phaedra. “They got up and walked away. Look at the lingering magic.”

	Phaedra whispered the same spell, peered at the area and nodded in agreement.

	“One problem though,” The half-‘loth said. “If they walked off, where’d they go? Their tracks away from where they died end after a few feet, no blood trail or trampled grass.”

	Velk almost reflexively cast a spell to detect invisible creatures. His heart skipped a beat as he considered the possibility of the dead goblinoids and whatever had killed them waiting, lurking invisibly, ready to spring upon any others who came to investigate. But no, there was nothing to be seen, visible or not.

	“Nothing invisible either.” Velk said. “There’s nothing there.”

	“So what?” Phaedra asked. “Then where are they? Unless they just flew away or got yanked up into the sky.”

	She and Velk slowly looked up, and for a moment the winter’s wind on their faces suddenly felt all the much colder…


***​

	Roughly an hour later, after Victor had buried the dead, the light was starting to fade in the eastern sky and their guide was growing more and more anxious to get back to the road.

	“It’s not far now, but we don’t want to be caught in the dark.” He said as he kicked his horse into a gallop.

	“Why?” Victor shouted to their guide. “You’ve made that pretty clear, but you haven’t explicitly said why. What about the Barrow and the dark are you worried about?”

	“I don’t need to know exactly what is there to be frightened of it.” He shouted back.

 Their guide’s worried expression was framed by the harsh violets and oranges of the setting sun’s rays as they raced west to east across the sky, to be swallowed by the rising tide of darkness on the eastern horizon.

	“There’s a reason why people like you venture out to the place and yet no one has ever walked out with whatever might be buried there.”

	He let the implications sink in as they approached closer and closer.

	“The place is haunted, or cursed, or worse.” He explained. “Ever since Lord Elphras Barlow out of Impiltur claimed the region as his own some three centuries back, most folk stay away from it.”

	“Was this the nobleman who built a castle on the edge of the place?” Velkyn asked.

“And then vanished in the course of a single night… aye.” Grenevald replied. “He vanished along with his entire family and a full staff of servants and guards. Not a trace left of them all then, and none has ever been found.”

	“Vengeful dead?” Victor mused.

	“Perhaps, but I don’t care to find out. But at the moment, you’ll have more pressing concerns. The temperature is going to drop in the next hour or two, and it may snow without warning. You’ll need a fire when we get to the Barrow, and you’ll need shelter.”

	“Well, there’s a castle nearby.” Marcus suggested.

	“Which I wouldn’t recommend, at least not on the first night.” The guide replied. “Camp on the edge of the barrow, but wait till light to explore the place. I’ll stay with you over the night, make sure you’re fine, and then you’re on your own.”

	“Makes me sure feel safe when the guide doesn’t want to stick around.” Phaedra said to the others.

_Ten jink says he thinks we’re brainless morons who’ll end up dead within a day by curse or exposure to the elements._ She continued telepathically.

	“Probably.” Velk replied.

	“What was that?” Grenevald asked.

	“Nothing.” Victor said. “We’re just anxious to get to the Barrow.”

	The guide nodded and rode in silence for another fifteen minutes before slowing and pointing to the north. There was no mark in the road, nor anything visible in that direction but an endless expanse of high grass and steadily lengthening shadows cast from the tips of the tallest stands.

	They followed his cue, and began a few miles trot across the open, windblown grassland. They soon felt it grow colder and a chill wind rose up from the same direction they rode in. Out of nowhere, even as they slowed their pace, the wind seemed to grow steadily colder as they approached two distinct objects on the flat, otherwise desolate plain.

	Rising up to the northwest atop a small hill were the ruins of a stone keep and a single tower. A loose path led up to the hill, largely swallowed by the encroaching grassland, the telltale signs of abandonment. The door and windows were open to the elements and the roof was collapsed in places. Still, if need be, it might serve as a respite from the snow if there was a blizzard.

	A short distance to the northeast though, there it was, the Great Barrow.

	“That’s bigger than I expected.” Victor said bluntly.

	It was massive. Each of the lesser mounds were at least a story or two high, and the central mound was more than double that, and probably hundreds of feet across from side to side. The light was fading quickly, but they could already see that there was nothing normal about the series of mounds. The grass that covered them was uniform but discolored as it swayed in the wind. The surfaces of the individual tumuli were smooth and largely undisturbed but for scattered spots that showed evidence of long past attempts at excavation, but no clues as to entrances or markers of who was buried there.

	“This might take longer than we thought…” Inva said as she climbed down off of her horse.

	The grass hid her hooves from their guide, but she kept herself wrapped in the pair of cloaks she wore, though in truth the cold didn’t honestly bother her in the slightest.

	“Never want to ride a horse that long, that hard, ever again.” She said, rubbing her sore tail under the cloak.

	Phaedra snickered slightly as she climbed down off of her own mount. 

“There are benefits to being able to change your form.” She whispered. “All the benefits of having a tail when you want one, but none of the problems that come along with them the other times.”

	Inva grinned and smacked Phaedra’s leg with the wind chilled metal of the spade on her tail as the half-‘loth passed her.

	“What drawbacks?” She said as she moved past, grinning and waving the polished tip as she did so. “I don’t see any at all.”

	They gathered their horses together, tied the reigns to a length of rope and staked them into the ground. For whatever reason though, the animals seemed spooked by something and tugged nervously at their tethers. There was just something about the place, the land, or the proximity of the barrow perhaps.

	“This seems like a good spot to set up camp for the first night.” Grenevald said. “Pitch your tents and flatten out the grass, I’ll set up a campfire.”

	“Sounds like an idea to me.” Velkyn said as he unrolled the heavy fabric and poles of his own tent.

	“I’d suggest at least three watches,” The guide continued. “And you’ll probably just want to scout the entire area in the morning, starting with the keep over there. But at first light I’m gone. I don’t want to stay here any longer than I have to.”

	The area seemed colder by the minute, even more than expected as the light faded and night fell. The snow was still falling but the ground was too warm to allow it to accumulate, but the air was bitter as it whistled out of the darkness to the north.

	“Is it just me, or is the wind here a hell of a lot colder than it was before we got to the mound?” Marcus asked.

	“Not just you.” Victor said. “It’s much colder here than anywhere else.”

	“So what?” Velkyn asked. “It’s night and it’s winter. The sun goes down and the temperature drops.”

	“Oh, that’s normal. There’s always a cold wind about the Barrow.” Grenevald said. “It’s not just the darkness or the winter.”

He turned and looked at the shadowy bulk of the cluster of mounds that stood silhouetted in the moonlight. 

“There is no wind blowing from the north to cause this, there never is. A mile away from the Great Barrow and there is no wind blowing towards us here. Understand that even in the middle of summer the mound is chill and the air of cold and alive about this place.”


***​

	Pitch black but for the embers of their fire and a pale sliver of a moon hung in the sky that illuminated the gently falling snow, the night settled down upon them and their camp nestled between in the ruined nobleman’s keep and the metaphorical shadow of the looming Barrow that rose to the east, blotting out a portion of the stars. On the second watch, the stroke of midnight, the wind kicked up and the grass began to stir. Shifting, rustling against each other, the wind and grass began to whisper…


----------



## Fimmtiu

Nice foreshadowing! I guess forewarned is not necessarily forearmed, when you're walking right into the arms of inscrutably mysterious people-stealing forces. (Note: grammar problem on the last sentence of the penultimate paragraph.)


----------



## shilsen

Very nice. Considering the buildup, I'm going to be very disappointed if none of the PCs get their faces chewed on


----------



## Bryon_Soulweaver

Shemeska said:
			
		

> “I’m one of your kids and I still don’t know what to think sometimes…”




Yeah, how many children does A'Kin have?


----------



## Clueless

Phaedra has a sister and a brother.


----------



## ajanders

*Yikes*

I read this and I remember the first spell my wizard character learned once he got his fourth level spells: Leomund's Secure Shelter.
"Not Shout?" asked the puzzled DM.
After he realized how easily the entire party got a peaceful night's sleep, he ceased to be confused.
It's not that we didn't eventually have to face the dozen ogres, it's just that we had a good night's sleep and some coffee first.


----------



## Clueless

LOL - That becomes a lot more relevant in the next plot arc we went to. Where the game  that day eventually devolved into a vengeful pre-emptive strike on local raiders who wouldn't let us get any rest. So we took *their* beds.


----------



## A Crazy Fool

i bet the cold area was unhallowed ground


----------



## Hammerhead

This is a cool story hour...like it very much.

It seems wierd how Victor hasn't mentioned his deity yet...it's probably Huitzilopochtli or something. 

I'm also guessing that A'kin, while quite friendly, is also evil and manipulative to the core like the rest of his kind. That's what Phaedra's 'white lie' was...the bit about A'kin being a risen fiend.


----------



## Shemeska

Hammerhead said:
			
		

> This is a cool story hour...like it very much.
> 
> It seems wierd how Victor hasn't mentioned his deity yet...it's probably Huitzilopochtli or something.




Thank you very much! 

Victor's deity is one that his player came up with, not an already established one.



> I'm also guessing that A'kin, while quite friendly, is also evil and manipulative to the core like the rest of his kind. That's what Phaedra's 'white lie' was...the bit about A'kin being a risen fiend.




I have no comment. A'kin has been a joy as an NPC for the past 3 years for me. His story has been an interesting one to say the least. *grin*


----------



## Gez

I don't think there's anything in official material about whether A'kin is a risen fiend or just better at deception than all his peers.



Both options are interesting.


----------



## Shemeska

Gez said:
			
		

> I don't think there's anything in official material about whether A'kin is a risen fiend or just better at deception than all his peers.
> 
> Both options are interesting.




His alignment was given as NE everywhere I've seen it, plus I want to say that Ray Vallese said on one of the PS discussion lists back at the time, that 'A'kin is evil!' or something to that effect.

But I agree, both options are interesting. I think everyone will be happy with where I go with him in both storyhours.


----------



## bluegodjanus

Shemeska said:
			
		

> I think everyone will be happy with where I go with him in both storyhours.




That'll be roughly the same direction, won't it? What I mean is, he's the "same" A'kin in both storyhours, right?


----------



## FyreHowl

It is the same A'kin the Friendly Fiend in both story hours.


----------



## sciborg2

> Given my lack of reception to the previous diary I created for Tristol, it's somewhat unlikely I'll try a diary this time around.




Hey Tristol, I just wanted to say that I don't think that people are uninterested in the diary, it just contains spoilers for the storyhour which is what? 20% finished if that? I clicked on your link and received a big romantic spoiler afterall.


----------



## Gerzel

sciborg2 said:
			
		

> Hey Tristol, I just wanted to say that I don't think that people are uninterested in the diary, it just contains spoilers for the storyhour which is what? 20% finished if that? I clicked on your link and received a big romantic spoiler afterall.




Yeah.  Spoilers are bad.  If you post too much of a diary people reading this might find out about Tristol's relationship with Blackcloak.


----------



## Shemeska

*Abyss + Bodaks + Nat 1s on saves. My players hate the 400th layer of that plane now..*



			
				Gerzel said:
			
		

> Yeah.  Spoilers are bad.  If you post too much of a diary people reading this might find out about Tristol's relationship with Blackcloak.




Quiet Bodak-chow.


----------



## Gerzel

Shemeska said:
			
		

> Quiet Bodak-chow.





Dang it man!  That was the only ONE I rolled that day!  And a few hundred xp more I would have had a level and not even had to roll!


----------



## Toras

Some times you get the Bodack,
Some times the Bodack gets you.

Victor's God is quite literally the Sun.  (Female Personification, Goddess/Mother of Elves)
Garebaldi is beholden to the Moon (Male Personification, God/Father of Humans)

They rule over the Heavens, and their people's rule over the Earth. The other races on the world are children of the starts (lesser celestial bodies) or the Earth.

Of course, if you start talking about the sun like its a person, people look at you strange.


----------



## Gerzel

Toras said:
			
		

> Of course, if you start talking about the sun like its a person, people look at you strange.




Well except for that one world.  The one with the baby's face in the sun and the strange elves with glass squares in their chests..


----------



## Shemeska

Just out of curiousity, would anyone be interested if I made a Rogue's Gallery thread for this storyhour, and Storyhour #1, both for the PCs, and potentially for some of the NPCs as well?


----------



## Ashy

I'll be the first of many to reply in the following manner:

YES!!!


----------



## Shemeska

Ashy said:
			
		

> I'll be the first of many to reply in the following manner:
> 
> YES!!!




I went ahead and started two threads in the Rogues Gallery Forum for both storyhours. At the moment it's just a giant list of names with some sparse details, and hopefully no spoilers. I'll be expanding them as time permits and likely taking suggestions of which ones get detailed first.


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Shemeska said:
			
		

> Just out of curiousity, would anyone be interested if I made a Rogue's Gallery thread for this storyhour, and Storyhour #1, both for the PCs, and potentially for some of the NPCs as well?




Hmm, near equivalent statement.  "Would you children like some candy?"

GW


----------



## Ryltar

The answer would still be a *yes*. With a "pretty please?" on top .


----------



## Tristol

sciborg2 said:
			
		

> Hey Tristol, I just wanted to say that I don't think that people are uninterested in the diary, it just contains spoilers for the storyhour which is what? 20% finished if that? I clicked on your link and received a big romantic spoiler afterall.




It was geared more towards the various dozen or so people I shared it with while it was being written (and after it was 'finished'). The comments weren't exactly in line with the effort I was putting forth, so I deemed it more or less a lost cause. I usually write to please people, when I don't hear about people enjoying the work, I tend to stop doing it.

Also, the diary links all had warnings around them. I typically posted the link to the diary PDF, and when I got a webpage for it, the webpage had the most recent entry while the PDF covered all the details. The webpage was more for the gaming group, and friends who wanted to keep up with the diary (without needing to always download the PDF). It didn't get near any use at all. Which was another reason it was never finished.

Either way, this particular character just isn't the diary type. Tristol would have made sense, but Inva is much less organized. Maybe I'll put up something else if the urge strikes me. Nothing as of yet has come to mind, except little short stories, and those aren't really about ingame happenings (history, side adventures, etc), so they'd have to go in a different thread. We'll see how it goes though. Maybe inspiration will hit when I have the energy to write.


----------



## Bryon_Soulweaver

Where can I get the diary?


----------



## Tristol

Bryon_Soulweaver said:
			
		

> Where can I get the diary?




As per usual, there's a disclaimer:

The diary contains spoilers for the first story hour (less spoilers and more along the lines of 'it's already written'). If you want to continue to be surprised for some of the more intense and amazing moments yet to come, you'd likely want to wait on reading parts of it. The beginning of the diary starts somewhere around where we are now (within an episode or two). Once they catch up to each other, it's relatively safe to read them in parallel despite the different chapter breaks (Shemmie is breaking for effect, I broke when the game ended, or after enough plot warranted an entry). In addition, it's not proofread. Originally meant as an exercise in creativity and a way to update absent players, I didn't feel the need for it. So, pardon the typos and such which I'm sure you'll find.

Having said that, here's the diary link: http://vulpes.foxpaws.net/~tristol/Tristol%27s%20Diary.pdf. You can remove the PDF name and just keep the directory to access the webpage. There's some other stuff up there like background stories, spells, and other oddball things. Feel free to peruse that as well, but remember the most recent diary entry is up on the diary page.


----------



## Ohtar Turinson

Poor, neglected storyhour number 2.


----------



## Shemeska

Ohtar Turinson said:
			
		

> Poor, neglected storyhour number 2.




*chuckle*

It's only getting updated once every 3-4 weeks. I'm going to update it next though, but I'm probably on hiatus for the storyhours till after the 17th (when I'm defending my thesis).


----------



## solomanii

Shemeska said:
			
		

> I just don't like the 'So you're all sitting in a bar...' sort of campaign starts. Had too many bad experiences with those. Plus, initially forcing them into a situation gives them a later reason to continue working with one another outside of 'we're the PCs, and while I don't know you nor do I trust you, we're working together for no specific reason'.




I don't like that either so I shift the entire "how you meet" to the players.  One of their duties before a campaign is to come up with a reason why they all know each other already.  I think its especially reasonable that they already know each other if you are starting above level 1.  Though I think I might try this tactic the next time I start a new campaign.  Finished my PS game in June and started a "mundane" game in August (actually I am using the Shackled City Adventure paths so there is some plane hoping and 'lolths involved).

Out of interest who is playing who in this game from the original?  I am quite familiar with the original characters and their players from SH1 due to the posters having the same names as their characters.


----------



## Shemeska

solomanii said:
			
		

> Out of interest who is playing who in this game from the original?  I am quite familiar with the original characters and their players from SH1 due to the posters having the same names as their characters.




Fyrehowl's player -> Phaedra
Clueless' player -> Velkyn
Tristol's player -> Inva
Toras' player -> Victor
Skalliska's player -> Marcus
Florian's player -> N/A
Kiro's player -> N/A


----------



## Clueless

This isn't as rough as what my Shadowrun DM used to do. 
"Here's your job - hey, you - you're playing the lead and face of this group right?" 
"Yeaaah..." 
"Here's the list of local hires. Go form your team." 
*sigh* Admittedly, it was fun getting one of the characters shot at to test their response under pressure.


----------



## Inconsequenti-AL

Am eargerly awaiting the next installment of this story... Fine stuff!



			
				Clueless said:
			
		

> This isn't as rough as what my Shadowrun DM used to do.
> "Here's your job - hey, you - you're playing the lead and face of this group right?"
> "Yeaaah..."
> "Here's the list of local hires. Go form your team."
> *sigh* Admittedly, it was fun getting one of the characters shot at to test their response under pressure.




Yoink! 

Think I may have a winner for the intro to my next shadowrun game. Even got just the player in mind for this.


----------



## Shemeska

Clueless said:
			
		

> *sigh* Admittedly, it was fun getting one of the characters shot at to test their response under pressure.




Shot _at_? The son of a b*tch actually shot him, in the chest, with a gel round.


----------



## Clueless

Naw - that was Rusty's test. *I* hired the gang to rough up Stunning a bit.


----------



## Inconsequenti-AL

Shemeska said:
			
		

> Shot _at_? The son of a b*tch actually shot him, in the chest, with a gel round.




That's just mean. Can ruin a perfectly good suit that way?

Personally, I liked my players use of a paintball gun to 'send a message'.


----------



## Shemeska

Velkyn yawned and shook Victor on the shoulder to wake him for the second watch. A few seconds later he woke Marcus up as well, with a sudden hiss and harsh whisper of ‘Arrghh! Warning next time!’ as Victor, unable to see in the darkness, conjured a ball of light without warning.

	The half-drow’s eyes adjusted to the sudden contrast and he muttered as he entered his tent and closed the flap. Victor just shrugged over at his brother as Garibaldi and their guide both retired to their respective tents.

	“Is Inva awake?” Marcus asked, glancing around into the cold, windswept darkness.

	“Right here.”

	A pair of red pinpoints stood out from the gloom at the edge of the firelight. They faded back into their normal hazel color as the tiefling stepped into view and her vision drifted back into normal sight. She was bundled in a thick blanket, and not entirely happy that the weather had taken a turn for the worse as night had fallen.

	“Lovely weather.” Inva said as she kicked a pebble into the fire with a tap of a hoof.

	“Your fault for wearing clothes like that.” Marcus said with a shrug.

	“Like you’d ever complain about it.” She replied with a smirk. “Nice night though.”

	The wind was picking up speed, causing the fire to gutter and spark, sending drifts of burning, glittering embers up into the sky like hellborn fiends racing up to clash with the few perfect, snowflakes drifting down from the stars like angels from on high. The fire and snow were only a distraction however from the shrill, haunting whistle of the wind.

	“…did you hear that?” Victor asked.

_…sethe hiiiriiik Nergaallll…_

	The tall grass that covered the mounds were rustling in the wind, hissing like low, far away voices. In the dry, cold air, it sounded almost like a chorus of whispering voices.

	“It’s the wind.” Marcus said. “It’s creepy yes, but it’s normal for an open plain, and…”

_…Maayak’te Imaaskariiii siressssethhhh Neeergaaaallll…_

	“And that would be the wind talking.” Inva said as she sat up straighter and her eyes drifted back to red, looking deeper into the gloom.

	“Sssshhh…” Victor said softly, holding up his right hand to silence any further conversation, even as his left hand lifted his holy symbol to his lips reflexively.

	The three of them sat, still and silent, as the wind whistled across the plain, carried from the north. Spontaneously, never constant, the wind carried whispers of words, fragments of some larger dirge or prayer. At times alternating between expressions of haunting sorrow and bitter, seething rage in its words, the language on the wind was unlike anything that they were familiar with. Whatever it was, it was alien or ancient, or both.

	“I’ve never heard anything like that before.” Victor said. “It’s not one of the planar languages, either that I can speak, or that I’ve really even heard before.”

	“I’m not sure if it’s even speaking.” Marcus said. “And the grass is hissing normally on the wind as it is.”

	Victor just looked at his brother. 

	“Even if there’s something talking on the wind,” Marcus continued. “I can’t tell you what it’s saying and what just happens to be background.”

	It was faint for the most part. That was certain. But as the wind continued to grow in pitch and volume as the night grew deeper and time passed, it became harder and harder to dismiss quite so easily as just the rustle of grass and the product of minds expecting to find the restless dead.

	Two hours later and the hissing, whispering wind could no longer be ignored as simply a product of tired, overactive imaginations. They could have ignored the words carried on the wind as just the shifting of grass in the night, but not a cold, sickly light that began to seep up from the largest of the barrows.

	“Do you see that?” Marcus asked.

	“No, you’re crazy.” Inva said, pausing for a moment before giving a serious reply. “Yeah, top of the central mound.”

	Marcus glanced over at his brother who was clutching his holy symbol and staring intently at the light. The glow spread across the surface of the barrow like flowing, phosphorescent quicksilver bleeding up from the soil, eventually rising up and coalescing into a number of distinct figures.

	The first ghostly figures to emerge were human, each dressed in long kilts and carrying spears in their hands. They stood atop several of the smaller barrow mounds, and at the summit of the center mound, all looking down at a forming procession of other figures slowly making their way up the side of the main barrow.

Inva meanwhile had vanished back into the darkness without a sound, either not wanting to attract the attention of the spectral figures atop the barrow, or simply being antisocial. Victor looked around for the tiefling, shrugged, and went back to watching the figures on the mount. 

The wind was silent now, and the figures went about their motions in an eerie, soundless vacuum devoid of the rustle of the tall grass.

	“What are they doing?” Marcus asked softly, the silence of the cold night air making him sound louder than normal.

	Victor hushed him, motioning to talk even softer.

	“I don’t think they can see us, but I don’t know for certain.” Victor said. “I’m not even sure if they’re properly ghosts.”

	The figures on the central mound continued their slow, winding ascent towards the top. Unlike the figures with spears, the members of the procession all appeared to be unarmed, dressed in the costumes of slaves, servants, and priests. All of them wore expressions of absolute depression and resignation: the servitors and faithful of a dead god reliving and recreating a shadow of things long past.

	“It’s like the events of whatever happened here in the past are being recreated,” Victor said. “Not by individual spirits, but the mound itself manifesting the memory of a place.”

	Marcus nodded and stood up to get a better view.

	“But I wouldn’t take that as an invitation to bother them.” Victor whispered. “Or an invitation to draw attention to ourselves. Something has a history of killing people around here, even if what we’re seeing now isn’t dangerous.”

	Atop the crown of the central barrow, the first figures in the spectral procession reached the top. They knelt in prayer or quiet misery, and waited. When the entire column of spirits had reached the summit, their overseers surrounded them, penned them in, and methodically slaughtered them.

	“No one plunders a tomb if there’s no one alive who knows where it is…” Inva said, once again seeming to pop out of the darkness, though she’d been sitting there within a few feet of Marcus and Victor the whole time.

	Victor gave a nod. “Plus, their deity was dead. They didn’t exactly have much to live for at that point, and they might have willingly gone along with.”

	“Some didn’t.” Marcus said, pointing at one or two of the specters attempted to run from the summit. None of them got far before their executioners cut them down from behind.

	“There goes that idea.” Victor said.

	Still shrouded in cold silence as flurries of snow drifted down from the stars, the spectral figures faded back into the earth, only to reappear and repeat the exact same pattern of actions over the next hour. Like the first time, their actions were exactly the same, and they each manifested in the exact same place across the mound. Like Victor suggested, it was like the mounds themselves were showing off to the silence of the heavens their own memories of loss and bloodshed which had permeated them for millennia.

	After the second pass of the specters, the night went still again, and the glow faded from the mounds. The cold wind from the north resumed, but it no longer seemed to whisper and call out in a long dead language; things returned to the cold, still normalcy of the Great Vale and they remained as such for the remainder of the second watch.

	Marcus and Victor stoked the campfire and huddled around it for warmth as the wind only worsened the situation while the snowfall began to slowly increase. 

	“It’s cold and I’m wearing leather.” Inva said. “And while I’m fine with the darkness, the snow is more than a bit much for me. I’m turning in. Plus, my watch is over.”

	Victor gave her a nod. “Wake up Phaedra if she isn’t already up if you don’t mind.”

	Inva nodded and walked over to the sorceress’s tent. Phaedra woke up abruptly as she felt the cold flat of the tiefling’s tail spade tap against her left foot.

	“Hells Inva! That’s cold!” Phaedra said, ever so briefly resuming her normal form and sticking out her tongue.

	“Just like me.” Inva said as she tapped the spade against the tent. “But good morning, and welcome to your watch. I’m off and it’s your turn to replace me. Enjoy the supreme conversational skills of Marcus and Victor, and the bloody wind.”

	Phaedra gave an exaggerated yawn and rubbed her foot, warming it back up.

	“Couldn’t you have found another way to wake me up?” She asked.

	“I’m sure I could have found another way to wake you up.” The tiefling quipped. But I don’t think that you’re that type of girl.”

	Phaedra sputtered.

	“Have fun on the last watch!” Inva said as she quickly retreated from the tent. “It’s too sodding cold, and I’m not dressed for the weather.”

	‘Amusing little b*tch.’ Phaedra thought to herself as she dragged herself out of her tent and over towards the fire to join Victor and his brother on the 3rd watch.

	The first forty or so minutes of the watch were fairly normal, filled with infrequent, largely banal conversation.

	*clang!*

	A distant metallic sound echoed across the still night air.

	“…Guys? Did you hear that?” Phaedra asked as her ears perked and twitched, swiveling to locate the source of the sudden, out of place noise.

	“Hear what?” Victor asked. “I haven’t noticed the wind whispering since before you woke up.”

	“The wind was whispering?” Phaedra asked. “You never mentioned that. Is there anyone out there?”

	“Not anyone alive at least.” Victor answered. “Ghosts, or something similar on the mounds, going through reenactments of their deaths when the barrow was built.”

	Phaedra glanced warily up towards the looming bulk of the central mound in the distance. Her ears strained to find any further incidence of the metallic echo that she had heard just moments before, but all was silent but for the wind.

	“Well, that might have been what I heard then.” Phaedra said. “But with what you said, I don’t think I’ll be going to check on it. Not till the morning.”

	Victor glanced at her questioningly. “What did you hear?”

	“Metal on metal, or metal on stone.” The half-‘loth answered. “It sounded like a single loud clang, like someone swinging a sword onto a rock. Over in the distance, maybe the top of the mound or on the other side.”

	“I didn’t hear anything.” Victor said. “Let’s see if it happens again.”

	The three of them sat around the fire in silence for the next half hour, straining their ears. Nothing. Beyond the wind, the crackle of their campfire, and the drizzle of snow flurries collecting upon and occasionally snapping a piece of tall dry grass, they heard not a thing from where that single errant clang of metal had occurred.

	“Nothing.” Marcus said.

	Phaedra nodded. “I must have just imagined it then. But I was certain of it…”

	Marcus waved his hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll take a look in the morning and see if there’s anything there, or anything else in the immediate area.”

	The remainder of the wee hours of the morning darkness passed without further incidence but for the cold chill of the air and the soft, ominous hissing of the grass.


***​

	Several hours later the eastern horizon was lit by the rising sun, and the central mound of the Great Barrow was crowned by a golden halo of light.

	A slow chorus of groans drifted out to Phaedra, Marcus and Victor as the others woke up inside their tents. Victor smiled in their direction, but largely ignored them as he stepped away from camp and knelt in the grass, looking up towards the rising morning sun on the eastern horizon and saying his prayers.

	Within a half hour they were all awake, at least nominally, and had each fully dressed in more appropriate clothing for the day’s likely work, all except Inva anyways. She was still dressed in the same tight dark red leather, but wearing an additional cloak and with a blanket draped over her shoulders as she sat next to the morning cookfire. She frowned up at the waxing sunlight and muttered something derisively in Abyssal under her breath.

	“Likewise.” Velkyn said as he sat down next to her. The half-drow wizard rubbed a hand over his face as he squinted at the morning light, though perhaps owing more to racial traits than any personal aversion like the tiefling had.

	“Mornings and are I not pleasant bedfellows.” She said to him.

	“So I gather.” Velkyn replied. “Anything happen during your watch last night? I didn’t hear anything really during my own.”

	Phaedra nodded to him from where she sat opposite Inva.

	“You could say that.” She said. “But we’ll discuss everything over breakfast I figure.”

	“After breakfast I’ll be leaving.” Grenevald, their guide, said as he held a flat iron pan over the freshly fed cookfire.

	Victor, just returned from his prayers, glanced at the guide’s food, feeling a twinge of hunger as the smell of onions and ham wafted across the campsite. The guide had brought his own food, and it was considerably better than their own dry rations.

	“Who wants something better for breakfast?” Victor asked, getting an immediate response.

	“What’s the price?” Inva asked.

	Victor shook his head. “No price. I’ll just need to say a prayer to my god. It won’t be quite as good as what our guide is making, but it’ll be better than the dry rations we brought along.”

	“Go right ahead.” Velkyn said, putting away a wrapped bundle of bread and dry fruit.

	“Besides,” Victor said. “I figure that we could use a good meal before taking a look at the entire complex of mounds.”

	A half hour later they had finished their meal and were saying their goodbyes to their guide.

	“Will I see you back my way along the Great Road?” Grenevald asked them as he packed his things back onto his horse. “Or will you be going east after you’re done here?”

	“Yes. East.” Velkyn replied. No need to give him more details, especially when they’d be returning to places that he’d probably never even heard of before.

	“We’ve appreciated the information about the area though.” Garibaldi said, speaking up for the first time that morning.

	“It has been a help.” Phaedra said. “And I know that you think it’s a bit of a fool’s errand what we’re here doing. But we’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.”

	And indeed he did feel that way; Phaedra had been snooping at his thoughts since she’d woken up that morning.

	“Just don’t get yourselves killed.” Grenevald said. “I don’t want to feel like I’ve gotten you killed by showing you this place. People think that they’ll find a fortune here, but none ever have, and a fair share of them has never left at all.”

	“We’ll be fine.” Victor said, trying to reassure him as he moved his horse into a trot.

	“If things go bad, just promise me that you’ll at least consider leaving.” The guide continued, his last words as he left.

	“We’re stubborn, but not stupid.” Inva called out, waving at him with her tail, not being able to avoid finding out his reaction to it before he was too far off.

	She didn’t quite answer his question, and he paused at the sight before kicking his horse into a trot, shaking his head, uncertain or unnerved. Tieflings weren’t in any way normal for the region.

	“Couldn’t avoid it? Could you?” Phaedra said as she reverted to her typical half-breed ‘loth and guardinal form. “I at least waited till he was gone. I’d give the poor sod a heart attack otherwise.”

	“No, I couldn’t avoid it.” Inva said, quite self-satisfied. “There’s no fun otherwise.”

	Phaedra just shook her head as their guide retreated on his horse back through the grassland of the Vale to the south, eventually to regain the trade road and travel west, they turned away from him and back to look at the Great Barrow in the full light of day.

	“So what all happened last night?” Velkyn asked. And with their guide gone, frank discussion of their situation, and their goals both, were open to comment.

	The next twenty minutes were spent telling one another of the ghostly whispers on the wind, the spectral emanations from the mounds, and the sounds that Phaedra could have sworn that she had heard from the other wise of the central mound itself. They had ideas, but in the end they were uncertain of what it all might imply. A day’s exploration of the area though, and another night’s observations might in the end prove as illuminating or more than the breaking light of dawn.


***​

	In the waxing morning light, the mounds of the Great Barrow were much more distinct, and much less ominous than they had been the previous night. The air was marginally warmer as the dawn sun broke upon the Great Vale, but it glittered upon a thin layer of freshly fallen powder snow that dusted the grass that grew to hip height across the expanse of the barrow. The wind was no longer as bitter as the night before, but it was still cold and it was blowing constantly, never wholly dying away, making eerie hissing noises as grass shifted against grass.

	Stretching out from the massive, three-tiered mound that was the centermost barrow, smaller, secondary and tertiary mounds surrounded it in a trio of concentric rings like the ripples in a lake of dry, brown winter grass, with the tomb of Nergal beneath, a loadstone dropped into its depths.

	The night before they’d had little chance to make observations given the dark and the cold, plus their general wise unwillingness to investigate unknown territory while audibly and visibly being aware that the ground was haunted by the restless dead. But dawn had broken upon the Vale, and despite the cold of the season, they had the opportunity now to gain an overview of the terrain and what they would be working with for days, possibly weeks ahead.

	“So,” Velkyn said, brushing a few bits of snow out of his hair. “Just from where we are, does anyone notice anything about the mounds that sticks out as being odd?”

	Looking out at the various rings of the barrows, they did notice a few distinct patches of dead, withered grass. While it was winter and the grass of the Vale was largely dry, some of it dead from the cold, very specific patches of the surrounding mounds were stunted and sickly.

	“At least some of those spots are were we saw spirits rise up from the ground last night a few hours after midnight.” Victor said, pointing out to spots on the tops of several mounds where he had seen phantom sentries the prior evening.

	“Alright.” Velkyn said. “It might be worthwhile to at least check the ground there and see if there’s anything peculiar.”

	“We don’t even know where the Codex is, in terms of which mound it’s in, and even if we did, we need to find if they were built with entrances.” Inva said. “They might have just piled dirt over the top of holes in the ground, or there might be concealed entrances.”

	“That’s one of the next things we should look for.” Marcus said. “For now though, let’s just get a good idea of the general lay of the mounds.”

	Phaedra spoke up, suddenly remembering the noise that she had heard during the third watch.

	“At some point I’d like to look around the eastern side of the mound.” She said. “Around four in the morning or so I could have sworn that I heard something from that direction, something like metal on stone.”

	“Sure thing.” Velkyn replied.

	“To start though, can I suggest that we take a look at the keep behind us?” Inva said. “At the least it’s a source of firewood, and shelter if the snow gets heavy in the next few days. Plus, I don’t want to leave it open in case there’s anything in the area besides us and the dead.”

	“I hope it’s not infested with the undead.” Phaedra said. “Because a real building is going to be a hell of a lot better than sleeping in a tent for Gehenna knows how long.”

	“You sound like your dad.” Velkyn said, poking her in the ribs.

	Phaedra smiled and gave a shrug. “Sometimes.”

	“As for the dead, they sound like they like repetition, so them I’m not worried about.” Inva continued. “But with those bodies that we found yesterday a few miles out, I’d like to see if we can’t get into the keep’s tower and use it for keeping a watch.”

	“We should.” Victor said. “Especially after what we know about it courtesy of the legend of the place according to our guide.”

	“Alright then.” Marcus said. “Pack up camp and we’ll take a look at the place before we get to the barrow mounds themselves.”


***​

	Some time later after stowing their equipment in their tents or under secured canvas tarps, they stroke away from camp and towards the land rise a quarter mile to the west. They said little as they approached it, and the wind provided most of the ambient sound, still hissing like serpents in the grass.

	“Bigger than I expected.” Phaedra said as they neared the hill.

	The keep of the Impilturan nobleman, Lord Elphras Barlow, a fortified manor house really, was a slowly crumbling structure of stone and wood rising up two stories above the Vale, situated atop a minor rise in the land on the periphery of the Great Barrow. The thin outline of an ancient road stretched up the side of the rise and to the front gates of the manor, and the snow dusted soil was only covered by patches of dry grass and a few weathered trenches dug into the ground perhaps months before, perhaps decades before, there was no way to tell how recent they were.

	“Apparently someone spread rumors that this guy left behind a fortune buried under his keep.” Marcus said as they climbed up towards the keep. “Take a look at it.”

	“Looks like it.” Victor said. “People probably consider digging around the keep fair game, and not in violation of whatever hallows, or profanes, the barrow complex.”

	“Not that it seems to have prevented anything from befalling people who try.” Phaedra said. “You know, you’d think that if there was anything here that either someone would have found it by now.”

	“The ghosts get hungry.” Velkyn said with a chuckle. “Not that the fact of this makes me any more confident.”

	As they approached to within thirty or forty feet of the ruined keep, they could make out more and more details. The door to the keep had been ripped away in the distant past, and it lay face down a few feet away, bleached and weathered by long exposure to the elements. What few windows the keep possessed on the ground floor had all been shattered, and the main structure’s roof had numerous holes and several large sagging sections where its support beams had likely collapsed.

	Next to the main structure of the keep was its single high tower that rose another story and a half above the manor. It was in better condition than the keep, with its stone seemingly heavier and having held up better to the freeze and thaw conditions of the long winters of the Vale. Turning their gaze upwards and towards its heights though, the tower’s parapet showed evidence of a lightning strike and fire years before.	

	“Hmm.” Phaedra said. “The tower might not be as suitable a spot for keeping any watches. If the interior was wood, that lightning strike might have burned out the interior.”

	Inva shrugged. “I still want to take a look, if just to satisfy my own curiosity.”

	They walked a few feet closer before they noticed a section of trampled grass on the eastern flank of the hill the keep sat atop, and a number of footprints partially covered by freshly fallen snow. The tracks were fresh, at least within the past day, possibly sooner.

“Someone’s been here recently.” Victor said, pointing to the tracks. “Did anyone decide to go exploring on their own last night?”

	Silence answered his question and they all shook their heads. Someone outside of their own group had walked into the keep in the past day or so.

“I’m looking at you Inva.” Victor added after a pause.

	Inva looked down at her hooves, then at the obvious footprints in the ground.

	“I’ll spare you my amusement of saying anything to contradict you.” The tiefling said, flashing a self-satisfied grin before taking a closer examination of the tracks.

	“They’re recent alright.” She said. “Though I really wish that our guide, whatever his name was, was still here. He’d be able to tell just how recently, or how many people were here. I’m not familiar with the type of soil here in the Vale.”

	Phaedra gave a thoughtful frown. “Anyone want to bet that what I heard last night was the same person who left the tracks?”

	“We’ll find out once we’ve checked out the keep certainly.” Marcus said.

	And with that, they nervously stepped into the cold and drafty interior of the old manor house.

	The entryway was heavily stained by centuries of rainwater and snow that had blow in through the open door and dripped down through cracks in the stone and holes in the roof. Wooden panels that had once covered the walls had long since rotted away, leaving only the rough and relatively unfinished stone behind.

	“The ghosts stole his sense of decorum when they stole him and his family.” Marcus said offhandedly as they stepped through and into the interior.

	“They must have stolen most everything else then.” Inva replied. “Because there’s precious little left.”

	And indeed there was. The interior of the keep was nearly a shell. Only portions of the roof remained intact, and daylight streamed down in visible shafts and bright columns down through the dry, dusty air. The wooden floors of the second story had long ago succumbed to water and rot, and only their heavy support beams still remained intact and standing, looming over the rooms of the first floor.

After several centuries there was little left of the original grandeur of the building, and as they moved through the various rooms of the keep, they found only dust and a few broken pieces of ancient furniture. The furniture, and even some of the remaining paneling on the walls, showed evidence of having been hacked apart at various points in the past.

	“We won’t be the only ones to use the keep as a source of firewood.” Velkyn said.

	“The place is empty.” Inva added. “Well, empty of anything of value, empty of any sign that its currently in use by anyone alive, and they only company we might have if we stay here to escape the cold is this poor dead sod.”

	The tiefling kicked a pile of refuse that had collected in the corner of one room, sending a human skull rattling across the floor.

	Victor gave her a mildly disapproving look, to which she flashed a grin.

	“He’s dead. He doesn’t care.” She said with a shrug. “And it’s not recent. He’s been here at least a hundred years or so.”

	“So not one of the keep’s original owners.” Velkyn said. “Any idea of how they died? Victor? This seems to be your thing.”

	Victor spent several minutes looking over the skeleton, but in the end he couldn’t find any obvious signs of how the man or woman had originally died.

	“I don’t know how they died. There aren’t any marks of blades or blunt weapons on the bones, and there’s nothing to suggest overt magic. They probably froze to death, or died of starvation.”

	“Or ghosts.” Phaedra said.

	Victor nodded. “I can’t rule it out.”

	“Other than our bleached and grinning friend here though, there’s not a thing of interest around here.” Inva said. “I do want to take a look at the tower though.”


***​

	The tower, despite its outward appearances, was in arguably worse shape than the main portions of the keep. The tower had indeed been struck by lightning at some point in the distant past, and though the spiral stairwell was constructed of stone, it had collapsed at roughly halfway up its ascent towards the parapet.

	“Lovely.” Inva said, looking up towards the top of the tower.

	“Up for a climb I take it?” Phaedra asked with a chuckle. The half ‘loth was hovering a few inches above the ground as she asked the question. Though she lacked the ability to fly that one side of her heritage had innately, heights were not an issue for her.

	“A climb?” Inva mused. “Of sorts. Never do anything the hard way though. And watch this.”

	The tiefling took out a small vial and held it up to see. Inside, a small but very obviously living spider danced around, tapping its legs against the glass.

	“Hey Velk!” She called out, getting the other wizard’s attention just as she opened the vial and brought the spider up to her lips, giving it a kiss.

	Velkyn, being half-drow, and incredibly divorced from the society of, and religious ideals of his mother, rolled his eyes as Inva kissed the arachnid a second time before swallowing it whole and completing her spell.

	The tiefling winked at him before scuttling up the walls with the grace and adherence to the stone like the spider she’d just consumed. It was a useful spell, if a bit awkward in its material components. But it served her well as she soon reached the top of the tower and climbed up onto the largely intact room at its summit.

	*Caw!*

	A particularly large raven was perched on the stone lip of the crenellated edge of the tower. It squawked at Inva, staring at her for a few moments before fluttering its wings in irritation at her arrival and launching into the air, leaving her alone at the tower’s summit.

	“Nice view.” Inva said. “Drafty and cold, but that’s my lot in life for the next while.  But it’ll pay for a warm place and a good time once we’re done here. At the very least that’s what it’ll do, hopefully a bit more. Pilfering temples was amusing and profitable, and a god’s tomb has to be even better. It’s been too long since I had fun like that time.”

	But outside of the view there was really little to be said about the tower’s summit. There was nothing of interest or value present, though the elevation did give the tiefling a larger scope of the barrow complex than she’d been able to see previously from ground level. One thing did stand out to her, and it was something that they’d not noticed earlier.

“So much for staying here out of the snow.” Inva said with a sigh as her tail lashed side to side in minor irritation.


***​

	The others were waiting for her as she climbed down the walls of the stairwell, not bothering to properly use the stairs as long as her spell was still in effect. With a bit of a show, she dropped down from the top of the entryway into the tower.

	“Anything up there?” Velkyn asked.

	“Nothing of worth.” Inva replied. “But, I did notice something while I was looking down from the top of the tower.”

	“What was that?” Velkyn asked curiously, motioning for her to explain.

	“There’s a fourth ring of barrow mounds.” Inva explained. “They’re subtle, and it’s damned difficult to see them from the ground. But they’re there. See where I’m going with this?”

	Velkyn gave a chuckle and looked down at the ground.

	“Oh geez…” Victor lamented as he realized what that implied.

	“Do tell.” Marcus asked his brother.

	“They built the keep on top of one of the mounds.” Inva said with a grin.

	“Well,” Phaedra said. “Count out the idea of using the keep for anything then…”

	“Lovely way to endear yourselves to the local malign undead.” Velkyn said. “Ever so smart.”


***​

	Stepping away from the ruined but seemingly empty, and entirely unremarkable remains of Lord Barlow’s keep, the group began their survey of the barrow mounds themselves. Starting at the mounds closest to the keep, they were each pockmarked by the weathered traces of past excavation attempts, though none of them seemed to have penetrated more than a few feet into the earth. None of those trenches and shallow holes seemed to lead anywhere than just hard packed earth; neither any different strata of earth, nor any evidence of hollows or buried stone structures were visible.

	“This isn’t going to be easy.” Victor said with a sigh as he looked up from the map he’d been drawing of the mounds and their collective layout as they explored them.

	“Well, we knew that before we agreed to it.” Marcus said. “It’s nothing more than what I’ve done at home. Commanding a ship on a trade mission isn’t any harder than this.”

	“Our employers pay well. We can accept the cold and the bad food.” Inva said. “At least for the moment.”

	The tiefling turned to look pointedly at Marcus for a moment.

	“And just remember that you’re not commanding anyone here.” She said. “You’re in the same place as the rest of us.”

	“Garibaldi,” Victor said, cutting off any friction between his brother and Inva, turning towards the templar. “Can you sense anything evil in the area?”

	Garibaldi nodded. “I already tried, and there’s a blanket of it covering the area. It’s subtle for the most part, and not very heavy, but it permeates the ground.”

	“For the most part you said.” Phaedra asked. “Where is it more than just subtle?”

	Inva said nothing, but her tail twitched underneath the blanket she’d pinned into place as a second cloak.

	“Yeah I know I do weird things to anything that detects alignment.” Phaedra said. “I show up as both good and evil at the same time. I blame my parents.”

	She gave a grin and let Garibaldi get on with his task.

	“A few of the mounds have a distinct glow to them. There’s something…” He had to think for what word to use. “… there’s something unique about them. But I can’t say what exactly.”

	“Which ones?” Victor asked, sitting down and preparing to mark the spots on his map.

	Garibaldi pointed to the mounds that they had explored to that point, and then pointed down to the map that Victor was working on. Three of the mounds had a distinct aura of evil to them, including one of them relatively close to their campsite, and the strongest one being from the central mound itself.

	“Any ideas of what it might be?” Marcus asked.

	“Spirits of the dead lingering on at the site of their deaths.” Victor said. “That’s one possibility I suppose.”

	“It also might have been that the ground was simply hallowed in Nergal’s name.” Phaedra said. “Nergal wasn’t exactly a deity of warmth and happiness as I understand it.”

	“Not in the least.” Inva replied.

	‘Another time and another place I might have found reason to like the poor dead fellow.’ Inva thought to herself. ‘Not all that different from what I happen to be drawn to.’

	The Sharran smiled outwardly and kept her thoughts to herself.

	“It’s something to look at later.” Velkyn said. “It might be that those particular mounds might hold more important persons buried within, or they might have a greater lingering presence of… well… whatever happens to be lingering here at the barrow complex.”

	“That’s probably something to do tomorrow.” Phaedra said. “We should just get a basic idea of the whole area today.”

	“Sounds like a plan.” Victor said. “Though, if you don’t mind, I would like to see if there’s anything located at the spots in the grass, the withered spots, where we saw spirits manifest last night. It might be possible to put them to rest.”

	The others nodded, but it was something that would only happen after they had gained a full overview of the mound complex. And, as the great barrow was spread over a large area of land, they would only stop to examine any particular feature for but a few minutes at a time; Victor’s request was likely to have to wait till the next day.

	Several hours later they circled around the base of the central mound and onto its far easterly side, where the sheer bulk of the barrow had obscured their vision up to that point, they noticed that the same pattern of mounds, right up to their sequential placement in relation to the central held firm. Mound to mound they made their examinations, but as they came upon the second ring out from the center, they noticed several things immediately.

	Portions of the grass on two mounds were heavily trampled down, with evidence of frequent foot traffic between them. The sides of both mounds had been scored with a series of three shallow trenches, and the work had been done recently, possibly within a few hours time.

	“You weren’t just hearing the wind last night Phaedra.” Victor said. “Someone was digging last night.”

	Cautiously, and with weapons drawn, they approached the first of the disturbed mounds. There was no sign of anyone currently in the area, nor were there any signs of a campsite or even a campfire having been made anywhere nearby. That was not however, what first struck their senses.

	“…Uggghhhhh…” Phaedra said, reflexively wincing at a rancid smell of rot that lingered over the area of the trenches.

	“Where the hell is that smell coming from?” Victor said before he covered his nose with the cuff of his vestments.

	“There’s nothing in the trenches.” Phaedra said, still wincing.

	Velkyn glanced around the area, remembering distinctly the scene that they had stumbled across a day before: goblinoids slaughtered by magic, several of them missing as if they had simply gotten up and walked away from where they had died, and a heavy aura of necromancy. Someone else was present at the Great Barrow, and rather than bringing their own work force, or intending to excavate the mounds on their own, they had found and made a workforce for themselves.

	“Then they’re probably further off, maybe a few miles away in the Vale.” Marcus said. “They might not be willing to stay in close proximity. Or they’re aware that we’re here, and they’re taking steps to avoid being noticed.”

	Velkyn softly began to whisper the words to a spell. His eyes glistened for a moment as the spell took effect, and then he quickly glanced around to find what he expected. There was something that had cloaked in a swathe of invisibility, an owl, likely a wizard’s familiar.

	“But there’s obviously…” Phaedra said before Velkyn cut her off.

	“We’re not alone.” The half-drow said softly. “There’s an owl perched on one of the mounds about ten feet away. It’s invisible.”

	Phaedra nodded and reached out in the familiar’s general direction, feeling at the edges of the animal’s mind. There was something more than an animal intelligence in what she felt.

_“It’s not a normal animal.”_ Phaedra said into the group’s minds. _There’s definitely someone else watching us through it._

	The half-‘loth’s mind reached out again, curling around the familiar’s senses and probing at the mind it was linked to. This time though, something vaguely noticed and there was a pause before a second familiar appeared in the sudden flash of a dimension door spell.

	“Ok…” Victor said as he looked down at a blue/black raven that tentatively gave an animal caw as it returned his own stare.

	“Sneaky son of a b*tch.” Inva said in irritation at herself. The raven standing before them was the same bird that she had seen briefly an hour or two earlier when they had been searching through the ruins of Lord Barlow’s keep. She mentally kicked herself for not having taken more notice of the raven at that time as being out of the ordinary.

	“Greetings.” The Raven called out in heavily accented draconic. Having noticed a pair of wizards among them, the familiar’s master had figured it as a language that would immediately be of use in conversing, regardless of any other factors.

	“It seems that we might be either allies or enemies.” The raven said with nearly human fluency. “It would not be wise to be the latter I assure you, but no reason to be rash for the moment. Who might you happen to be, and why are you here?”

	The familiar blinked its dark avian eyes and waited for their response.


***​


----------



## shilsen

Curiouser and curiouser  And very nice, as always. Thanks for the mid-week fix.

And to earn my keep as a proofreader, you had:



> “There’s a *forth* ring of barrow mounds.” Inva explained.


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Thank you for the update.  I sometimes forget that it is a D&D game that happened, and that it is not an original work of writing.  You do put a good story to it.

GW


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## Clueless

*chuckle* I'm sure Shemmie will feel all warm and fuzzy for that - whenever he wakes up from a long nite of writing. Though us players are gonna share a collective "Awww man! We don't get the fanclub lovin'..."


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Clueless.  Don't take it the wrong way.  I like the characters you players put together.  it's hard to tell sometimes how much of the writing is actually what was said/happened, and what the writer put in to put words to a roll, or a suggestion that "My character does x." 

Cheers to the players here too, they make for good protagonists in the story. 

GW

Feel the love.


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## Clueless

Naw, no reason to think I'm upset - I just find it funny sometimes. That and I want my own fanclub. 

As for how much of the characterization is writer's lisence vs. at the table... You'd be honestly surprised I think. There's a sizable number of quotes that get recorded for later use in the write-up at our table. I type at a speed politely called "frightening" and take the notes for the group generally. We have a few others that will take notes when they're in the mood for it too so this game is very well documented. All the combats are recorded round by round for each action at this point, banter gets scribbled down including insults and high points of character development if i can keep up with typing it while I say it. 

And for anything that occurs over AIM as much as possible is word for word. For example, the intro for Clueless was word for word to the AIM transcript in terms of dialogue, as was the Clueless and Nisha go to the Grey Waste to save an elf sidetrip. I'm sure there were others, but to be honest since i wasn't in attendance for those I wouldn't be able to tell the difference either.

Shemmy does a wonderful job of making sure that all of this flows into a seamless whole where you can't tell the difference.


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## Shemeska

Clueless said:
			
		

> Naw, no reason to think I'm upset - I just find it funny sometimes. That and I want my own fanclub.




That's what I'm here for    *wearing a Clueless fanclub president button*



> As for how much of the characterization is writer's lisence vs. at the table... You'd be honestly surprised I think. There's a sizable number of quotes that get recorded for later use in the write-up at our table. I type at a speed politely called "frightening" and take the notes for the group generally.




And yeah, for Storyhour #2 the notes taken at the table are much more extensive than for storyhour #1, and so there's much less literary license taken by me in putting words into PCs' mouths. I'm going off of Clueless' notes for Storyhour #2 combined with my own original notes and anything I scribbled down on them at the games themselves.


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## Shemeska

shilsen said:
			
		

> Curiouser and curiouser  And very nice, as always. Thanks for the mid-week fix.




Welcome 

Would have been posted a day earlier, but I kinda went off last night on this. The update I posted is something like 20 pages long, but I figure it's needed since this storyhour hasn't been updated in a while due to life being too busy.

Expect an update to #1 on friday or so.



> And to earn my keep as a proofreader, you had:




Corrected!


----------



## Quanqued

*twitch*


Around this point Shemmy was kind enough to let me join in when I was visiting and play Geribaldi.  Kudos to the Shemmy! *waves at the crowd*


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## PhoenixDarkDirk

I like where this is going.

On another subject: spiders are arachnids, not insects.


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## shilsen

Shemeska said:
			
		

> Expect an update to #1 on friday or so.




He lies to us! Wicked ... tricksy ... false!

*curls up in foetal position and starts muttering about 'My Precious!'*


----------



## Shemeska

They glanced at the raven, wondering just who was staring back at them through it, and just how powerful of a spellcaster they were. A necromancer in all likelihood, given what they had found earlier to the west with the slaughtered band of goblinoids who had simply appeared to have gotten up and walked away. Indeed they had just gotten up and walked away, but not alive, and not under their own volition.

	“No, it would not be wise for us to be enemies.” Phaedra said cautiously, scanning the area for any suggestion of where the mage might be.

	Velkyn walked up next to her and took down the hood of his robe, revealing his face and letting his silvery hair hang loose. Certain people, elves in general, and oftentimes people from the prime too, they just had an instinctual wariness and fear to drow. Of course, even though Velk wasn’t a full-blooded drow, he looked close enough to pass for one, and perhaps it might be relevant depending on whom they were dealing with.

	“Suffice to say, we came here to the Barrow looking for something specific.” Velkyn said. “Otherwise, we’re not picky and there’s no reason to feel territorial about the mounds. This all depends on what you’re here of course, but I don’t see any need to be confrontational.”

	Velkyn and Phaedra both waited for the raven’s reply from its master, but sadly deliberation was for naught as Marcus turned around and called out, “Alright! Who are you?”

	There was a pause as Phaedra growled mildly and Victor gave a nonverbal wince at his brother’s forthrightness at perhaps the worst possible time. Sometimes being of noble blood, and being used to the social benefits and responsibilities of such, didn’t carry over well into all situations, such as the present.

	“Very well.” The raven said. “We can speak a bit more openly then I suppose.”

	With that statement there was a shimmer of magic, vaguely in the outline of a door, and a pair of blue-tinged forms appeared on opposite sides of the group. Tall, standing several feet higher than a normal human, hefting picks and shovels, muscle-bound and dressed in bloody tatters of armor and clothing, neither of them was breathing, or appeared to have drawn a breath in at least a few days, and their eyes were clouded over in death. Two ogres, both of them stood upright and shambled unquestioningly only by virtue of necromantic magic, they had apparently been recruited by happenstance at the massacre several miles away.

	“Well, we know that the dead did just get up and walk off.” Velkyn whispered.

_“Cheap labor.”_ Inva said over her sending stone from wherever she stood, unseen by all indications.

	A moment later and there was another flicker of magic as a bald, robed figure appeared standing a few feet away: a projected image.

	“And just who might you be?” The illusion of the man asked in the same dialect of heavily accented draconic.

	The man, obviously a wizard, was dressed in a fine red robe, and his head was shaved entirely bald, covered in an elaborate series of ritualistic tattoos. He inclined his tattooed head towards his guests as a trio of other, younger, wizards dressed in red stepped out from thin air a few feet behind him. The younger wizards were all bald like him, but their heads were tattooed with distinctly less elaborate patterns. Apprentices?

For a moment it seemed as if other guards, servants, or random members of his retinue might soon have joined him, but he made an idle gesture to the side as if telling or instructing them to hold back. Or, perhaps it was simply a gesture to suggest that if push came to shove, he had more resources than seemed apparent. In fact it might have all been a pretentious show of force, or implied force.

	“We’re not from around here suffice to say.” Phaedra said. The wizard’s apprentices were staring at her features, trying in vain to figure out what the hell she was.

	“I could gather that.” The wizard said. “A drow? Or half drow? An elf, a few humans, and… I’m afraid I’m uncertain as to what you might be.”

	The wizard was looking at Phaedra.

	“My first guess might be a Selunite werewolf.” He said. “But my apologies if I’m wrong.”

	“Close enough I suppose.” Phaedra replied. No need to correct the man.

	“And you are?” Marcus asked again, stepping forward.

	“Ah.” He replied with a bow and gesture of his hand towards his fellows. “My name is Myras Odesseron, Red Wizard of Thay, Circle Leader within the School of Necromancy.”

	“As if the robes and tattoos didn’t give that away already…” Velkyn muttered under his breath.

	Phaedra looked over at him as he whispered to himself. Like Velk, she too was aware of just what a Red Wizard was, their collective reputation, and what they were capable of. She wasn’t happy, though to be certain, her opinion was probably colored by that of her ‘uncle’ Tristol. The pair of them quickly swallowed their feelings though and just returned a polite smile.

	Inva had a more ambivalent opinion of the Thayan, but she was keenly aware of the focus of his magic and just how powerful his necromantic spells were liable to be. But she was still hidden, and as such didn’t make her thoughts on the matter known.

	Odesseron smiled with pride and received six blank stares in return. None of them seemed to have any clue where Thay was, what a Red Wizard was, or what that implied about Myras. The only one of them who understood any of that and was openly showing her reaction was Inva, and the tiefling only rolled her eyes from where she stood unseen a dozen feet or so from the Thayan’s apprentices. Velkyn and Phaedra did their best to keep their expressions as blank as the others.

	He waited a few more moments in the hope of seeing some sort of recognition and subsequent awe. He received none of that though, much the dissatisfaction of his ego.

	“Myself and my apprentices have been here for several days.” Odesseron stated. “We watched you approach and camp the other night. I take it that you came here for reasons similar to myself?”

	“What did you come here looking for?” Victor asked a bit too forward in tone.

	“We’re here at the request of our employers.” Velkyn said.

	“What did I come here looking for?” Odesseron replied with a shrug. “The same thing that every fool in the past thousand years has I suppose: the wealth of the inhabitants of the tombs buried within the barrows.”

	“We’re only interested in a single item actually.” Phaedra said.

	“Then perhaps we don’t need to be at odds then.” The Red Wizard said with a conciliatory nod. “What might you be looking for?”

	They all glanced at one another for a moment before replying.

	“Something called the Codex of Long Shadows and Last Breaths.” Velkyn said.

	Odesseron wrinkled his brow at the mention of the item. The name was obviously not something that he had heard before.

	“I’m not familiar with something by that name.” He said. “What does it look like?”

	Phaedra chuckled. “Good question.”

	“We don’t entirely know.” Victor said. “According to our employers though it might be a book or similar object, possibly a mimir, buried in the tomb of one of the more important persons buried here.”

	Odesseron nodded. He didn’t seem to know what a mimir was.

 “And just who might you be working for?” He asked.

	“They’re not from around here.” Velkyn said.

	“So you mentioned regarding yourselves.” Odesseron replied. “But that doesn’t tell me much. Cormyr? Vassa? Waterdeep? For all I know you’re from Zakhara.”

	“They’d prefer that we be discrete about mentioning them.” Phaedra said. “Besides, they’re not from Toril.”

	That got a response from the wizard, a bit of a surprised stare, though one that he quickly covered back up with a cautious smile.

	“Regardless, if you’re only looking for one thing, then I think that you and your employers won’t mind that I’m here for my own gain in most anything of interest otherwise that I find.” Odesseron said. “You’re welcome to the one thing that you’re looking for, and I’m even open to helping you find it.”

	“Do tell.” Marcus said.

	“I suppose that you know about the history of the Great Barrow and who actually happens to have been buried here.” He asked. “After all, you’re after something specific.”

	“We are.” Marcus replied.

	“Nergal and his followers.” Odesseron said. “But I’m not familiar with the item you’re hunting down. I am however interested in any magical grave goods buried with him and his priests, to say nothing of material wealth buried alongside them.”

	The Thayan seemed more than a bit knowledgeable about the site, certainly more than most of the locals appeared to be aware of. As a necromancer, he might have gained his information direct from the restless spirits of the tomb, but perhaps from more mundane research elsewhere. It was hard to tell and irrelevant nonetheless.

	“I suppose we should discuss a split of anything we jointly find then.” Marcus said. “Why don’t we divide up the mound complex and go about our own way in digging, but agree to share information along the way?”

	Odesseron mused for a moment. “I’m not averse to such at all, but I’m quite happy where I am, and you’re camped out on the other side of the central barrow. How about you take that half of the complex with your camp, the old Impilturan lord’s manor and its mound, and the mounds west of a line down the center of the central mound? I’m more interested in this side.”

	He didn’t elaborate any further.

	“And if we find anything?” Victor asked.

	“How about we split up everything we find?” Marcus said, pole vaulting over any idea of deliberation amongst his fellows, and handling discussions unilaterally by himself. 

	“Excuse me?” Velkyn said.

	Marcus continued nonetheless.

“Though if you find the Codex,” He said, “We of course get to keep it since that’s the only item that we’re looking for. We’ll compensate you for that with an increased share of course. A 70/30 split in your favor I think?”

	“Marcus?” Phaedra stammered. “What the hell are you doing?”

	“I can accept that without hesitation.” Odesseron said quickly.

	Victor mentally winced and looked away from his brother.

_…?!_ Phaedra telepathically tapped the elf’s mind, more an emotion than any words.

	He didn’t reply, but just gave an embarrassed, guilty shrug. He’d catch heat over his brother’s actions sooner or later. The man just hadn’t gotten used to the idea that he was no longer in his own land, not at court, and not commanding men loyal to him by birthright.

	“Who said anything about an agreement here?” Phaedra said, quickly walking towards Marcus.

	“The hell if he’s speaking for me.”

	The voice seemed to come out of nowhere, and both Odesseron and his apprentices glanced around to look for its source.

	“If you’re giving orders without asking me about them first we’ve got a problem.” Inva said as she stepped out of thin air a few feet behind the Thayan’s apprentices.

	“I don’t believe I ever said anything, or any of us for that matter, about any one of us giving any kind of orders.” The tiefling continued with a seriously unhappy tone of voice.

	“I’m getting us a guarantee of walking out of here with the Codex.” Marcus said bluntly.

	Velkyn winced. Now was –NOT- the time to have an intra party dispute directly in front of a potential enemy.

	“Guarantee nothing!” Inva spat. “I never gave you authority to speak on my behalf without involving me! If you’re going to pull that, I don’t see any reason to be here in the first place because obviously you’re not going to take my opinion into account.”

	Odesseron blinked in surprise at the tiefling’s sudden appearance, even though he wasn’t physically present out there a few feet from her, but was rather just projecting an illusion. He hadn’t had a clue that she had been there, and Inva’s arrival was both out of anger at Marcus presuming to speak for her, and her intention to show the Thayan that yes, she was there, and to wipe that smug attitude off of his face. If he’d presumed to have an upper hand, should they ever come to conflict, that was just a little tap to show him that he didn’t necessarily have it.

	The necromancer coughed, clearing his throat, as his eyes followed the tiefling. She’d been unexpected to show up like that, though he’d seen her the other day nosing around the rubble of the old manor house on one of the westernmost barrows. He’d been displeased to see anyone else poking around the mounds, but hopefully they’d be dead or gone without him having to lift so much as a finger, a presumption that wasn’t entirely without base, given the past history of the site.

	But still, if he managed to gain additional information about the various mounds and who was entombed within from them, without having to risk his own neck, or those of his apprentices, that was fine, better than fine. Hells, if they were only interested in one specific trinket, leaving the rest of the grave goods to him, well he could hardly contest that.

	In the meanwhile he just watched as they fell apart in front of him.

	“Well you weren’t exactly being very talkative were you?” Marcus said, tossing his hands up in the air.

	“Yeah, fine, see how well you do if I up and quit.” Inva shot back.

	“We hadn’t even discussed this and you went off shouting out numbers and making agreements.” Phaedra added with a snarl.

	She glared at him as she continued her rant telepathically, venting to Velkyn.

_Velk, if Inva goes, I’m gone. I’m getting tired of Marcus quite frankly, and we just got shafted out of a major portion of anything we happen to find just because of his mouth._

	“Woah woah woah!” Velkyn shouted. “Hold it!”

	This was going all to hell, and if Inva and Phaedra pulled out now, he was likely to follow.

	“In any event, regardless, I do believe that we had a deal.” The wizard said with a clap of his hands. “And it is getting late, so do be wary this evening. The spirits atop some of the mounds are more aware of things than others, and as I noticed two days ago when I searched the location, especially the mound with the ruined keep.”

	Inva was still sneering at Marcus periodically and the blade on the tip of her tail was pointed directly at him regardless of where she stood, turning to follow him like a compass needle.

	Once again, Victor sighed and avoided looking at the other members of the party, he’d have to have a talk with them, especially since they were down a considerable amount of money because of his brother now. A moment later though he shrugged it off and turned back to the Red Wizard and the mention of the spirits on the mounds.

	“We’ve noticed already, but for the most part they just seem to be going through a replay of their own deaths.” Victor said.

	“Thank you for the warning.” Phaedra added, slowly calming down, though it was debatable if the wizard’s warning was indeed genuine or just a display of perceived knowledge.

	“Well then, I think we’ve said all that needs to be said.” Myras said with a nod, clearly having felt that he’d left the bargaining table with more than he should have been able to get.

	The Thayan had a pleasant, but arguably smug smile upon his face as he gestured his undead servants to continue their work. And indeed, with their agreements in place, there was little else to say, but before both sides went back to their partitioned sides and whatever they wished to do, there was one last thing that needed to be done.

	“We’ll talk more tomorrow I suppose.” Inva said, brusquely walking past Marcus and tugging at Phaedra’s sleeve to follow her. She wanted to have something to listen to her grumble in frustration.

	“Good luck with you in your work as well.” Odesseron said as he shrugged off any final bit of unease at the tiefling’s sudden appearance. “I suggest that we meet after first light tomorrow to exchange any findings or observations we might make over the course of the evening.”

	Victor glanced up at the top of the main barrow, the same place that two of Odesseron’s apprentices were warily looking at as their master mentioned ‘observations over the course of the evening’. Clearly they had seen things similar to their own experiences the previous night, but they seemed to have been there for a day or two longer, and perhaps they had already seen things of a more dire portent. To tell the truth, the apprentice wizards seemed genuinely ill at ease, if not blatantly frightened.

	Odesseron though, he only seemed ambitious, cocky, and perhaps reckless.


***​

	Glancing back periodically at the wizard and his undead labor crew, the group made their way across the mound complex to their camp and the half of the necropolis which they had claimed as their own to investigate.

	“So what do you make of him?” Phaedra asked.

	“Talented but pompous.” Velkyn replied.

	“You’re from Toril.” Victor said, glancing at Inva. “You know anything about this guy?”

	The tiefling shook her head. “Should I?”

	“If he’s of any note I figured that you might have heard something of him.” Victor said hopefully.

	“He’s Thayan.” Inva replied said with a shrug. “But beyond that, I can’t say much.”

	“What’s special about him being Thayan?” Marcus asked.

	“And for that matter, what does Thayan actually refer to?” Francesca added, speaking up for the first time that day, perhaps hoping to deflect any ill will towards Marcus.

	“It’s a magocracy, Thay.” Inva explained as they walked. “The nation is a ways to the southwest of here, quite a ways actually. The ruling elite call themselves the Red Wizards.”

	“Hence the robes?” Victor mused.

	“And the tattoos on their heads; it’s their thing.” Inva said while flicking her tail idly. “He’s a circle leader, what with a trio of apprentices and all, so he’s strong in his own right.”

	“Compared to us?” Victor asked.

	“I used to be that good.” Inva said with a frown and more than a bit of resentment signaling that the topic wasn’t open for conversation really.

	“So I take it he’s better than any of us?” Marcus asked.

	“I wouldn’t suggest trying to take him out.” Inva replied impatiently. “But for the moment, let’s get something out of this, and maybe we won’t have to do anything with him. Maybe the dead will do it for us I suppose.”


***​

	The remainder of the late afternoon stretched into the evening, and the sky was covered by scarlet and blue to the west as the sun retreated towards the horizon. The time since their encounter with the Red Wizard had been largely uneventful but still somewhat productive. They finished their mapping of the mounds that they’d been partitioned, but none of them had any significant features that they could find. All of them bore evidence of abortive attempts at past excavations, though it was difficult to tell when they had been done, either a month earlier or perhaps a century, and none of the pits and trenches seemed to correspond to any special feature, either obvious or subtle.

	The only in-depth action they took were a series of thin tripwires that Inva left across the path taken by the spectral procession from the previous night. If the spirits were incorporeal, or perhaps illusory in some manner, they wouldn’t disturb them, though if they happened to physically manifest, the wires would indicate as such. It took little effort to put up, and the information would be a useful warning if the restless dead happened to be more active beyond simply reliving their own final days.

	But little revealed itself as night fell, and it would take either magical divination or lengthy, or just lucky, physical effort to determine which of the barrow mounds had any relevance to their search. But, in the meantime, they settled down for another evening of spectral activity with the cold northern wind snapping at their heels and gaining ground as night fell.

	Before the first watch was to begin, the campfire was dressed and lit, ready to be fed for the evening from a pile of scrap wood quickly scavenged from the interior of the ruined manor house nearby. Dinner was a mixture of dry rations purchased in Sigil and some fresher food conjured by Victor after a bit of an awkward evening prayer. Outside of Victor and Garibaldi, most of the others either didn’t have a specific patron deity, or in Phaedra’s case weren’t exactly faithful people in general, blood being blood, and of course Inva was nowhere to be seen.

	And of course, everyone was largely ignoring Marcus out of respect for some semblance of party unity. Eventually he’d apologize and come to realize his errors and presumptions fully. Hopefully.

	But in any event, the first watch was cold, still, and silent. Nothing happened, and eventually the first watch turned in as midnight approached. Second watch however, in the depths of the night, was very much different.

	It began as a slow glimmer to the south cloistered along the ground. The light, an eerie blue phosphorescence, slowly coalesced into distinct forms, a long trail of them, two abreast, all making their way towards the barrow complex. Mourners and priests, men, women, and children, they were marching the walk of the condemned, the steps of those without hope and without a future.

	Gradually the figures ringed the central mound while a covered form, larger than any man alive, was carried up to the mound by its funeral procession and guards. The funerary bier itself shimmered with ghostly light, but the form it carried did not, and in fact the presence of a corpse was only inferred from context, and from the vaguely humanoid outline of darkness that sat nestled in its open, spectral tomb wrappings. Over a thousand years later, they were still laying Nergal to rest, still lamenting their loss, still clinging to an existence that had stopped holding any meaning for them when the god of death, air, and darkness had breathed his last breath.

	When the procession of mourners finally began to fade, the night’s tone grew darker still, and the spirits more recently ripped from the world of the living. Thieves and tomb robbers of a dozen ages, they appeared at random atop the barrows, dropping spectral picks and shovels or rising from slumber, silently screaming and running from things only visible to themselves. None of them ran far before they were pulled down into the earth, though one or two emerged above seconds later, gasping for breath as if drowning or suffocating. They each clambered and grasped in vain for a hold above the ground, before once more being dragged down from below into the cold, frozen earth of the tombs they had sought to plunder.

	Then there was the shallow hill and the ruined manor house with its own panoply of tortured dead. They were faint, but they were there as lights flickering in the broken, hollow windows of the keep, and spectral forms of men and women running in terror from its main entrance. But there, unlike with the other mounds and their collection of spectral thieves, the spirits of Lord Barlow’s family and staff were not pulled down into the earth, swallowed up by the dead. No, they looked –up-, screaming and holding up their arms as if to protect themselves from something swooping down on them from above. But to no avail. None of them survived, as one by one, something unseen from the heavens snatched them up and carried them off like dead leaves in a chill autumn wind.

	One by one they were gone, taken away, devoured by the hungry, starry winter sky, or something terrible that called it home. In its wake there was only the whisper of the grass, whispering a haunting song of lamentation, the words of the dead on the northern wind, calling out in Untheric to long dead Nergal.

	The funeral dirge of the dead god progressed on the wind for another two hours, finally ending at three hours past midnight, but before then there was one final spectral occurrence. Unlike the others, it was only a single figure, a man dressed in chain and holding a sword, perhaps a relatively recent death claimed by the vengeful dead of the barrow.

	The man walked up the side of one of the smaller mounds, one ring distant from the group’s camp, another ring distant from the central mount. He was in a daze, a trance almost as he ascended to the hilltop, dropping his sword and holding out his arms. Before he withered and died he seemed to almost be embracing another person in an act of passion. But, in the end, like all of the spirits of the Great Barrow, he was swallowed and consumed.

	After his death, the whispering wind continued, eventually drifting below the range of hearing and eventually settling down to the natural background of the cold winter’s night as the third watch began.

	Inva and Phaedra yawned and sat across from one another, warming themselves in the light of the campfire, feeding it a few splinters of old timber whenever it began to cough and sputter against the flurries of snow drifting in on the wind. Though the skies had threatened snow for a day or two, it had largely held itself against any major fall, but the temperatures had been gradually drifting downwards.

	Inva seemed bored as she sat by the fire, casually poking at the embers with the spade on the end of her tail, dancing it in between the flames to tap the wood. The tiefling jostled one log, causing a shower of sparks to leap up into the air, flickering and flaring before showing down in a tiny red rain. Eventually she looked up and cooled the blade, taking it from the fire and watching the red-hot tip gradually fade to orange and then to its normal polished black.

	Through the fire and over the blade, Phaedra was looking at her.

	“Hmm?” Inva asked.

	“What?” Phaedra said, looking up at the tiefling with a tiny start. Consciously or not, she’d been staring at Inva, or her tight, red leather outfit, or the contrast that it and her hair made against the background of darkness that swathed them both. But regardless, she’d been staring.

	“You were staring at me.” Inva replied with some vague amusement. “Need something?”

	“Umm, yeah actually.” Phaedra said as Inva picked up a cloth and went about polishing the tip of her tailspike.

	“I just wanted to ask you a couple of things actually.” She continued. “Without naming specifics, did you find our… employer to be rather generous last time with his bonus?”

	The half ‘loth’s ears twitched slightly, but the look on her face one more of actual musing rather than just curiosity.

	Inva shrugged slightly. “He was fair and perhaps a little gracious, yes. But given what we went through, I’d have asked for a bit more. I wouldn’t complain about the jink however since it ended up getting me what I wanted by purchase, so all in all it worked out.

	She continued polishing the blade on one side before flipping it over and working on the opposite.

	Phaedra frowned slightly. “I suppose that I’m the only one who has a decidedly nagging feeling that something isn’t as it seems then.”

	“And I don’t mean myself.” She added as a bit of an afterthought.

	Inva looked up from her spade-polishing, perhaps a bit disturbed at Phaedra’s wariness about their employer.

	“Why? Did it seem too little? Or too much?” She asked.

	“Too much.” Phaedra replied. “Not that I’m complaining about the jink mind you. I’ll take a berk for all he’s worth, but… just handing it out that generously? Sure he calls himself a benefactor, but he didn’t strike me as the upstanding, righteous, and generous type.”

	Inva shrugged.

	“It doesn’t make sense to try and buy loyalty, not seeing as how he knew who I was before I stepped in there. Presumably he knew something about all of us, so now I just want to know where the catch it.”

	Inva shrugged again. “I have a funny feeling it was something that we asked for before we agreed to do anything. You wouldn’t throw yourself into unknown danger to be kidnapped and dropped into a maze for anything less than a good amount of jink. And from what I gathered, it wasn’t just him… I’ve worked for people who give me information and money before, and it usually comes from a much higher source. Now if they’re going through all the trouble of assembling teams of people to do things for them, then they must have something much larger in mind, and quite a bit of jink to spare in the process.”

	Inva set her tail to one side and continued.

	“I don’t suspect that it’s loyalty that they’re trying to buy, but rather it’s our services. If they pay us enough, it’s unlikely that we’ll say no. And when the tasks get more and more difficult, the prospect of additional money might just outweigh the danger. It’s appealing to one’s motives.”

	Phaedra nodded.

“Mine happens to be money till I find out otherwise.” Inva said with a smirk.

	“Perhaps that’s all and I’m just thinking on it too much.” Phaedra replied, tilting her head back and looking up at the stars. “I’m not particularly fond of not knowing who’s pulling the strings at the top.”

	Inva smiled at tapped her lightly on the side with the tip of her tail.

	“Well, then this isn’t the right line of work for you.” She said. “Ask too many questions and you’ll get answers, but you’ll also get a knife in the back as well. Jink is jink, but until things start seeming more strange and out of the ordinary to be asking for, I don’t see a reason to turn it down. Now if they up and asked me to write a Factol into the dead book, then I’d have some issues, perhaps, but so far they haven’t asked for much.”

	“I suppose that you’re right. You’ve at least been in this position before I gather.” Phaedra said as she started to fiddle with one of her many earrings, tapping a claw on the tiny metal hoop.

	“Quite a few times as I’m sure you’ve learned.” Inva said with a nod. “I deal with all sorts of people, and the best way to get along with them is just not to ask questions like ‘What do you need it for?’ or ‘Who are you going to sell it to?’. I’ve had several people I’ve worked with get the knife because of it, so I’ve learned not to open my yap. You do your job, they get what they want, and everyone is happy. They can’t blame you for following the contract, and it works out to your advantage sometimes too. If you learn something about them while you’re out, or if you end up finding information that may be useful to them, it might just bring in some extra jink, or perhaps you find yourself a new employer at a much better price.”

“Quite a few to be certain, working for who you were working for.” Phaedra said. “But for now, yes, the jink is good to be certain. I picked up a couple of things that will certainly help out with casting that I’d have had a hard time being able to easily get otherwise.”

	Inva gave a nod.

	“Perhaps,” Inva said with a nod. “But the only thing that’ll help me out here is the grace of the deity I serve and a few months to practice.”

	For a moment there was a flash of anger in her eyes and her tail twitched unconsciously side to side, but the tiefling gave no further explanation.

	“I’ve worked for all sorts of people.” She said, calming down. “The yugoloths paid better than most,	despite being overly sensitive.”

	Phaedra noticed the look that had flared in Inva’s eyes momentarily.

	“I wasn’t trying to press.” She said. “Frankly whatever you did and whoever or whatever was involved, I’m better off not knowing. That was more my way of trying to let you know that you’re not the only one who can nose around in secrets.”

	Inva shrugged.

	“They paid me to get something…” She said. “Myself and a few others went and got it for them, much like what we’re doing right now. I can’t say that I signed on for a long term contract or anything, but it worked out to mutual benefit in the end.”

	Inva smiled and licked her teeth, curling her tail back around to strap her newly polished blade back to the end of it.

	“I’m certain that you’ve got connections, given who your father is.” She said to Phaedra. “I make no secret of my dealings unless they ask me to, and she didn’t. So it’d be relatively easy to see what I was up to in my past with them.”

	Phaedra paused, shutting her mouth for a moment before replying.

“I’m afraid that I’ll get worse than a knife in the back if I stick my nose too far into that sort of business.” She said. “But since you’re aware of that, I just ask that you not tell the others specifically who my parents are. Or, if you do, please don’t tell them why they aren’t on good terms?”

	“Well, if you don’t get better with your disguises and keeping your past in check, then they won’t need me to tell them.” Inva said.

	“Velk knows,” Phaedra added. “And presumably the others will eventually figure out the rest of it given my –wonderful- track record with trying to keep anything hidden apparently.”

	“I don’t share the information I find out about those I work with.” Inva said. “At least not to those who aren’t responsible for you to begin with. So, as long as you’re around me, your secret is safe. Knowing what I do about you, it gives you good reason not to try to ever stab me in the back. After all, who knows what information might find its way into the public then.

	“So don’t you worry your head.” Inva continued, smirking. “I’ll keep your secrets, so long as you don’t go betraying any trust that I put in you.”

	Phaedra nodded, her eyes lighting up with an idea all of a sudden.

	“Actually, come to think of it, after we get paid for this, how about I give you a bit of jink or a decent round of drinks in exchange for a few tips on how to keep that from so… easily found out should I ever find myself needing that kind of façade again?”

	“If you’re planning on doing that,” Inva said, smiling at the prospect of a drink. “I know a few good bars down in the Hive… nice places, for me at least. Strong alcohol and an atmosphere that oozes opportunity for… future engagements.”

	“Your choice.” Phaedra said. “I don’t have much of a preference in the way of drinks or bars other than that they be great places to listen in on, and that applies to most any of them. And I won’t go betraying any trust you put in me. It makes more sense that way for –you- not to stab me in the back if I keep my mouth shut.”

	“Though of course, somehow I think that you’re better at the back-stabbity part.” Phaedra added, glancing at the tip of Inva’s tail-spike.

	“I used to be better…” Inva replied with a smile, and a flash of that earlier anger. “And I can only get better from here. Besides, there are much worse ways of dealing with a traitor than stabbing them in the back. That’s what you do with strangers who cross you. People you know don’t get it as easy.”

	Changing the subject, the tiefling grinned and glanced over towards Victor’s tent and the open flap through which they could both see the elven cleric sleeping.

	“Speaking of bars in the Hive, I’ve got a good place that I need to show him too.” She said with a chuckle. “Looks like the man hasn’t had a good time in years.”

	“I’m not sure that he’d know how to enjoy himself honestly if you tried.” Phaedra said as she looked over at Victor.

	“I’m sure he’d learn quite easily.” Inva said. “He seems relaxed enough and willing to go with the flow. His brother on the other hand, well… I think he’d go for the first opportunity that tossed itself at his feet, given his recent actions.”

	“Oh I know.” Phaedra said with a sigh. “I swear, he didn’t even have the sense to try and make sure that the necromancer was telling the truth.”

	“I trust some people.” Inva replied. “But not when that lich-bait probably knows more about this place than we do. He’s clearly got the upper hand here.”

	“Lich-bait who has invisible lurking familiars doesn’t strike me as the kind of fellow that I want to start taking orders from.” Phaedra said. “Of course, I don’t want to take orders from Marcus either. Victor may need to relax, but Marcus… he’s… off.”

	“Taking orders from Marcus?” Inva mused. “At least not until he gets his act together. I think he’s a bit preoccupied with his fiefdom or some such. He needs to remember that he’s not at court, and we’re not his loyal subjects. As for the necromancer, he knows something. He has to want something specific, otherwise he wouldn’t be here with help. I see him as being him on more than just a field trip, and we need to keep a very close eye on him.”

	“Agreed.” Phaedra said, still giggling over calling the Thayan ‘lich-bait’. “I’m not sure how we can keep much of an eye on him though. Well, that is, I’m not sure how –I- could help keep an eye on him.”

	“I’ve got a few spells to at least keep an eye on his campsite.” Inva replied. “And I might be able to keep our own gains from his sight, but I’m not as adept as I used to be. My magic should hopefully confuse him enough so that anything I put in the way will slow him down a bit. I’ve got a funny feeling that we’ll be running into him before we’re done with this. I just have this sense that he wants, or will want, what we’re after, and he likely knows what it does even if he played dumb when we mentioned it.”

	Inva rolled her eyes and stoked the fire once more.	

“But,” She said. “Back with what we were talking about before, if you want a way to find out about our employers, learning about what they’re after is probably the best way to do it.”

	“We’ll see if I get an opportunity before it’s over and I have the time to delve into it on my own.” Phaedra replied with a nod.

	“Hey now.” Inva said. “Our employer didn’t say that we needed to keep it secret. So if it comes down to it, we could always see what he knows. I figure we should pester him about it, well, after we get it into the hands that want it.”

	Phaedra grinned at Inva, very obviously liking the suggestion, and even more, the way that the tiefer thought.

	Now up to that point during their watch, the night had been relatively placid compared to the earlier watch during which the mounds had fairly well seemed alive with the restless dead of several generations past. But as Phaedra and Inva bantered in the firelight, the stars had shown down, twinkling from above down on a scene of calm, if cold, windblown grass and little else. The dead had stayed that way, and the spirits of the Great Barrow had not made their presence known.

	Perhaps change was inevitable.


***​

	“What was that?” Phaedra said suddenly, interrupting the lull in conversation.

	There had been a sound, harsh and sudden, off to the east.

	“I didn’t hear anything.” Inva said, looking in the direction that the half ‘loth’s ears had swiveled.

	The tiefling’s eyes shifted into the deeper range of darkvision, illuminating the contents of the shadows in shades of black and white, harsh, the mounds starkly contrasting against the sky. The grass shifted with the wind but there was nothing on the hillsides or atop the crowns of the mounds to give away the source of any noise.

	“I don’t see anything either.” Inva said. “What did it sound like?”

	“Footsteps?” Phaedra mused. “Like someone stepping on dry grass, or maybe ripping up some of the grass.”

	“If anything it might just be an animal, except there aren’t any near this place.” Inva suggested. “Or I’d say it might be our friendly neighborhood necromancer going for a midnight excavation on our side of the barrow.”

	Phaedra looked at the tiefling.

	“But he’s not that stupid.” Inva replied. “So I don’t have a clue what it is.”

	“I don’t know…” Phaedra begin, stopping short when there was a sharp, pronounced ripping noise in the direction of the central barrow.

	“I heard that too.” Inva said as she looked for the source of the sound.

	The side of the barrow, several yards up from the base, there was movement in the dry grass and several missing patches like it had been ripped up and tossed aside.

	Another instance of the sound and another patch of grass vanished… tugged –down-.

	They glanced at one another and slowly, cautiously, trodding softly upon the cold ground, made their way towards the central barrow. They were quiet as they approached the mound, saying not a word, though Inva had a hand at her sword, and Phaedra’s fur was rising unconsciously. There was a presence in the air, something heavy and massive, a sense of heat at the fringes of the mind clashing with the winter air. It was there like a wolf at the edge of a campfire, stepping softly in the darkness and freshly fallen snow. Be it hungry or curious, Phaedra was only aware that it was there, and nothing more as it sniffed at the margins of her telepathic mind.

	Wordlessly, stepping a bit apart from one another should something happen, the two of them stepped up the side of the barrow and within easy sight of the cause of the sound and the disturbed grass. The grass had been marked into a rough pattern, looking nothing so much as if something had taken them by the roots and ripped them down into the earth.

	There was a scent of ash in the air. The disturbed grass was burnt, singed, where it had been torn down.

	The patterns of grass were forming letters.

	There, splayed upon the hillside, torn into the earth, touched by some unseen flame, two words were spelled out in Abyssal:

*‘Release Me.’*


***​


----------



## Shemeska

The sudden flame upon the hillside was in sharp contrast to the cold of the winter night, and the ash stirring upon the breeze was sharp against the otherwise dry air, leached of scent by the cold. But there was something else as well. There was the presence pawing at Phaedra’s mind.

	The half-loth glanced warily at Inva, and the tiefling shrugged back, half subsumed into the shadow cast by the looming barrow mound.

	“I wouldn’t go releasing anything that you don’t know ‘hon…” Inva whispered as she scanned the rest of the hillside for movement.

	Phaedra would have responded, but the voice in her head spoke first, forthright and powerful, but power that had long been imprisoned.

	"*Come hither… Release me…*” It said, haunting and full of lament, but also promising and seductive. “*Fray the dweomers like cold iron chains that bind me, a fly within this abandoned and tattered web whose spider has vanished with the cold winter wind and mortal memories.*”

	The voice paused momentarily and the wind whistled through the fragile, dry grass, punctuation to the entity’s speech.

	“*Help me and I will reward you… Reward you greatly.*”

	Phaedra gave a look of skepticism at the mound, and the whispering, promising voice gave rise to its lament further.

	“*Torment, torment of prison.*” It whispered. “*Soul and stone and ancient mortal bones weigh upon me; an anchorstone of most hated Gilgeam.*”

	Its last words were as if hissed through clenched teeth, with a rage barely constrained. The hillside trembled slightly.

	“Who are you? What are you?” Phaedra asked, though that it was a fiend was obvious. The level of blistering hatred when it had mentioned the Untheric deity Gilgeam was only something a fiend could have mustered.

	There was no immediate reply by the occupant of the barrow.

	“Tell me who you are.” Phaedra asked again. The presence seemed to be pondering how best to reply, lest it miss its chance at freedom.

	“*Severesthifek…*”

	The name sounded Tanar’ri; True Tanar’ri…

	“*… second of the burning marshals of Lupercio…*”

	Phaedra’s eyes widened slightly, and perhaps there was a twitch in her smile, but Inva noticed her reactions even if she couldn’t hear the conversation.

	That it was a Tanar’ri was beyond a shadow of a doubt. Lupercio, the Baron of Sloth, was an Abyssal Lord, and the being in the mound, whatever it was, had been one of its major servitors.

	“*You are fiend, or touched by one…*” Severesthifek crooned, stroking her mind with a hundred telepathic fingers. “*Would you wish to be bound by a deity in a rotting, muddy tomb among the bones of your lesser for millennia? Release me and I will not hinder you.*”

	“Why?” Phaedra asked, brushing away the caress of the other fiend’s mind. “I know little to nothing about you, nor do I have any reason to trust you.”

	The tanar’ri in the mound withdrew, but there was the odd sensation that the mental fingers and very briefly bristled with claws.

	“Give me something in return, and be specific about it.” Phaedra continued. “We came here looking for something. Tell us where in the mound it is, and we may be willing to aid you.”

	A slow, guttural rumble was the fiend’s reply, a sound like the stoking of a blast furnace and the inhalation of oxygen before the rise of the flames. There was a mix of reactions though, both the rage of an imprisoned Tanar’ri, desperate for release, and what might have been the effect of its bindings, the will of a dead deity and its priests forcing it into its role as one of the barrow’s protectors. Tanar’ri were insane, unpredictable, and whatever Severesthifek was, it was being torn between loyalty to self and the magical chains that bound it. 

When it replied, insanity was the least descriptor to give.

“*Release me, come and…*”

What began as a soft crooning suddenly flashed to a screaming, slavering rage.

“*DIE! Rend the flesh from your bones and suck the marrow! Devour your soul! REND! REND! GNASH! And all is bloody silence but for the rustling of the grasses and Auril’s breath upon my back… Violate this place and I shall violate in turn, most bloody, most painful, most agonizing. Physical torment is the least of what I shall do to you…*”

	Phaedra stepped back from the mound as she could physically feel a hot, rancid panting of breath upon her face, such was the intensity of the emotions and raw, abstract rage in the fiend’s mental projection.

	“It’s a f*cking True Tanar’ri inside the mound…” Phaedra whispered. “Nalfeshnee, Glabrezu, a Balor maybe.”

	The grass upon the hillside was swaying back and forth gently, regularly, like the heaving of a demon’s chest, all in time with the ragged breath that echoed in Phaedra’s mind. Severesthifek was struggling against the divine purpose driven like a white-hot spike through its chaotic mind, raging against its slavery; freedom was anathema to its role as guardian of the tomb.

“*BATHE IN YOUR FLESH!*”

The scream was audible even to Inva, and the tiefling’s eyes, a glint of red in the shadows, blinked at its intensity as it rattled around on the inside of her brain.

“It might be a good idea to get a bit of distance Phae…” The tiefling said as she nudged an elbow into the half-‘loth’s side.

	“I’m thinking that too.” She replied. “He, she, it… don’t know which, but it might be willing to help us, but only if we release it.”

	Inva gave her a look at the suggestion.

	Phaedra shrugged as the mental static in her mind continued to seethe and boil over from the entombed and bound tanar’ri deep within the earth.

	“Yeah I know it’s not a good idea.” She said. “But whatever’s binding it to the barrow, well, it’s preventing it from telling anything. It was trying to say something, maybe, but then it immediately shot into a rage.”

	“That’s an understatement.” Inva said with a smirk, still eyeing the mound.

	“Part of that was just from a Tanar’ri bound in place for a few thousand years.” Phaedra said. “He isn’t happy.”

	“You could say that.” Inva replied.

	“*Release me I…*” Severesthifek whispered sullenly, desperately.

	“I don’t think we’re going to get much out of…” Phaedra was cut off though as the fiend’s final outburst sunk its mental claws into her and Inva’s minds.

“*…Awash in the entrails of the thieves and pharaoh kissers who would violate this sanctum! Wallow in your misery I shall, filth of the prime material. Worthless, all of you!! Unripened larvae for me to feed upon; grown fat like the tomb worms that will riddle your flesh and leave the choicest bits of the soul to me…*”

	The grass upon the hillside had stopped moving even though the north wind was briskly drifting across their faces, tousling Inva’s hair and rustling the hem of Phaedra’s robe. The mound had gone cold and silent after the tanar’ri had vented its anger one final time, but it was unknown if the fiend had given up, or was waiting and allowing its rage to fester and build for something more.

	*crack!*

	One of Phaedra’s ears swiveled and turned to the sound, a delicate fragile snap.

	The long grass growing upon the slope of the central barrow was still in the wind because it had been frozen solid. Ice glittered upon each and every stalk and reed, holding them fast into the earth, tethered against the wind; a manifestation of the bound fiend’s rage of millennia.

	“Let’s get back to camp and wait for morning…” Phaedra said as she was already stepping back further from the edge of the mound.

	“Exactly.” Inva said. “Besides which, you’re more fun to banter with than a Tanar’ri.”

	Phaedra chuckled as they quickly made their way back towards camp in the darkness while unseen, the light snowfall sprinkled their hair and clothes. Nothing untoward happened to them as they walked through the mound complex, though there was still a ragged gnawing of telepathic static emanating from the largest mound, and perhaps several of the others as well. 

That would be something to examine in the morning, and something to discuss with the others come morning. If the Untheric priests had bound fiends to some of the mounds, it might explain the lethality of the area, beyond the restless dead, and it might point to some of the mounds being considered more sacrosanct than others.

	But in the meantime, Phaedra glanced over at Inva and smiled to herself. She’d really taken a shine to the tiefling, and truth be told, the offer to go out drinking once they got back to Sigil was sounding more and more attractive, just like Inva was for that matter.


***​

	Sorandar Dakros, apprentice necromancer to circle leader Myras Odesseron, looked up into the sky and frowned.

	“I don’t like snow.” He said, scowling and brushing at the cold flakes drifting down from the clouds and onto his head.

	Like every other Red Wizard, he was bald, his head covered in tattoos, and the cold chill of the snowflakes was annoying him.

	His companion for that evening’s watch segment chuckled and shook her head in amusement.

	“If you’re going to complain just go back into your tent and read over that book on summoning I loaned you.” She said. 

Khezen Ansalab, another of Odesseron’s apprentices, she was about a year older than Dakros, and slightly more advanced in her studies than him. She viewed him more like a little brother than a rival apprentice squabbling for their master’s attention and favor, which of course was at odds with their on again, off again, relationship of convenience. It was purely sexual of course, but it suited them both when they had the opportunity to indulge themselves.

	“It’s cold.” Dakros said. “This whole nation is too damn cold.”

	There was a flicker of light off in the darkness from one of the outer mounds, far beyond the glow of ambient light that had been conjured by the wizards around their campsite and areas of current excavation.

	“What in the 9 hells was that?” Khezen said, turning her head in the direction of the light.

	“Probably those idiots on the other side of the main barrow setting a fire.” Dakros replied with a yawn.

	“Well if it was, than they’re on our side of the complex.” Khezen replied. “Go take a look.”

	The other thayan looked at her like she had a hole in her skull, dripping her brains out onto the ground.

	“You go look.” He said. “It’s f*cking cold enough as it is. I’m not going out in the cold by myself to look for something out there that probably isn’t anything at all.”

	“Then wear an extra cloak.” Khezen retorted. “And bring some of the zombies with you.”

	She gestured to the eight slowly rotting figures that shambled and worked tirelessly under their necromantic command, or rather, more appropriately, shambled and worked under their command at their master’s behest. Some of them were simple zombies, while others, the ones that had come with them from Thay, near the border of the Tharch of Thazalhar, were more advanced and puissant creations.

	“Yes, and if I do.” He replied. “We won’t excavate enough of this mound before sunup and the master will have us lashed for incompetence.”

	“Then send Aloth to go look.” Khezen suggested with a shrug. 

Her companion was right actually, they couldn’t spare the labor of their undead to go looking for something that didn’t appear to be much at all.

	“Fine.” Dakros said, once again rubbing his hands over his baldpate to brush the cold melt water of fallen snow from his tattooed flesh.

	Aloth was their nominal bodyguard, though he only truly held loyalty to their master Myras. The man, covered in a patchwork of armor and tattoos, was approaching his fourth decade of life, but his time as a slave during his childhood, and his tenure as a thayan knight had aged him prematurely beyond his years. He stood silently near the edge of the excavation sight, keeping his eyes on the apprentices just as much as he watched for anything stepping into the light from outside.

	“Aloth!” Dakros said, motioning the warrior over to were he was standing. “Go find out what the hell was sparking a light on that mound.”

	The wizard pointed out the mound, one of the medium-sized barrows, and one that was very clearly on their side of the complex.

	Aloth simply nodded and gave a rough grunt. The knight was a mute, as his tongue had been ripped out during his early slavery. But he obeyed orders and that was all that mattered. Besides, if he had refused, they’d have charmed him and had him lashed in the morning.

	The two wizards turned away from their undead laborers and watched the knight spark a torch and walk off to the southwest, towards the mound they had directed him towards.

	“It’s probably nothing.” Khezen said with a shrug.

	“True, but it does leave us alone till he gets back.” Dakros replied as he rubbed a hand on his sometime lover’s shoulder.

	She gave an appreciative murmur as he stepped closer, his hand moved to her breast, and he kissed the base of her neck.

	“I wouldn’t put it past you to have set up some illusion to trigger on that mound, just to give us some time alone.” She replied with a pleasant, uncharacteristically girlish giggle. “… you did, didn’t you?”

	“We’re alone, aren’t we?” He said. “The others are asleep and they can’t hear anything inside the dimensional space they’re in.”

	“I figured as much…” She replied as she turned and undid the front of his robe. “And we’re as alone as we can be I suppose.”

	“They’re dead.” He said, motioning to the zombies still going about their ordered tasks. “They don’t care.”

	Engaged as they were with each other for the next hour, they never heard the screams cutting through the night air from the south. Their own screams of a very, very different nature kept them oblivious even as they kept each other satisfied and warm against the cold, inside and out.


***​

	Phaedra and Inva bantered softly as they walked back to camp and the dying remains of the campfire.

	Phaedra tossed several broken pieces of scavenged timber into the sputtering flames, making sure that it would continue burning till morning. The fire hissed and spit forth a shower of sparks as the old kindling gave way under the added weight and a few insects in the new wood popped from the heat, shooting off like the inverse of tiny macabre falling stars.

“Now if you'll excuse me,” Phaedra said with a yawn. “I'm one tired…”

	She paused and looked down at the form she’d been using, more lupinal than anything else.

	“…celestial, or something…”

	Inva gave a smile as she pulled a bag out of her tent, taking out a spellbook bound in a deeply tanned, almost black, skin. She flipped through several pages, ending at a page marked with a long, silken bookmark whose ends seemed to trail off into tiny wisps of shadow.

"I suppose I should look over my spells.” The tiefling said, turning another page with the bladed tip of her tail. “Just to make sure I'm ready to keep my tail safe from that would-be-lich.”

Phaedra chuckled through a yawn.

“I'll be looking forward to that drink after all this is over…” Inva added. “ I haven't had a good stiff drink and a pleasant conversation in forever.”

“It would be a nice change of pace for me too.” Phaedra replied. “It’s been a while since I've been in much of anyone's company purely because I wanted to be.”

“Well, let's make a date for it then.” The tiefling said as the fire hissed and crackled. “If we can get Victor to step out of the sun and into the shadows for a bit, and Velk to relax and come out from under that cloak, we might all be able to loosen up and enjoy ourselves. I can easily see us working together for a while if our employer's have their way.”

Phaedra nodded back. The possibility was something she appreciated, with perhaps the caveat of having to continue to deal with Marcus. But that was a thought she didn’t dwell on as she stood up and brushed her robes free of snow and bits of ash. 

"Goodnight Inva.” She said. “Here's to hoping you have a quiet and uneventful watch. Well, unless of course you're planning on making it otherwise.”

Inva smiled and looked over towards first the ruined manor house, and then towards the barrows. 

"I don't think I'll need much help in that regard.” She replied with a sly grin. “I'll let you know how things went in the morning. Enjoy your rest, and don't let the shadows creep up and claim you.”

That smirk was back for a moment to compliment her last faux-warning, but the half-‘loth wasn’t one to let it go without returning it.

	“Oh really?” She said, slowly looking back at the tiefling before spinning around and snapping her fingers, casting a light spell immediately above Inva, leaving the shadow adept without a shadow of her own.

	The light burst into being and Inva’s eyes changed color almost immediately as her vision shifted back into the normal spectrum and her pupils shrunk to pinpoints, ruining her night vision. She gave a bemused scoff of a laugh and backflipped into Phaedra’s own shadow, blending into it and vanishing almost as soon as she touched the ground.

	Phaedra glanced around in vain and gave a soft chuckle as she walked away back to her tent. But as she did so, she felt the slight prick of a blade against the top corner of one of her ears. It didn’t draw blood, but it was enough to let her know that Inva was there, or had been, because when Phaedra looked back, despite the conjured light and the fire illuminating the campsite, she didn’t see a thing.

	“Smart cookie you…” She said as she ducked into her tent, just imagining the triumphant smirk on the tiefling’s face somewhere out there in the night. But she too fell asleep with a smile on her face.


***​

	In the morning, set against the dawn glow in the east, there was a ring of large, dark birds set against the heavy, snow-laden sky overheard. 

Plains scavengers.

	The previous night had indeed been lethal to something or someone.


----------



## Shemeska

*CAW!*

	Odesseron’s familiar squawked out a warning at their approach, causing the Red Wizard and several other figures to turn and face them.

	The Thayan, along with a trio of apprentices and several heavily armored bodyguards stood clustered at the summit of one of the secondary mounds. Mirroring the feathered scavengers high above in the sky, they stood in a circle around something there exposed to the cold, dry air, the scent of death wafting out around it.

	“Does the issue of agreed upon boundaries not make sense to you?” Odesseron asked angrily. “This mound is halfway inside the territory we’d agreed was mine alone.”

	“Birds.” Marcus said.

	“Excuse me?” The Thayan asked. “Are you daft?”

	Inva calmly pointed up into the sky.

	“We saw that circle of birds and assumed that someone had died.” The tiefling said. “We came to help in case you needed it.”

	“I have undead bound to my command.” Odesseron replied. “Didn’t it occur to you that a dozen partially rotted bodies might attract scavengers, even if they were still moving?”

	“I mean I was all for leaving you here to whatever horror you might have released from a mound but…” Inva muttered to herself before Phaedra nudged her side.

	“What the hell are they all circled around?” Francesca whispered to Marcus. “And that smell…”

	Phaedra nodded to the fighter and whined ever so slightly as she covered her nose with the cuff of her robe. She’d noticed it too.

	Odesseron exhaled and put on a courteous smile as best he could. “Your concern is appreciated, but it is not necessary.”

	“What exactly happened?” Velkyn asked.

	They peered over towards the top of the mound as one of the Thayan’s apprentices moved away from where he’d been standing. The younger wizard was gagging, his nose and mouth covered by a sleeve, and the reasons for such were readily apparent.

	The corpse of a tattooed man in half-plate armor lay spread-eagled across the top of the barrow mound, dozens of massive gouges and slashes puncturing his armor like it had been foil, cutting down into his mangled flesh. The wounds alone would have killed him in short order, but they were the least of it. Anywhere that his armor failed to cover, anywhere that he had exposed skin, his flesh was bubbled and boiled outwards like something had taken root and sprouted from inside. Withered growths of some sort of fungus still penetrated up from his cheeks and hands, black and dead as he was, rustling against the morning’s chill wind, blowing a horrific scent out over the mound complex.

	“One of my bodyguards was a fool and went off alone to search one of the mounds last night.” Odesseron said with a shrug. “He might have been trying to dig on his own, or he might have thought he heard something.”

	“Do you have any ideas what might have done this?” Velkyn asked. “Something in the mound? Or something else out here that we might need to be aware of?”

	“At this point I really don’t care.” He added coolly. “He’s dead and I’m down a guard.”

	Odesseron’s apprentices were staring awkwardly at the corpse, two of them especially, glancing back at one another with looks of worry and guilt.

	“Can we at least help you in some way?” Velkyn asked.

	“If you’d like, I can try to restore him to life.” Victor suggested, stepping forward and glancing in the direction of the corpse.

	Myras shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. I have a priest of Kossuth with me.”

	They’d never seen a cleric of the Firebringer with the Thayans, nor did they see one now. But the faith of the Lord of Flame was potent in Thay, so it wasn’t at all inconceivable that the Red Wizard had traveled to the Great Dale with one of them. Still, the refusal of help was a bit quick and more than a bit cold.

	“There’s nothing that I’m overly concerned about.” He continued. “I lose a guard, nothing exactly unexpected given the surroundings. It’s not something that I require aid with, and it’s certainly not something that I’m going to be losing sleep over.”

	“Hell if he’s not concerned about the mound.” Phaedra said. “After the other night and the central mound, I certainly am.”

	The half-loth stared up at the sky but sent her mind reaching out towards the interior of the mound like a surgeon’s probe seeking out infected or cancerous tissue. Something was down there, she could feel a mental presence, though it seemed to be suppressed or possibly recovering after its expenditures during the night before.

	“Anything down there?” Inva asked, leaning in and whispering to Phaedra as surreptitiously as possible.

	She didn’t respond immediately, but continued to concentrate on the mound, feeling around the edges of the entity bound into the hill. Fury; the sound of claws whistling as they cut the air; the flap of wings; a mental image of a man being savaged by a bloody beak amid a cloud of feathers and spores…

_“There’s a Vrock down there.”_ Phaedra telepathically voiced to her companions.

	They nodded back as surreptitiously as they could as they continued to babble with the Thayan. Meanwhile the necromancer’s apprentices and guards stayed virtually as quiet as their undead servants.

	Down in the mound, the Vrock seemed pleased with itself. It had relished the slaughter like a parched and delirious man stumbling upon a river. The manic glee of the fiend was disturbing to say the least, even to Phaedra who was well aware of the activities of half of her family, but of course she wasn’t used to probing into their inner thoughts like she’d been sifting through those of the Vrock.

	Outside of the mound, discussions weren’t going anywhere.

	“But suffice to say, despite my immediate loss of one somewhat trained swordsman, I have little else to deal with.” Myras said bluntly. “And that little else does not require outside aid.”

	“Suit yourself.” Victor said with a shrug. “We were only trying to help.”

	“Your intent is appreciated.” Myras reiterated. “But unnecessary at this time. I suggest that we meet tomorrow morning to discuss anything we each find.”

	There was little more to be said, given the cold and generally standoffish or downright confrontational attitude the Thayan had. He didn’t want their help, he didn’t really want them around, but it was too much of a risk to really do anything more than ask to be left alone.

	And so with the Red Wizard’s cool demeanor fresh in their minds, and further evidence of the latent, lurking danger of the mounds fresh in their minds, they wandered back to their side of the barrow complex.

	As it was, the morning passed without incident as the group completed their surface surveys of the mounds they’d been allocated. Given their earlier indications of an evil presence lingering beneath several of them, and given what they knew or suspected regarding the inhabitants of two of those mounds, they examined those few in much deeper detail as the morning passed into the afternoon and the winter sun passed its zenith in the sky.

	“Sometimes I wish I wasn’t the only bloody telepath in this group…” Phaedra muttered as she stood at the edge of the dry, brittle grass that marked the boundary of the mound that the ruined keep of Ephraim Barlow stood upon.

	“Because frankly, the things around here aren’t pleasant. Tanar’ri never are. Poking them doesn’t make them nicer.”

	With a bit of a sigh, the she reached out her mind to the interior of the mound, probing cautiously below the foundation of the old manor house. Expectantly, something stirred to her touch and answered back.

_You’re different than the others…_ A ragged voice, very nearly a squawk, whispered back to her.

_Others?_ Phaedra asked back.

_…others to chase, others to terrify, others to feed upon… others that I have or will feed upon…but you smell of yugoloth…_

_So you say._ Phaedra replied, not entirely feeling comfortable with the very nearly chummy tone the Vrock was adopting.

_You could release me…_ The Tanar’ri suggested bluntly.

_Why not leave yourself? What keeps you here?_

	The grass of the hill rustled with a backwash of anger translated to telekinesis.

_We cannot… the spells that shackle us, the dweomers on binding stones, they are sewn into our hearts…_

	Again the grasses rustled and Phaedra could, for a moment, glimpse an image of the bound fiend being cut open by the clergy of Nergal and what amounted to a spiritual loadstone being slipped inside. It was not pleasant, and the Vrock seemed somewhat surprised at her discomfort with the sensations; so unlike a yugoloth who might have gloated, prodded, or commiserated on its way to getting something. Sensing that on the Tanar’ri’s end, Phaedra stepped away from the edge of the mound and withdrew her mental contact.

	Shaking her head, both to clear her mind of the lingering traces of psychosis that pervaded anything of Abyssal origin, and to simply express dismay at the demon, Phaedra walked back over to where Velkyn was standing and watching. Behind her, back at the ruin that crowned the barrow like a headstone for its tanar’ri prisoner, the wind whistled through the empty shell of the old keep like the hissing of a rejected paramour.

	“Any luck?” Velkyn asked.

	“Yeah, there’s a Vrock down there.” Phaedra replied. “Not a very happy one either.”

	The wizard nodded. “Victors been mapping out the dweomers on some of the other mounds while you’ve been out here, the magic looks to be entirely divine based.”

	“The Vrock claimed that the priests buried here bound him and others, other Tanar’ri, into the mounds.” Phaedra replied.

	“Between you and Victor, we might hopefully have an idea what to expect from the mounds here by the end of the day.” Velkyn added.

	“Point me to the next one then.” Phaedra said with a shake of her head. “It’s not exactly pleasant poking at a Tanar’ri that’s been sitting down there for a few thousand years, but it gets us what we need to know I suppose.”

	“That is does. They’re Tanar’ri, nobody expects them to be pleasant conversationalists.”

	“Trust me.” Phaedra said with a chuckle. “They’re not.”

	Several hours later they had a much clearer catalog of the mounds, detailing the extent of, or at least the potency of their wards lurking below the surface, and the identity of any bound fiend they might possess. All in all, it was a mix of Vrocks, possibly a succubus, and then the presence cloistered within the central mound that they left well enough alone for the time being, but which seemed to be watching them. Phaedra felt it out there at the fringes of her mind, watching, listening when she made contact with the other fiends bound to the lesser mounds of the Barrow complex. That one, whatever it was, was subtle if it wished to be.

	Just before sunset they found something more.

	“Son of a…” Marcus said as he tossed his shovel off to the side. “Why couldn’t we have found this earlier in the day?”

	Victor shrugged at his brother as he and the others continued to dig. They’d found a stronger density of magic along the southern flank of the mound within which they were fairly certain a succubus was bound. Digging into the earth at that point they’d hit stone only a few feet down, the top of a retaining wall or buttress to structures deeper still.

	“Well at least you’ll be able to see the undead when they come out of the tomb for you when you’re on your watch tonight.” Inva said, resisting the urge to fling a spade-full of dirt over in his direction.

	As the light shifted from yellow to deeper colors of the spectrum, they managed to clear away enough of the sod and the packed, cold soil to uncover the top of an archway and the start of a recessed, stone door sealed with plaster. Flecks of paint still decorated the tomb entrance while lines of bizarre script, more resembling collections of scratches and chop marks, danced in neat rows between what would have originally been painted illustrations.

	None of them spoke ancient Untheric however, but they could guess at the content regardless.

	“So who wants to assume that we’re all cursed for having dared to excavate this place?” Inva asked with a bit of sarcastic cheer.

	“Considering the magic on that door, I wouldn’t joke…” Victor said with raised eyebrows a smirk and a half chuckle.

	“Anyone happen to speak… whatever language that is?” Velkyn asked.

	“I was hoping that you would.” Phaedra replied. “If you don’t, hell if anyone else does.”

	Velk shrugged and glanced at the cuneiform engravings, and also at the magic laced through the mound and culminating at the door that was virtually humming.

	“Not a clue where to begin.” He replied. “But if we’re cursed, I’m calling dibs on the disintegration.”

	“I’m calling dibs on your stuff then.” Inva said as she stepped up next to the wizard from behind.

	“You’re being mighty friendly.” Velk said.

	“You can hope for curses all you like, I’ll be letting something besides me open that door.” Inva replied. “Like one of lich-bait’s zombies.”

	Velk studied the tiefling’s face.

	“You want to get the Thayan involved in this tomorrow?” He asked.

	“We might as well.” She said. “I would say he’s got more warm bodies to throw at the wards, but they’re anything but, but the intent still stands.”

	“If we can’t find what we came here for in the first place, we might be able to get his help in figuring out where that might be.” Velkyn added. “I’d appreciate the help in dispelling any magical traps.”

	“And you’re almost assured of having them.” Inva replied.

	“We can go talk to him in the morning.” Victor said, stepping away from the mound and joining the other two. “But for the moment, it’s about dark.”

	“I’ll go start a fire.” Velkyn said. “Any ideas for dinner are welcome.”

	“Any chance you can ask your deity for specifics Victor?” Inva asked the cleric.

	“We won’t be hungry.” He replied. “But we’ll see if I can get something beyond warm gruel tonight.”

	Inva followed after him as they abandoned their picks and shovels at the half uncovered door.

	“If we’re well fed and happy,” She called out. “It’ll make the inevitable death at the hands of the vengeful dead much more pleasant!”


***​

	Hanging low on the western horizon, situated over the southernmost extension of the cursed Rawlinswood, itself burying the ruins of ancient Narfell’s greatest cities, the nuclear furnace of Toril’s sun boiled like a demon’s rage even as one waited for it to vanish and bring with it the embrace of the winter’s night.

	Deep within the cold, sealed depths of Nergal’s crypt, Severesthifek opened his eyes and gazed outwards from beyond the wards, from beyond the deific strictures, from beyond the pain of the binding stone sunk deep into his heart by the priesthood of long-dead Nergal and Gilgeam. Severesthifek gazed out with rage and hunger, feeling the darkness as the sun retreated over the western horizon and surrendered the Great Dale to him and his own long slumbering in unquiet tombs beneath the barrows’ soil.

_Call to them Zrekstallithrik…_ The Balor called out to the first of his servants bound into the lesser mounds.

_Call to them Leaeryx… Call to them Dwurcallisz… Call to them Ingella…_ He continued, whispering to the bound minds of the Vrocks and Succubi that had shared his imprisonment for millennia.

_Call to them. Gather them. Shepherd them from their tombs and your gnashing maws. Fill them with your hunger, fill them with your rage and set them loose from their shackles and into the night._

	The darkness stirred as the Balor’s corporeal form shifted and twitched and his mental presence smiled as in the depths of the other barrows, a chorus answered back to him in hungry obedience. Together they smiled, incorporeal fangs gnashing, mouths slavering, tongues tasting the air as they called out to the darkness surrounded them there in the depths, uprooting the souls of those condemned to the darkness as well, suffocated in the name of a dead god by the hand of another.

	They pulled them from their unquiet rest and scattered them like bitter seeds upon the night wind, there to take root and there to feed, but not upon the rays of a winter morning’s sun; no, nothing so prosaic, nothing so passive, nothing so merciful…


***​

	“No! Stop! Dig down into the mound itself, not the area around it.” The young Red Wizard hissed at the undead he’d been set to watch over through the night.

	“We’re excavating a tomb, not digging ourselves fortifications to defend against drunken Rashemi…”

	Dakros shook his head as the Ogre zombie grunted and altered its pattern of digging while a trio of animated goblinoids carried on with their own tasks without paying their companion any attention whatsoever.

	“You’re agitated.” The wizard’s companion said to him.

	“Pensive is more like it.” Dakros replied.

	“Something like that.” Khezen replied. “But guilt really isn’t like you.”

	“I don’t have a clue if Myras is asleep or not, so for the moment nothing about what happened the other night.” Dakros said.

	Khezen sighed and ran a hand over her head, bald and tattooed just like her lover’s.

	“True.” She said. “I suppose it wouldn’t go over well to admit that we sent Aloth out to be killed just so we could let the dead dig while we f*cked without a living audience.”

	Dakros smiled at the memory, even if it was soured by the fact that they’d probably gotten the man killed as a direct result of their little fling.

	“No, no it wouldn’t.” He replied. “But Myras hasn’t seemed all that upset over it. He even animated the body.”

	“I really should be used to the idea of that.” Khezen said. “It’s a waste to just bury him and not keep the corpse around to work, but knowing him beforehand, and knowing how he died, it still feels strange to have him down there with a shovel next to the ogres and hobgoblins.”

	Dakros nodded.

	“Which is why I sent him off as far as I could so it wouldn’t be a constant reminder.”

	Though it was there for only a moment, neither of them noticed a spot of darkness drift across the sky, its passage marked by a moving void in the night’s field of stars. They were too busy glancing at the familiar looking, if slowly rotting, body of their master’s former bodyguard, unflinchingly swinging a pick at the fringe of one of the mounds.

	“Is it getting colder out here?” Khezen asked, looking up at her partner and gathering her robes about her a bit more tightly.

	Dakros exhaled, sending a cloud of vapor out sparkling into the night’s air.

	“Come to think of it, yes, it is.” He replied. “Did you memorize anything that might help? I gave up abjurations a long time ago…”

	Khezen shook her head. “Light I can do. But none of it makes any actual heat. And a fireball isn’t exactly the right way to light a fire to stay warm. I’m f*cked when it comes to conjuration.”

	“Well my little evoker, a fireball’ll keep you warm the rest of your life.”

	“But I don’t exactly intend on using it on you now am I?” Khezen replied with a laugh, not noticing the presence of more and more holes across the starfield draped above them.

	“I figure that you won’t.” Dakros said, smiling. “Not so long as we’re still apprentices to Myras and I’m still useful to you I suppose.”

	“Then come here and kiss me.” She replied with a sly chuckle. “I’ve got a trio of those memorized, so I think I might need some more proof of your use. Plus you’ll keep me warm if you sit close. I…”

	Her voice stuttered.

	The stars were virtually gone, the vault of night nearly a solid sheet of darkness, and the darkness was moving.

	No time for a warning, Khezen began to cast.

	“9 Hells woman!” Dakros shouted as he watched the smile vanish from his lover’s face and she began to whisper the phrasing of a fireball.

	The fiery bead streaked past him though, never aimed at him but behind him, detonating with a blossom of crisp and potent flame. The darkness shrieked and Dakros turned to look, eyes wide, just before a trio of black and immaterial hands sunk into his chest.


***​

	Phaedra yawned and poked at the fire, sending sparks leaping up into the darkness. The half-‘loth was bored, and seemed to want nothing more than to simply have something to do.

	They had talked for a while, but eventually Inva had wandered away to spend some time alone out beyond the edge of the campfire.

	Alone, the tiefling sighed and glanced up into the night sky. She had to admit, the quiet still of the place was comforting when combined with the darkness cloaking the place. Some people, like Victor, might have found it desolate and threatening, but Inva found it comforting, though her own faith might have had more than its own share of influence to that end.

	The last time that she’d been on Toril, and it had been some time, she’d been on the other side of Faerun, far to the southwest of where they currently were. Calimshan was hot and dry, but the deeper reaches of its capital, down away from the sun and into the literal and metaphorical shadows, it was much cooler and more to her liking. But during her time on the streets of that place, she’d had a chance to see the stars twinkling high above. 

Say what you would about the city, the points of light in the sky had a grace all their own, even given the naming convention of many of them as ‘Tears of Selune’. Those stars then had dusted the sky in much different patterns than they did currently in the night above the Great Dale, but they still held the same beauty.

	Laying on her back, exposed to the chill and the darkness, vaguely listening to the pop and sizzle of the old wood in the campfire, Inva wasn’t expecting what happened next. Gazing up, the stars were suddenly obscured as if something had drifted over the veil of night, a godling passing its hands over the stars, blocking them from the view of the mortals below.

	“What the hell?” The tiefling said as she sat up, still keeping her eyes focused on the stars.

	More of the stars were obscured as something, multiple things even, cloaked them from view. The figures were moving, drifting to the west and descending down towards them.

	“Sh*t!” Inva hissed. “Phaedra, turn around and wake everyone up!”	

	What happened next was a blur of shouts, muffled crashes inside tents, curses and hurled spells as the night itself seemed to come alive. Shadows, multiple dozens of them, swept down from the sky with a hunger born not of the natural world, sweeping immaterial claws and seeking to feed on life and strength itself, bleeding those elements away at a touch.

	They came from the sky, silent as the darkness itself, and they reached up from the ground itself, a second flock of them having apparently walked through the frozen earth itself to catch their victims unaware. Voices cried out as the latter shades grasped at their legs, sucking at their stamina. Spells cut the air, prayers were whispered and powers were invoked, illuminating the night and striking down the shadows where they could, though half the time they simply passed through them without any effect whatsoever.

	In the end, virtually as quick as it had begun, Victor ended it with a shout and a blaze of light, snuffing the creatures’ unlife with an invocation to his deity. But the damage was already done. Their camp was in disarray, they were depleted of spells and sleep, and the shadows’ hunger had not gone unsatiated. Victor would spend more of his prayers healing his companions when they were finally certain that the immediate danger had passed.

	All the while, the summit of the central mount itself was crowned by an aura of flickering, flashing lights and distant screams, shouts, and several great detonations were heard. The Thayans had been targeted as well, and despite their master’s claims, they had never been accompanied by a cleric.

	And through it all, something watched and reveled in the pain and chaos of it all.

	Severesthifek was smiling.


***​

	As dawn broke and the morning’s light washed over the Great Barrow, Victor exhaled and turned to face his group from where he’d been on his knees, prostrating himself towards the rising ball of fire on the eastern horizon. He’d been brief about it, forgoing all but the most crucial devotions, stripping his morning period of prayer of most purely ceremonial elements and only filling his mind with what might be immediately needed.

	What was needed of course lay to the east as well. A slim trail of smoke rising from the far side of the barrow complex, curling up against the swelling sun, was more than enough morbid reminder that they had not been the only victims of attack by the restless dead the night before.

	“We should get going.” Victor said, brushing his knees and furling some of his vestments within the prayer rug he’d been kneeling on.

	“They’ve got a necromancer or two with them.” Marcus said. “They might be better off than we were.”

	“Did you hear the same screaming that I did earlier?” Inva asked. “We’ll see how they are.”

	“And hopefully they don’t mind our concern this time around.” Velkyn said with a sigh.

	On the other side of the barrow complex, Odesseron’s camp was like a potters’ field whose gravediggers had already passed away. Half a dozen bodies lay strewn across the ground, skin blue and taught across their bones like something had snatched them up and sucked the life out of them. By the looks of the dead, all of them dressed in the same style of armor, the same as the man who had died atop one of the mounds a day earlier, they were, or had been, the red wizard’s bodyguards.

	Every single one of them was now dead.

	Several tents lay half broken, their contents scattered in a swathe where the tent’s occupants had stumbled out to die in the night.

	“So much for not needing our help…” Velkyn whispered as he continued to survey the scene.

	The undead of course were still there, all of them simply standing where they had last been ordered. A few of them were still digging trenches while others stood still and awaited new orders from the Thayan or his apprentices. But by all appearances, none of the Red Wizards had any current inclinations to bother with their servants.

	Myras stood in the outlined doorway of an invisible shelter or extradimensional pocket, disgust and rage plastered across his face. The man’s apprentices, all five of them, stood in a semicircle facing him, facing his tongue-lashing and his wrath.

	The apprentices looked haggard, two of them appeared to have gotten little or no sleep. Of that pair, one of them was shaking, trembling from the cold and only barely keeping his feet while the other did her best to support and comfort him. They seemed more than fellow students of a common master.

	Odesseron groaned and turned to face the approaching group.

	“The night has not been kind to anyone.” He said, gesturing with a level of unhappy flippancy to the destruction of his camp.

	“So it would seem.” Victor said. “We were attacked overnight and we heard the sounds of a fight from your side of the mound. The undead that attacked us, we figured they did the same to you as well.”

	“I know that we were going to meet this morning anyways.” Velkyn said. “But we came earlier to see if we could help.”

	“I find myself lacking all of my guards.” Odesseron said, grimly motioning to the bodies of his former protectors. “But more undead will have to do I suppose.”

	“Didn’t you have a cleric of Kossuth?” Velkyn asked.

	The Thayan narrowed his eyes, scowled and ignored the question entirely. There had never been a cleric with his group, but it seemed to gall him to have to ask for help. Requiring help implied weakness or some fault on his part for not being prepared, and given the cutthroat nature of the hierarchy of Red Wizards in his native Thay, Odesseron wasn’t going to easily accept aid.

	“I could attempt to raise your men.” Victor said. “But honestly, given how they died, it’s probably not within my ability to do.”

	Odesseron shrugged. 

“Not to be then…” The way his men died made it impossible to easily return them to life, but honestly the Thayan seemed more relieved that it left him in a position to not have to turn down outside help.

	Victor meanwhile turned to look at the apprentices, especially the one who was trembling and shuddering.

	“Your apprentice.” He said. “I can help him though. If he’s been touched by the shadows that attacked us both, I can restore most or all of what they leached from his body.”

	Myras shook his head.

	“Leave him.” Myras said, shaking his head. “He was on watch when the shadows attacked.”

	Still shivering, Dakros twitched at his master’s withholding of healing and the insinuation of fault on his part.

“He’ll learn a lesson.” Odesseron flatly stated.

	Velkyn blinked in surprise at the refusal. The Thayan’s attitude towards his apprentices was a callous one, treating them little better than orphans he had to put up with when he wasn’t using them to his direct benefit. It was that lack of concern for their well being that struck Velkyn as being overly cold. Odesseron didn’t seem to have the slightest respect for them, and while Velk’s own teachers might have been that harsh, or even more so at times, they would have done so out of motivation to better the student, not out of a complete lack of respect or concern.

	“But the dead are dead, except the ones in my control, and the living are still alive.” The Thayan continued. “But given what happened to us both over the night, I think the dynamic between our groups needs to change a bit for our mutual good. Walk with me, let’s discuss anything we both might have found, and then what to do about it.”

	And that was that. The Red Wizard turned from his apprentices, leaving their well being as an afterthought, as he walked closer to the other group to confer with them in greater detail. Behind his back, his circle of apprentices felt virtually forgotten, and only barely better off than the corpses littering the ground. Next to her lover who would be weeks in recovering to his fullest, if he survived that long, Khezen seethed with abject rage at their master’s obstinacy. But such was their lot in life, and it was unlikely to improve in the short term.


***​


----------



## Shemeska

The excavated hillside stood out against the grassy surface of the other mounds, especially as the hunks of uprooted sod and piles of brown earth and stones were in stark contrast to the pale, winter-bleached brown patina of the Great Dale, and the inch of snow that covered the unmolested ground. Some twenty feet down into the hard-packed, frozen soil of the barrow though, the earthen wound of spilled grave dirt opened to reveal the underlying archway and sealed entry into the stone mastaba obscured below.

	The original exploratory trench leading from the surface of the barrow down to the sealed doorway had been widened and expanded over the past hour, owing to the tireless labor of the Thayan’s undead servants. The animated corpses trudged back and forth wordlessly, digging up the soil, loading it into baskets, and hauling them out to dispose of their contents.

	“You have to admit.” Odesseron said, looking down at the now exposed surface of the door. “They constructed the tomb of their god and his priests well. The runes and pictures painted into the plaster over the stone are still legible.”

	Velkyn raised an eyebrow and looked at the necromancer. “Doesn’t that worry you though? If it’s that pristine, they’re likely to still have any original defenses against tomb robbers intact. Glyphs? Symbols? That sort of joy to our line of work.”

	Odesseron shrugged. “Well there obviously aren’t any on the main door into the tomb.”

	“You already checked?”

	“No need.” He replied curtly. “The zombies, or the one apprentice I sent in afterwards to watch over them, would have already triggered any such gifts to heretics and infidels such as ourselves.”

	Velkyn held his tongue. The red wizard displayed a callous disregard to his apprentices, and as he continued to provide examples of that in practice, it was grating more and more on the half-drow. While he was more or less a necromancer himself, though not to the obscene levels of specialization, and exclusion of other schools of magic, that the Thayan was, he came from a distinctly different background and a distinctly less hostile master/apprentice relationship.

	“Once we open the tomb it seems like a good idea at least to probe it with the undead.” Velkyn said. “We can send them ahead of us to avoid risking any of ourselves.”

	If the Thayan noticed the other wizard’s subtle head motion towards the apprentices, he gave no acknowledgement of it. But their conversation was largely over anyways, as soon the zombies had fully excavated a sufficiently wide entrance down to the tomb’s sealed entry. A moment later, as soon as the undead laborers had moved out of the way, Velkyn, Victor and Inva approached the door alongside Odesseron.

The doorway itself was flush with the archway of stone that bordered it, sealed over with a thick layer of smooth plaster. In places the stone or plaster seal was chipped or eroded by the freeze-thaw cycle of the millennia, but such weathering was the exception rather than the rule. By and large, the stone was crisp as the day it had been cut and transported to the site, and the elaborate paintings and words on the plaster seal were still vivid and legible, if faded in places.

	Legible of course if one spoke whatever ancient dialect of Untheric script sprawled across it as part artform and part graveplate.

	“Speak Untheric?” Velkyn asked the red wizard.

	“Not a drop of it.” He replied. “It’s a dying language even in Unther, the written script at least, and there was never any reason for me to bother learning it. And this is so ancient I doubt a scribe in what’s left of that nation would be able to garner more than the general idea of any given piece.”

	As the two wizards proceeded to mildly bicker over the meaning of the script, and the utility of magic in deciphering it, Inva stepped forward and glanced over the text. It was bizarre compared to the Thorass alphabet, or even the letters of Espruar, and it was distinctly different from any of the planar alphabets. Still though, Inva had seen it before, and she was familiar enough with the modern variant of the script to work out its general themes within the context of the accompanying artwork.

	“Well don’t you think it might be important for us to have some clue as to who might actually be buried here?” Velkyn said.

	“We’re going to be breaking the door down shortly one way or the other.” Odesseron said with a shrug.

	“Without waiting to study the door and use whatever means we might have to decipher it?” The half-drow asked. “We might not speak it, but there are ways around that if you’re willing to stand the cold out here a bit longer. The barrows aren’t going anywhere.”

	“It doesn’t matter as much to me to read it and cherry pick among the mounds.” Odesseron retorted. “You may be after one thing in specific, but I’m here to gather whatever of worth I can manage to isolate. We’ve already uncovered one tomb entrance, so I’ve little reason to leave it sealed and go dig up the door to another.”

	Running her fingers over the chisel marks of the cuneiform script cut into the plaster, Inva muttered something under her breath in Abyssal as her tail tip lashed back and forth in subtle irritation. But as long as they were bickering, they weren’t putting hammers to the door and she had a chance to try to piece together some meaning from it.

	Ten minutes later, the pair of wizards were still chattering, and shortly thereafter, they noticed that Inva was talking.

	“Blah blah blah… don’t violate this tomb… blah blah blah… praise Nergal…” Inva began, tracing her index finger across the main blocks of script.

	“You can translate Untheric?” Odesseron asked skeptically.

	“Sort of…” Inva said with a shrug, still paying more attention to the cuneiform than to who was asking her questions. “Just enough to get an rough idea of what it’s talking about.”

	“Where on Toril were you from again?” Velkyn quipped

	Inva just smiled and didn’t answer the question.

	“So what does it say?” Odesseron asked.

	“I’ll get to that if you’ll let me.” She said, slowly motioning with her tail like a third hand for him to be patient. “And don’t rip the door down till I’m done, if you don’t too terribly mind.”

	The red wizard held up his own hands in polite contrition.

	“It’s someone important, or at least somewhat so.” Inva went on to explain. “This is hazy about if they were considered royalty or not, but whoever they were, they held a position of honor in the eyes of Nergal.”

	“So possibly priesthood? Possibly a relative of the royal family?” Velkyn said.

	“Seems reasonable.” Odesseron admitted.

	“And there’s some sort of warning here as well…” Inva added.

	“There are no overt traps upon the door itself.” Odesseron said. “I’ve already looked for anything that might be triggered magically, to say nothing of having had no such ill effects of touching the door, or being in close proximity to it.”

	Upon overhearing his comments, Odesseron’s apprentices collectively shuddered. If their master had his way, they were going to be among the first people into the tomb, probing it for wards at the very least, and possibly having to subdue any tomb guardians. The senior red wizard was using the barrow mounds as much to sate his own greed as he was using it as a brutal trial by fire for their education.

	“What sort of warning?” Velkyn asked.

	“I’m getting to that.” Inva replied. “But I think we’re out of luck…”

	“Oh?” The half-drow questioned.

	“It’s saying something about performing specific rituals and saying specific prayers.” Inva explained.

	“Damn it.” Odesseron muttered. “It’s not a door that was ever meant to be opened.”

	“Yeah.” Inva said. “There’s something worked into the magic of the mounds that probably would have allowed for priests to enter without disturbing any wardings or opening the doors after they had been sealed. Something about passage as ‘unto the breath of Nergal’, but it’s all in metaphor, and I’m not familiar with the religion, just some of the language. So the easy way in isn’t an option.”

	“Exactly.” Odesseron said. “Unless we’re willing to leave, study Untheric religion for a decade, and potentially freeze out here in the snow while we unravel just what each thread of magic drifting through the individual mounds does in a larger context, we’re not going to be getting in the easy way.”

	“Well,” Velkyn said. “There’s still the direct way, but it’s unlikely to be easy if it activates the tomb’s guardians. I’d have hoped to prevent that.”

	“Which there will be.” Inva said. “There’s a line here about someone resting under the watchful eyes of the honored dead and those bound into service to Nergal. Something like that.”

	“That ever so _lovely_ succubus is in there somewhere…” Phaedra remarked. “Sodding Tanar’ri.”

	“Undead won’t be a problem.” Victor said with a smile, briefly lifting his holy symbol to his lips and kissing it. “Between myself and that priest of Kossuth you know…”

	The thayan didn’t reply. His bluff was in the past, and it scarcely mattered now. He could accept their barbs for the moment because he needed them. His apprentices were talented, but eventually they and he would run out of spells if they attempted to plunder the barrows by themselves.

	“In any event, once we’re inside we should expect more of the same of what we’ve seen over the last few nights.” Victor said. “On top of that, bound demons seem something specific to some of the mounds, including this one. I’d prefer to simply dispose of guardian undead myself.”

	Victor turned to look at Odesseron, then Velkyn, and finally the thayan’s apprentices.

	“But if you must show off, or feel you can use them.” The cleric added. “Taking control of any undead inside is an option. Not –my- option mind you, but knock yourself out I suppose.”

	Odesseron nodded and gave the door one last look, more to judge its strength, and where to direct his servants to rip it apart, batter it down, or push it inwards more so than for any interest in the writing upon its face.

	“Hold on, before you go taking down the door.” Velkyn said. “I think we should make certain just what we’ll be doing inside here.”

	“Percentages, yes…” Odesseron nodded contritely. “It is on your side of the original dividing line.”

	“We’re only interested in one particular object however.” Velkyn stated. “So in the interest of further cooperation, we’re willing to increase your percentage if you work with us towards finding out where this object is and how to get into the mound that it’s in.”

	“We discussed this earlier today.” Inva said, giving a very quick glance over to Marcus.

	For his part, Victor’s brother didn’t say a word. He’d bickered somewhat over the percentages, especially with Inva and Phaedra, thinking that they were giving away too much to the red wizard in exchange for his aid. And with the tiefling and the… whatever she was… looking in his direction, he wasn’t going to argue in public, especially in front of the Thayan.

	“Oh?” Odesseron questioned.

	“We’ll give you a full half share even though this tomb is on our side of the line.” Velkyn said. “We think that’s more than fair, and the increased cooperation reduces the risk to both of us.”

	“And in the end, we’ll both be walking away better for this.” Inva said. “We’re not from anywhere near Thay, so frankly we don’t care if you set yourself up as Tharchon or Zulkir with whatever you get out of this little treasure hunt. We’re not involved in the least.”

	“We’re not competitors.” Velkyn said. “So keep that in mind today, and afterwards as well. We can both benefit from this.”

	Odesseron smiled and nodded. “Understood.”

	Velkyn rubbed his hands together. “That said, go ahead and take down the doors.”

	The thayan turned and belted out an order to several of his apprentices, then stepped back to the very edge of where he could still get a clean look. He was taking no chances with his personal safety based on what they knew about the mounds, and what they had already seen over the previous few nights. The ancient untherites had no intention of allowing their dead to be disturbed.

	Taking the same precautions, the others likewise stepped back and prepared themselves for whatever might occur when the tomb was opened.

	“Break the seal.” Odesseron ordered. “Open the doors and let’s see what we shall see.”


***​

	The hiss of stirring air, the sudden release of thousands of years of positive pressure echoed through the length of the tomb, all but a moment separated from the explosion and shudder of the seal being ripped from its moorings. Light, for a few scant feet into the depths, touched upon stone that had known nothing but the dark, suffocating grasp of burial for so many long years, like the kiss of Nergal himself. Air compressed and the shock wave of the barrow’s violation shuddered back like a crack of thunder, rattling through the invisible threads of magic girding the passages, the empty sockets of warriors sacrificed to forever remain at their posts, and then to within a few steps of the sarcophagi of the honored dead themselves.

	Thirty feet distant from the undisturbed burial chamber of Damqi-ilishu, architect and high craftsman to the family of Nergal’s beloved, a pair of eyes twitched beneath their lids, and lips parted and cast away their chrysalis of dust. In the darkness, within the iron hard boundary of the painted circle, within the depression that was her bowl of scripture and nails, a maze of words, invocations and pain, her open prison, Ingella of Torremor opened her eyes and licked at the air.

	“The seal is broken…” She whispered softly, tasting the influx of scent and emotion carried by the intruding breeze.

	The tomb robbers had paused in that moment after ripping open the doors, stepping to the threshold and peering in, but not yet crossing the boundary. She could taste the concern and caution of mortals lifting their lamps and staring into her sanctum, her hated-honored protectorate. She could taste the overwhelming greed of another like wine to her lips, the fear of others like bloody flesh to savor, and then the resentment and fury of another like a ripe bit of fruit at the end of a meal.

	One of them stepped across the boundary.

_“They have crossed the line…”_

	One of the unliving.

_“Instruct me Severesthifek. What do you wish me to do?”_

	Flame and fury sparked and blossomed in her mind as the Balor gave its answer: Find freedom. Find release. Find blood. And then find me.

_I will obey. I will enjoy…_

	Ingella smiled with purpose and preamble in the moment before the first of the wards was triggered.


***​

	The first break in the seal came from the hit of a heavy, blunt sledge carried by one of Odesseron’s zombie ogres. There was a sharp crack and the subsequent crumble of stone falling inwards, and then the immediate release of pressurized air from within. It was cold and stale as it washed out over them, blowing their hair, raising goose bumps across their flesh, and serving as a gentle beckon towards them into the barrow’s interior.

	Several more blows and the door crumbled completely, letting daylight flood into the first ten feet of a downward sloping passage into the interior of the barrow. Tiny icicles of nitre hung from the ceiling were the barest bits of rainwater had leached through the stone over the years, but otherwise the stone was bare and unadorned. No decoration, no guardians, no suggestion of danger.

	That however, was moments before the first of the undead stepped into the passage and was crushed by the sudden and lethal descent of a several ton pillar of stone from the ceiling. The passage was not completely blocked, but the ogre and one of the hobgoblins had been reduced to inanimate pulp splattered liberally across the threshold.

	“No –apparent- traps.” Velkyn said with a sigh. “Joy…”

	“Well…” Phaedra said grimly. “Nice to know that we’re welcome.”


----------



## Graywolf-ELM

Yay, caught back up already.  Why do I think the truce is only good for so long?

GW


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## HeavenShallBurn

*I Have The Pre-Crash Thread*

This is one of my first posts here, I'm more a lurker than anything else.  But I've got the entirety of both of Shemeska's story hours saved on my hard-drive.  If you have any problems getting back up to date on what you've posted just e-mail me and I can send you my copies of the thread.  They were last updated when the story hours were.


----------



## Zarnam

*Whhhoooo !! Thank the Baerns for reestablishing the ENWorld site to it's rightful place !! *

And thanks to you Shemmy for this great update to the "slower going" storyhour  

I can feel your players are to stand against something bigger in the near future, right ??


----------



## Sheltem

Any chance of an update soon?


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## Shemeska

Sheltem said:
			
		

> Any chance of an update soon?




One of them will be updated within the next 24 hours. Based on what I have written at this point, whichever isn't updated today or tommorow will be updated next week.


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## resistor

Shemeska said:
			
		

> One of them will be updated within the next 24 hours. Based on what I have written at this point, whichever isn't updated today or tommorow will be updated next week.




So... when do we get this update? ;-)


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## Shemeska

resistor said:
			
		

> So... when do we get this update? ;-)




Friday when I get back from work, probably right before or right after dinner.


----------



## Shemeska

“I have more where they came from thankfully.” Odesseron said with a displeased look on his face.

	The ogre had been a lucky catch, and it had proven invaluable in the excavation process. But, no problem, he’d find something to replace it with if necessary. But in the meantime, he glanced at one his apprentices and motioned them towards the tomb entrance with a quick jerk of his chin.

	“Take some of the hobgoblins and clear out of the worst of the remains.” He ordered. “I don’t want to find a treasure horde and fall sick to disease.”

	“Not to worry about that.” Victor said. “I don’t particularly care for your vocation, but no one is going to come down with anything. Not on my watch.”

	The Thayan didn’t immediately reply, but walked down towards the tomb entrance, ostensibly looking for any signs of secondary traps. Inva however, was already there, gingerly stepping over a pulped limb of one of the crushed undead.

	“Good news or bad news first?” She asked, stepping out from Odesseron’s shadow.

	“That’s disturbing on some level you know.” He commented, “…reminds me of some of Zulkir Mythrellaa’s students.”

	Inva raised an eyebrow, understood the reference after a moment’s recollection, and smirked knowingly.

	“The bad news is readily apparent miss…” Odesseron bluntly stated as he looked past the initially illuminated portion of the tomb entrance.

	“Yeah.” Inva said. “No other traps, but there was a second section of weighted blocks, and they sealed the passage.”

	“Not for very long.” The necromancer replied, turning then to his own people. “Out of the way.”

	Odesseron began to chant under his breath as the others approached where he stood, aware that whatever it seemed he intended to do, the passage would be open shortly and they might be needed.

	And indeed, a split second later a coruscating green ray leapt from his hand and struck the blocks sealing the passage, turning them into naught but a few inches of fine gray dust.

	“And thusly our way is opened.” He said with a boastful tone, motioning forward with the hand that still crackled with dissipating energy.

	The Thayan had clearly intended to impress, and to some extent he had, but not to the same level that he might have hoped. While Odesseron was a higher level caster than his newfound allies, one of them, Inva, had previously been capable of hurling the same spell and likely would again if she concentrated on regaining that capacity. Even discounting Inva’s firsthand knowledge of the spell, both Phaedra and Velkyn had seen the spell, and more powerful ones than that, in frequent use by members of their own family. Velkyn’s father certainly, and maybe a few members of his mother’s extended family, put the Thayan to shame, and as for Phaedra, there was her father, to say nothing of other relatives on that side of the family.

	“Impressive.” Phaedra said, giving a polite nod to Odesseron. “Don’t blow all your best spells now though. We may need it later.”

	And by later, she was very specifically thinking about Severesthifek, whatever he or it was.

	“Not to worry.” The red wizard said, shrugging. “I have more, and I won’t be using anything else unless it becomes needed.”

	With that, Odesseron waved his apprentices forward, allowing them to direct his remaining undead into the darkened tomb. He waited till the others had mostly gone through, and then gingerly stepped over the bloodied remains of his servants, trying to avoid the muck.

The passage descended gently, sloping down into the gloom, only grudgingly yielding and giving way to the lights carried by its intruders. The first things to take form, looming out of the darkness were the statues. Two by two, stone figures of men and monsters stood silent guard within regularly spaced niches in the walls. Flecks of paint dotted their faces, their skin, and their clothing, carved and frozen in time, originally bright and lifelike, but long since ravaged by the cold and passage of years, leaving them now dark and blank, dead and sterile.

"I really hope that some of these things aren't going to animate." Garibaldi said, looking up into the face of stolid faced warrior carved from a block of ashen granite.

"I doubt it."  Velkyn replied. "There's no magic on them. At least these."

"Ugly and ominous, sure." Inva said with a shrug. "But not dangerous. Though I suppose if you're up for it, we could tip one over on you and growl as it toppled forwards."

	“No, that’s alright.” The fighter replied with a sheepish smile.

	“Stay chipper.” Inva said, ribbing him. “You might have something fall on top of you trying to chew your face off in the dark if we’re lucky.”

	Victor shook his head at the tiefling’s dark humor and passed his globe of light over the passage, trying to illuminate further into the gloom, temporarily ignoring the statues that Velkyn had dismissed as any sort of threat.

	“I think I’ll skip the ravenous tomb guardians option too.” Garibaldi said.

"I didn't think so." Inva answered with a sly grin. "But you never know. Oh and the statues here, they’re framing sealed doors if anyone happens to be curious."

Heads of course turned and Victor stepped forward with his light, redirecting it and illuminating the stretch of wall between the first two statues. Both of them were carved to resemble human guards dressed similarly to the ghostly guardians seen watching over the mounds each evening.

"See what I mean?" The tiefling said, tapping the flat of her tail's spade against the surface.

The sound wasn't entirely hollow, but it was different than metal on solid stone. The wall was clearly different, and upon closer inspection the others could readily see what the tiefling had already noticed. The wall was discolored in a door shaped patch, nothing overt in the gloom of the passage, but in the full light of torches and spells, or the vision granted by drow or fiendish blood, the outline of something was clearly there, covered in plaster and tiles to match the surrounding stone.

"I already looked." Inva said.

"When?" The cleric asked.

"Already, when the rest of you were gawking at statues and stumbling around in the dark." She replied with a smirk. "What, you think I mention anything I notice just as soon as I see it? Not unless it's immediately important, no. But we have doors now, so there you go."

The doorway itself was small, nothing the size of a sarcophagus or anything larger than two abreast. But while it wasn’t the likely entry to the main burial chamber of the mound’s primary occupant, assuming that the mounds were intended to bury single specific persons. In fact, none of them were honestly aware of the funeral practices of the ancient Untherites, and it might be that they buried their honored dead in communal charnel houses, bone pits, or cremated the bodies, all of which would allow for smaller interment chambers within the mounds.

	But regardless, they would gain that sort of knowledge by a thorough exploration of this, the first mound, using the experience to mold the way they would plunder any subsequent barrows.

"What do those markings say?" Victor asked, moving his light closer to a series of bordered inscriptions impressed into the plaster.

"Don't look at me." Inva said, "It's a bunch of names, people and places, and some generic prayers on the sides. I can't read much into it."

"So who wants to open it up and see what we've got?" Marcus asked.

"Please do." Odesseron said.

Velkyn raised an eyebrow.

"Context." The Thayan replied. "You want to know whose tomb this is, and you're looking for something specific. Break the seal and see what there is."

"I can't actually argue with him there." Inva said, tapping the plaster with her tail once more, chipping a few flakes off of it. "Victor, if you'd be so kind?"

"Me?" The cleric asked, slightly confused by the request.

“Yes you.” She replied. “Magic. Subtlety. The seal is stone under the plaster. You’re a cleric, mold it out of the way.”

	“True. True.” Victor said, nodding to her. “I can do more than put the undead to rest.”

	He paused and smiled.

	“I just happen to like that.” He said, reaching out to touch the exposed stone and starting to chant a prayer.

The surface rippled like water as his fingers slipped into it with only a minimum of resistance, like a potter's fingers dipping into clay. Gently coaxing the rock, spreading his hands, the plaster shell crumbled and fell away as an opening appeared in the center of the rippled and folded back stone beneath.

"Alright, lift up one of the lights and let's see what we have." Odesseron said eagerly.

The room beyond the opening, though relatively small, sparkled with gilded grave goods. The small antechamber was filled with furniture, many of them decorated with stones or gold leaf, and dozens of ornate, translucent vases and vessels, filled to the brim with some unknown liquid, likely perfume or oil. It was not a royal treasury, but it was valuable nonetheless, and it was only the first room that they had opened.

"Nothing jumped out and killed us." Victor said, "This is good."

"Yet." Inva replied. "Nothing jumped out and killed us, yet. Give it time, let's be optimistic I say."

"Fatalistic more like it." Phaedra said.

Inva flashed a smile and looked down the hallway at the next outline of another door.

“See you there.” She said, moving down ahead of the others and appearing to largely blend in with the gloom.

Once the others warily moved down the passageway, catching up with Inva who was there waiting for them, they looked at the outline on the wall. What seemed to be a second sealed door was set between a pair of statues carved to resemble hawk or falcon headed men, dressed in the same ceremonial armor as the first pair. Gazing down like a pair of petrified Vrocks, they flanked the door and were situated in a way as to make Victor more than marginally paranoid as, like before, he sculpted a hole through into the room they symbolically guarded.

As soon as the seal was broken however, revealing another small chamber filled with silver, glass, and ivory objects, an obscured ward was triggered, resonating through the stone with a shudder like some stony death rattle.

"Damnit!" Velkyn cursed, bracing to counterspell if needed.

Marcus had already drawn a pistol from his belt and held it aimed down the passage, shifting an inch in each direction warily as he waited for something to emerge. Not to be let down, something did.

Abruptly there was movement within two of the recessed niches, a clatter of bones against metal, and a profuse cloud of dust was kicked up into the air, flooding the passage. Moments later, seen through light struggling against both the gloom itself, and the filtering, cloying dust clouds, two leering skeletal figures marched forwards.

The skeletal warriors were dressed in the style of the statues that stood guard over the tomb, and the specters who manifested above nightly. Their clothing had been reduced to rags, their flesh reduced to gnarled, desiccated lacquer over their bones, and their armor was rusted and brittle. But despite the decay of centuries, they moved forward with disturbing efficacy, and their weapons were as bright as the day they had been wrought in the forge.

	With a sharp crack of noise, Marcus’s pistol belched flame and its heavy lead shot peppered the breastplate of the first undead. Though it had no flesh, the impact was hard enough on the armor that there was a distinct sound of stressed and cracking bone elsewhere on its body as it momentarily paused.

	Marcus frowned at the effect, he’d been hoping for more, but regardless of expectations he still had time while the undead moved towards them.

	“Reload it please.” He instructed Francesca, handing her the discharged pistol and taking and then aiming the one she carried. “We may need it later.”

	The second shot struck as well, scoring blackened furrows across the undead’s bones and cracking its armor in several places. But still, without flesh to injure the solid shot was having little of its intended effect.

	“Oh to heck with this.” Victor said as he reached for his holy symbol. “Don’t waste your shots.”

Noting what the cleric was preparing to do, even if he hadn't seen him in action before, the Red Wizard quickly motioned and called his own undead servants back from the front line of the fight. Shortly thereafter Victor stepped forward and brandished the golden symbol, shouting out an invocation to his goddess.

The delicate object shed light and washed over the undead, eliciting a stunted hiss and shudder from them both, and in the process illuminating the passage further, revealing another series of sealed chambers to either side of the gallery. To his chagrin however, while one of the tomb guardians slowed and then halted its approach, held at bay at least temporarily, neither of the undead was destroyed by the current of power he channeled from his god.

Taking advantage of the reduced number of active combatants, Garibaldi and Francesca both charged forward with blades drawn. 

The long skeletal warrior not held in place by Victor’s power held its ground and hacked at Garibaldi, grazing the warrior’s arm as he largely deflected the incoming blow as Francesca cut at the undead’s legs.

Both on attacks and counterattacks against the tomb guardian, the difference between the two living combatant’s styles could not have been more different. Francesca relied on speed and finesse, using a much lighter blade than Garibaldi who used a heavier and in the current situation, much more effective sword.

"Be careful what you do cleric." Odesseron said in warning. "I have my own undead here as well, and I will not appreciate it if you accidentally damage them when you happen to be wrapped up in a moment of zeal."

Victor continued to hold his holy symbol, not giving the necromancer a response as the first of the skeletal warriors first faltered and then collapsed under the combined assault of the two warriors, plus a series of lower sphere but unerringly accurate magic missile spells from Velkyn and Phaedra.

	Once the first undead fell, the motionless second one had little chance. Even though the attacks allowed it some limited ability to defend itself, it was largely a cringing, half-hearted defensive effort, not the plodding killing machine tactics it had been intended to use by its original makers. Less than a minute later, with only a few minor injuries to Francesca and Garibaldi, it too was dispatched.

"Skill or devotion, one or the other, I'll grant their priests that at least." Odesseron said, stepping forwards and examining the broken remains of the skeletal guardians.

"Khezen,” He continued, speaking to the apprentice wizard. “Gather some of the teeth and one of the long bones, I'll want to examine it later."

The younger red wizard nodded obediently and picked through the bones. Only after her master had passed did she glare at him with a smoldering level of spite that was not lost on Victor as the cleric healed Francesca and Garibaldi’s wounds.

It was an unfortunate situation, her apprenticeship was, something of a muddled admixture of excellent teaching and indentured servitude. When she was taught a new spell, when she was handed the materials to create an item and allowed to use the remainder for her own experimentation, she was able to ignore the latter situation, but at the moment she was crouching on the floor of a tomb, picking through the remains of a corpse.

“A pity I'm not an actual necromancer,” she inwardly mused, teasing apart the brittle ligaments of the corpse's knee. “I'm sure I'd be more grateful, except that my lover is half dead, and at the rate this is all going, I may end up there myself the rest of the way.”

Khezen glanced up briefly, feeling the eyes of one of her master's allies of convenience linger upon her. The drow, she assumed he was a drow at least, was watching her as she removed individual bones from the dead tomb guardian. It was disturbing actually, because his eyes glowed in the dark, though two of his other fellows, theirs did as well.

She didn't know what he was looking at, though she had heard stories of the... appetites... of male drow during their raids on surface elves. Perhaps... no, he wasn't staring at her in that way, he was watching what she was doing to the corpse with the same level of detail her own master did when he was observing her repeat a skill he had taught her. She wondered just how powerful a wizard he was, since she'd seem him hurl a few spells, but nothing showy.

Hopefully he hadn't seen her prying a few gemstones loose from where they'd been embedded in the skeleton's vertebrae, because undoubtedly she'd have to give them up if he had. Of course, eventually she figured that her master would betray them and take the contents of the tomb for himself, she was fine with that, it was expected. But she would have felt more comfortable with that eventuality if half the people he would be betraying didn't disturb her so. The drow, the demonspawn, the sorceress who was anything but human; disconcerting, all of them.

The moment Velkyn looked away, she cupped the stones in one hand and slipped them into a fold of her robe, inwardly smiling with greedy success as she then presented a few bones to her master.

As for Velkyn, he hadn't noticed her act of pilfering, and in truth he'd only started watching her when he saw the look she gave her master. From his own upbringing, the mage had a bit of an ingrained bias against the Red Wizards, and any hint of tension between master and pupils, especially given the way he treated them as expendable resources that he owned, was something to take note of. And even beyond that bias, the way Odesseron treated his pupils, it set Velkyn's teeth to grind. That level of callous disregard and disrespect was reprehensible.

"Shall we move on?" Victor asked.

"Very well." Odesseron said. "Proceed and I will follow. Perhaps the next chamber will have what you are looking for."

His last touch of optimism rang rather hollow, but regardless, they started to once again move down the corridor, wary now of guardians and not only traps.

More carefully than before, they traipsed slowly down the passage. Their movements disturbed the thin layer of dust that lay across the floor, sending it into the air where it swirled and moved like tiny animate creatures in and of themselves, dancing on the currents and eddies like grues or mephits hiding from the light. Was it not for the worry of things, real things, malign things, waiting for them past the edge of their light, the scene would have been almost a thing of beauty in its own right, but as it was the phantoms of dust and draft were anything but.

"Wait..." Phaedra said. "What the hell was that?"

There had been something in the dark moving furtively through the disturbed, illuminated dust. It was there for a second and then it was done, but it left her feeling cold nonetheless.

"What was what?" Velkyn asked. The sorceress wasn't her mother, in a number of ways, but in this case he was only thinking of the disturbingly prescient senses the latter possessed.

"I thought I saw something." Phaedra answered.

"What was it?" Victor asked warily, holding his light higher.

Barely there, a shadow on the blurry, twilight rim of the light's reach, something moved once again.

"No, there's something to it." Inva said, drawing her sword.

Then, almost as if on cue, they attacked. There were six of them that burst from the darkness, each a ragged shadowy figure in the rough form of a man, fingers trailing away in wisps of smoke like hooked claws, eyes like holes burnt in their fabric still ringed with a glowing, smoldering margin.

They fell upon the fighters first, clawing with immaterial hands at Marcus, Francesca, and Garibaldi. Voices cried out in pain as each strike passed through armor and flesh alike, leaving trails of pain like sword slashes, each surrounded by a numbing chill of death.

"Get back!" Victor shouted, reaching forward and tugging on Garibaldi's arm even as he raised his other hand and hurled a burst of golden light into the form of one of the attacking wraiths.

The creature hissed and crumpled inwards, but without flesh to show their wounds, it was impossible to tell how hurt it was.

Velkyn watched the wraiths attempt to circle around the group, likely to avoid the full brunt of the cleric's power if he directly invoked his god to banish them. Knowing that he lacked the strength to stand up directly to their attacks himself, the half-drow stepped back behind the range of the first wave of wraiths approaching from in front, and whispered the words of a spell.

Four of the wraiths abruptly stopped with a shriek, looking nothing so much as if a spectral hand had caught them by the napes of their necks and held firm, letting inertia drag their spectral margins ahead while their core remained stuck fast in mid-air.

Velkyn smiled, and along with the other Thayans at the moment who were cowering in fright, Kezen was certain that the drow was not only a wizard, but a necromancer in his own right.

The two of them still capable of moving lashed out at anything within range, shrieking in cold, mocking tones as more often than not, their opponents weapons passed cleanly through them without harm.

"To hell with this." Phaedra thought as she whispered a short, harsh phrase and sent a trio of burning spheres of light streaking into one of the wraiths.

Moments later Inva hurled a similar spell into the same wraith, though oddly hers cast no normal light, only a dull violet glow. But the effect was the same as the creature jerked and vanished, leaving only one of its kindred behind and mobile, the others ensnarled and helpless under Velkyn's magic.

Francesca backed away from the combat, clutching her arm and shivering from the first moments of combat, letting Marcus and Garibaldi move in together. The two fighters complied, blocking the wraith's path to their injured comrade, and though it lashed out at them almost immediately, they dispatched of it moments later.

Victor turned and glared at the remaining undead.

"May I?" He asked Velkyn.

"Go right ahead and be my guest." The half-drow replied. "They won't be going anywhere anytime soon."

Odesseron muttered something and motioned to his apprentices to move his own vassal undead back, anticipating what the cleric was preparing to do. It was a wise move on his part, though it also brought notice to him, and the fact that through two separate encounters with tomb guardians, he'd simply stood by and waited for someone else to take care of them.

"Boo!" Victor said with a chuckle as he held up his holy symbol.

He could have, and probably should have used a more formal prayer and invocation of his deity. But either through inner strength or his deity loathing the undead in most all forms, his rather informal declaration of deific power worked, enveloping the wraiths in a halo of burning light and leaving nothing behind.

Victor smiled and kissed the symbol of his deity in thanks, then went about the task of assessing obvious injuries and the less obvious harm inflicted by the touch of the undead. But while he was busy, their erstwhile Red Wizard companion was getting little thanks of his own.

"Thanks for all the help..." Velkyn said, glancing at the Thayan. "As a necromancer I would think that you'd be more than eager to help us out, considering that every damn guardian of the tomb has been undead so far. You haven't lifted a finger."

"I haven't needed to." He replied, curtly but deferential at the same time. "You and your companions have been more than capable of fighting them so far. I won't waste spells that may be needed later, against anything more formidable, when you've dispatched these guardians so far with little trouble. That attests more to your skill than to my being lax in any way."

           Velkyn frowned and turned away, rolling his eyes as Phaedra shot a look of pure skepticism at the red wizard.

"Believe me." Odesseron assured them. "If I am needed, my spells will be at your disposal. Till then, please have patience with me."

They didn't respond to his assurances, only giving him peery looks or simply turning away and peering down the corridor.

"Greedy bastard won't lift a finger of his own if he can have others do it for him." Khezen thought to herself. "If it isn't attacking him, he won't help you, unless not acting endangers your continued use to him. He'll do what he needs to do so long as it benefits him, but he'll do the absolute minimum throughout it all. And I think you're all realizing this."

"Shall we proceed?" The necromancer asked, trying to break the silence.

"I'll be checking ahead for traps actually." Inva said. "I'm not at all convinced that the tomb architects would have just trapped the main entrance and the annex chambers."

"Sounds like a plan." Victor said, nodding to Inva and then turning to Velkyn. "What do you think?"

"I think I'd rather wait here a few minutes and see if anything else is lurking about, or might have been attracted by what we've been doing." Velk said. "Besides, I have the spell memorized more than once for a reason."

"I have my own version of the same spell." Victor replied. "Let me know if you need me to help at any point."

Velkyn nodded and began to softly recite the words to the incantation. It was not a very powerful spell, only of the first sphere of casting, but it was imminently useful in their position, especially if the undead were incorporeal and capable of lurking in spots not visible to normal sight.

The half-drow's eyes began to glow as the spell took effect and he slowly examined their surroundings again with his once again augmented senses.

"Assuming nothing pops out of the dark." Inva asked, tapping her tail spade against the wall.

"Except if it's you." Phaedra interjected.

"Point. Except if it's me. I tend to do that a lot." Inva clarified. "So if nothing but me comes popping out of the darkness, any opinions on what we do next? Keep looking at the side chambers as we find them? Send a few people ahead even if it's a quick way to get yourselves killed? Maybe one of you has a method of magically scouting ahead?"

In truth she herself did, or had. A pity really that it would be some time before she could cast the spell again, because that cloud of eyeballs, each capable of carrying her senses wherever they went, would have been damn useful. But thankfully, she wasn't held to any expectations of being her group's primary arcane spellcaster.

"I can handle it." Velkyn said, taking Inva's prod and running with it.

"What are you going to do?" Phaedra asked.

"Just a spell of clairvoyance." He replied. "Nothing spectacular, just something to look down the hallway, and, if I can, past the seals of any side chambers."

And so they waited as the half-drow slipped into a partial trance, mumbling to himself as his eyes seemed to glaze over and his sight extended and stretched out into the tomb where he knew the passage extended, and to where he reasonably could guess that there were opening space.

Down the darkened passage there were several more side chambers, each filled with various valuables and items needed by the dead in the afterlife, though truth be told, it was unlikely that the petitioners of Nergal's faithful would be enjoying their afterlife to any great extent. Unfortunately, as Velk scanned over the treasures of the dead, he was almost certain that the Codex would not be found in the current tomb; the grave goods were too mundane: furniture, food reduced to dust, artwork, moldered clothing, jewelry, bowls of evaporated wine and shriveled fruit, and an elaborate collection of tools, almost uniformly non-magical.

But on top of that, there was something odd at work as he extended his senses out by magic.

It was like an arcane static, or something vaguely similar. The further into the tomb he attempted to look, the dimmer, more corrupt, and less detailed his view became, almost as if something were interfering with his divination attempts. The annex chambers themselves were not warded from magical view, but there was something deeper into the tomb that was, by its very nature, causing difficulty.

Off put by what he'd felt deeper in the tomb, but uncertain as to its identity, he made no comment on it as he cancelled the spell.

"Anything interesting?" Inva asked.

"I think we've found out all we're likely to find in the side chambers here." Velkyn said. "They're grave goods, and valuable ones at that, but they aren't telling us much beyond the notion that what we're looking for probably isn't in this particular mound."

"And why is that?" Odesseron asked.

"It's not royalty and it's not the tomb of a priest." Velk replied. "They're respected and important, but the stuff we've seen here doesn't seem to point to anyone who might have what we're after."

_Not that we really have much more than a vague idea what type of person it might be buried with in the first place. But I do agree with Velk._ Phaedra said to her companions, leaving the Thayan and his apprentices out of the loop.

"So what do you suggest?" The Thayan asked.

"We skip over the remaining side rooms for now." Velkyn explained. "We clean out the open portion of the tomb now, and then come back and open, and presumably loot, the other chambers then. We'll find out more if we can find the primary burial chamber, which from the layout so far is straight ahead somewhere."

	“I’m fine with that.” Inva said, giving a partial shrug accented with an idle flick of her tail. “Whatever you do though, I’ll be checking for traps regardless.”

	“I think we can wait on the side chambers.” Victor said. “If Velkyn didn’t see anything of interest…”

	“Not that treasure isn’t of interest mind you.” Inva quipped.

	“I’m not suggesting that it isn’t.” Victor continued with a nod to the tiefling. “But it’ll still be there an hour from now, or a day from now, or even later.”

	“Yeah, I don’t think we’ll have skeletons looting their own tomb, packing up and moving whenever we go to sleep.” Phaedra said, repressing a bit of a chuckle.

	“Any objections?” Velkyn asked, waiting for the Thayan to grumble.

	Odesseron said nothing though, only giving a nod and acquiescing to his new companions. After all, he was nominally on their side of the barrow complex, and till that point he’d had to do little effort in exchange for his portion of anything they found. The treasure would still be waiting for them later.

	“I have to agree with you.” The Thayan said. “Please continue.”

Without complaint, but wary for more guardians, especially for any more wraiths or similar undead that might not necessarily be confined to lurking in open space, the group continued into the heart of the tomb. They slowly passed by another two sealed side chambers, with Inva making certain that there were no traps, and both Phaedra and Velkyn quietly watching the ebb and flow of magic for signs of active wards. Separate from them though, the red wizard largely was just there for the guided tour as he walked alongside them, letting his apprentices step in front whenever he seemed to feel that there might be impending danger.

"Hold up guys." Velkyn said, his eyes glittering in the dark. "There's some seriously potent magic up ahead."

"What school?" Odesseron asked, not obviously bothering to whisper a cantrip and examine it himself, though truth be told he might have been able to see it by virtue of an item or a permanent spell effect.

"Abjuration and a bit of conjuration." The half-drow answered. "And it's clerical in nature."

Odesseron gave a wry smile. "It would seem that our long dead, unwitting benefactors could do more than bind the dead to watch over them tombs perhaps?"

"A fiend." Phaedra said bluntly. "There's a Tanar'ri bound into the mound, and from what some of them have snarled, you're probably seeing where they have it physically bound."

	Nodding at the sorceress’s notion, they warily approached the archway leading into the chamber at the hallway’s end.

	“Don’t touch anything.” Inva said in warning as they crossed the threshold.

The room was large, easily thirty feet across as they stepped into it, their feet kicking up a layer of dust nearly an inch thick that caked the ground like a white capped sea. Breaking the surface like breakers on a reef, there was a circle of misshapen lumps of wane, spotted, and discolored wax, the remnants of burnt down candles, perhaps the fragments of a summoning circle's preamble.

	“What’s that in the middle of the room?” Francesca asked warily.

	“That’s what’s giving off the glow…” Velkyn answered.

Looking closer, that it had been, and still was a binding circle could not have been more obvious, given the body that lay naked and spread-eagled in its center, hovering a few inches above the floor, motionless. Covered in millennia of dust as she was, the woman was strikingly beautiful at first glance, and almost human except for the wings that sprouted from her back and hung limply, half folded onto the tomb floor below her. Upon closer inspection though, her skin shimmered with a thin sheen of scales, her open mouth betrayed overlarge canines, and over the long years of bondage her flesh had desiccated to some extent, growing stretched and tight across her bones.


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## shilsen

Woohoo! A Shemmy update to start my birthday. Very nice.


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## Graywolf-ELM

Excellent, the over-arching point of view, showing POV of the PC's and of the NPC's is cool.

GW


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## IcyCool

Succubus in a Circle™  No muss, no fuss, just pure, preserved Tanar'ri!


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## recentcoin

IcyCool said:
			
		

> Succubus in a Circle™  No muss, no fuss, just pure, preserved Tanar'ri!




Yeah...just add water and presto...

Your own personal damnation in just mere moments....

RC


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## Bryon_Soulweaver

IcyCool said:
			
		

> Succubus in a Circle™  No muss, no fuss, just pure, preserved Tanar'ri!



I want one!!


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## Shemeska

***​

"Don't stare." Victor whispered, intending to make a joke at his brother.

"I’m not staring!" Came the almost guilty reply though from Garibaldi."...sorry sir..."

Phaedra turned and glanced at the fighter, sticking out her tongue. "It's a greater Tanar'ri. Just... eww..."

"What's wrong with Tanar'ri?" Inva asked with a smirk, raising an eyebrow at the half-loth. 

The tiefling looked over at the prostrate form of the succubus and then down at her own chest. "I'm some fraction of Tanar'ri too you know."

"You don't say." Phaedra replied with a bemused sigh as Inva pantomimed plumping her cleavage.

Collectively stepping forward, their own light seemed to dim as it reached into the chamber, almost as if the circle binding the succubus was suppressing it or devouring it. There was light in the room however, a dull, deeply ruddy light that seemed to pulse like a heartbeat, one that had stirred and quickened since they had approached.

"The Vrock wasn't lying." Phaedra said, noticing the smooth incision on the succubus’s chest.

It didn't bleed blood, ichor, or whatever corruption flowed through a greater Tanar'ri's veins, and even if it did, it would have caked and congealed along with the dust into a blackened slurry, and there was only a fine layer of dust upon the fiend’s exposed flesh. But regardless of the fact that the open wound didn’t leak blood, it still pulsed and pumped with a crimson light, the aortal rhythm of the binding stone sunk into its heart.

	“So what does anyone suggest we do?” Marcus asked. “Kill her? Leave her alone and tip toe our way around her?”

	It was a good question, but unfortunately they didn’t have the chance to reply because the succubus struck seconds later, and in no conventional manner.

	The air rippled with a sudden contraction and expansion of air, like the center of the room had been struck with a hammer and behaved like the surface of a drum. A black wave of corruption spread out from that point and washed over the group, though it didn’t affect all of them in the same way.

	Odesseron and his entire group didn’t seem phased in the least, and neither did Inva. To them, the fiend’s innate spell had simply been a trick of light and nothing more, but to the others they felt a wave of pain and nausea, ranging from the minor to the extreme. They staggered and verbalized their reaction, and all of them were giving looks of confusion as they struggled to find the source of the attack.

	The fiend in the room was the obvious source, but the body of the succubus hadn’t changed at all. She hadn’t stood up, she hadn’t smiled, she hadn’t even twitched, and the pulse of light from her chest had continued without interruption.

	“What the hell was that?!” Phaedra shouted. She’d felt the spell’s effect, but it had either soaked against her innate resistance to magic, or she’d managed to shrug it off. But she had felt it, something some of her companions couldn’t say.

	“Did we just trip a ward?” Victor asked as he got back to his feet from where he’d stumbled.

	“No, not that I can tell.” Velkyn replied, feeling sick to his stomach but not in pain.

“Of course you haven’t you idiot.” Odesseron added as he backed up. “You haven’t gone near the edges of that binding circle.”

	Then it happened again. The same spell, targeting them a second time, with much the same effect.

	“Oh come on!” Victor shouted, doubled over and feeling sick.

	Several sickened moans and a grunt of pain echoed through the room as the air cleared. If it was the succubus, they couldn’t see her, and while she wasn’t hurling bolts of lightning at them, her attacks were inflicting damage each and every time.

	“Where the hell is she?!” Marcus demanded.

	Though she was searching for the source of the attacks, Inva was nowhere to be seen, and Velkyn and Odesseron began to whisper almost at the same time, though the Thayan didn’t seem to have nearly the sense of urgency that the half-drow did.

	“She’s not invisible.” Velkyn shouted as he glanced around the room. “I don’t have a clue where she’s at, because she obviously can see us to target us.”

	A third time the fiend struck, and this time Velkyn doubled over and retched. 

	Backlit by the light of the binding stone in the fiend’s chest, Inva stepped out of the shadows cast by the burnt down candles at the edges of the circle. “She isn’t –here-.”

	“Excuse me?” Marcus asked, helping Francesca up.

	“She isn’t physically manifest.” The tiefling explained, darting her tail to the side and pointing at the corpse. “She isn’t on the shadow plane either, because I just checked, though there was something odd about that but…”

	Marcus frowned. “Tell stories later, where is she at?”

“She’s nailing us from the ethereal.” Inva explained, belatedly added, “And hell if I can do anything about that.”

	“Can anyone do anything about her?” Marcus asked. “Victor? Velkyn? Phaedra? Odesseron? Please tell me that one of you has a spell that can target her, or banish her, or something.”

	“Banishment isn’t an option boy.” Odesseron lectured. “She’s tethered to this spot and you’ll be in for a world of pain if you break that circle, and it’ll take hours to dispel it all.”

	“…I can.” Phaedra said softly, looking a bit uncomfortable both at the prospect of going after the succubus on her own, and perhaps even using the ability she was referring to.

	“What are you planning on doing?” Velkyn asked.

	“Thank my mom.” The half-‘loth muttered. “I haven’t tried this for years, so we’ll see if this even works.”

	The others couldn’t complain because unless she, or anyone else, could do something, regardless of what it was, they were sitting ducks at the mercy of a fiend who seemed intent on killing them out of magical compulsion or purely out of sadistic impulse.

Phaedra gripped her staff warily and gave an uneasy smile. Then, drawing on a rarely used aspect of her heritage, one from the side of that bloodline that was probably more distant than the other, and the one which she least openly patterned herself against, the world blurred and slipped away like a sheet of mist or a bank of fog.

	As she looked around, the room was still visible, and quite distinct, as the walls of the tomb seemed to have been constructed in such a way as to make them opaque and manifest on both the prime and the near ethereal. But other details were obscured and indistinct, especially her companions who appeared only as hazy clouds and blotches of color set against the swirling ethereal mists.

	“And just who are you?” Came a seductive snarl in abyssal.

	Phaedra turned and saw the succubus, naked with her wings extended and lazily swimming amid the drifting clouds of ether. The fiend stared back at her luridly, crossing her arms and propping up her t*ts, tapping her claws across her forearms.

	Phaedra didn’t reply immediately, and the succubus drifted closer with a flap of her wings.

	The tanar’ri licked her lips with a disturbingly long and forked tongue. “Don’t be so coy darling.”

	Phaedra could almost immediately feel the impact of the fiend’s words, a magical charm intended to seduce and influence a victim. But the succubus couldn’t have been aware that another side of her intended victim’s heritage had made her immune to that in the first place.

	Phaedra would have replied, but the succubus made the assumption that her victim wouldn’t resist and would happily throw herself into her arms. In a heartbeat the succubus was physically pressed against her, licking up the side of her neck and curling a tail around her leg.

	Immediately a cold chill spread through Phaedra’s body and she felt a spell drift out of memory. Instinctively she snarled and lashed out, slugging the succubus across the jaw with the butt of her quarterstaff.

	The succubus blinked and spit blood, turning the drifting ether a rose shade of red like she was dumping chum into the mists for schools of incorporeal sharks. She’d assumed that Phaedra was charmed and would have submitted to her carnal vampirism with willing gusto.

	Phaedra realized this as well, and in a moment of absolutely inspired wordplay, muttered a phrase that while it made her feel incredibly dirty, it kept the succubus under her previous delusion.

	“Oh that was good…” Phaedra said, breathing heavily. “But b*tch I like it rough.”

	The succubus’s chest was heaving and bouncing as she licked the blood from her lips and growled like an animal at Phaedra, slinking forward for more, drawing closer for another round of give and take.

	But that first hit had been instinctive and without any major force behind it, a shove rather than a haymaker, however not so much for the next few blows she landed.

	After a few rounds of abortive coupling, Phaedra was shivering from the fiend’s draining touch, she felt violated and was liberally slathered with warm tanar’ri spittle and possibly other fluids as well. But the fiend was in far worse shape: bruised, bleeding and at the end probably had a broken jaw and skull fractures as she drifted unconsciously through the mist.

	“Oh yuck…” Phaedra said with a grimace, spitting to remove as much of the taste of the fiend’s tongue from her mouth. 

It wasn’t anything to do with gender. As it was she felt rather attracted to Inva, and powers knew that one half of her family tree was rather… bizarre… in that sense when it came down to it, and innate shapeshifting tended to make it superfluous anyways. No, it was that it was a bloody Tanar’ri. She felt like she’d just sucked the tongue of perhaps the filthiest creature in the multiverse, and letting it paw at her all the while hadn’t made it a more pleasant experience in the slightest. 

	A moment later she shifted back to the prime as she brushed at her robes and continued to spit with a rancid expression on her face from the Tanar’ri’s kiss in every manner of speaking: the disgust, the violation, and the sapping of the energy drain.

	Of course the questions came quick.

	“She hasn’t done anything more, did you manage to handle her?” Marcus asked.

	“Are you alright?” Velkyn asked, noting that she was shaking.

	“What exactly happened?” Inva asked.

	“Nothing!” Phaedra stuttered back a little too quickly. “Absolutely nothing! Nothing happened…”

	Velkyn raised an eyebrow and chuckled, letting his mind paint its own picture of what might have happened, but he spared her any more embarrassment than what might have been implied already as Victor walked over to heal what of the succubus’s damage to her than he could.

	“A good night’s rest should heal you the rest of the way.” The cleric said. “But let me try that again in the morning after I’ve gone through my prayers again.”

	Once Victor had moved away and they’d all approached the archway leading into the next, and last, main chamber in the tomb, Inva slipped up behind Phaedra and nudged her with her hip.

	“Nothing happened?” The tiefling softly giggled. “You don’t lie very well when you’re blushing.”

_It was a succubus! Yuck! Ewww! She was nasty!_

	Inva snickered and poked her in the ribs, grinning at her expense one last time before letting her off the hook for the moment.

	Beyond the archway past the binding circle, the final chamber was not as large as that which had held the succubus, or at least that was how it appeared since there was little space in which to stand. A huge stone sarcophagus dominated a significant footprint of floor space, and much of the remainder of the floor was covered in a sprawl of sparkling grave goods.

	“Impressive…” Inva said, lithely stepping over towards a pile of overly decorated ceremonial weapons.

	Velkyn glanced at the treasure and then at the coffin itself. “No wards in here that I can see, so feel free to take a look I suppose.”

            “Keep the lid held down.” Odesseron ordered to no one in particular as he stepped past them all and approached the sarcophagus.

            Marcus looked askance at the wizard. “What exactly are you planning on…” But as he spoke, the heavy stone lid began to shudder, kicking off an inch of dust as something inside awoke.

            With that sudden and obvious reminder, Garibaldi and Francesca dashed forward to keep weight on the top of the sarcophagus, but before they reached it, the motion abruptly stopped.

            “Huh?” Francesca said, stepping back from the coffin with some confusion.

            “Don’t worry about it getting out.” Phaedra said, holding up a hand and staring directly at the coffin lid. “It’s not going to budge an inch. I’ve got it handled. Just don’t get in between me and it.”

            Indeed, as Victor stepped closer, the orb of light floating above him showed a considerable disturbance in the dust filtering through the air as their movement kicked it up. As the billowing dust passed through a wide path in front of Phaedra, who had a look of firm concentration on her face, it was abruptly being shunted towards the suddenly still lid of the tomb by a line of force.

            But of course, while the lid itself was being held down by a considerable pressure, the occupant of the carved stone vessel itself was not under any such restrictions, and it was venting its considerable frustration as it realized that it was trapped in its own sepulcher.

            *SLAM!*

            The sarcophagus rocked gently as its occupant slammed itself against one of the sides, followed shortly after by a bellowing, hollow roar.

	Odesseron grinned and strummed his fingers atop the stone triumphantly. “Anger will get you nothing but pain, whoever you happen to be.”

Whether or not it had understood the thayan’s words, the animate corpse a few inches of stone separated from him roared again, but then abruptly stopped once the wizard chanted a series of phrases that pulsed with necromantic power.

	“You will answer my questions or you will feel pain.” He whispered. “You will tell us all that we wish to know and you will survive without becoming shackled to my will for the rest of your promised eternity. Submit and tell me what I want to know.”

	Velkyn gave a respectful nod. Odesseron was using a twisted version of a spell that the half-drow was familiar with, but at the moment had not managed to master. It reached into the mind of intelligent undead and forced them to do what the spellcaster desired, and in this instance they desired, they needed, information.

	“First of all, who are you? What was your name in life, and what was your capacity in the service of Nergal?”

	A moan of agony rattled the sarcophagus and Odesseron inclined his head as if he were listening to a far off voice.

	“What’s he saying?” Velkyn asked.

	Odesseron waved a hand idly and held up a finger, motioning that he’d relate the answers to them momentarily.

“Well, he wasn’t royalty and he wasn’t a priest.” The Thayan finally said.

	“That doesn’t bode well then.”

	“No, it’s even better.” Odesseron replied. “This is the tomb of Nasrek Appenhat, chief royal architect and stonemason to the priesthood of Nergal. This is the man who built the damn barrow mounds.”

	The grins on all of their faces were nearly audible as the necromancer asked his next questions.

	“Now my next question: we are looking for Nergal’s tomb. Where is it?”

	It was a simple enough query, and it should have been a simple enough answer, but the look of confusion that passed over Odesseron’s face indicated that something very different was the case.

	“What the problem?” Inva asked.

	Odesseron ignored her and rephrased his question. “Which barrow contains Nergal’s tomb? And where is the entrance to that barrow located?”

	Again the wizard seemed puzzled, though this second time around he seemed more satisfied with the answers that he received.

	“Nergal’s tomb is here, in the central barrow mound.” He said, turning away from the sarcophagus and relaying it to the others. “But Nergal’s tomb is also –not- here.”

	“Huh?” Marcus asked.

	Likewise, Phaedra’s mind contorted with the logical flaw in the statement. “Wait. What?”

	“That was the answer.” Odesseron flatly stated. “Nergal’s tomb is both here at the barrow mounds and also not here. The architect couldn’t say anything more than that, and that duality was rather clear.

	“And the entrance to that barrow mound?” Velkyn asked.

	“On the second tier of the mound, but where on that tier I couldn’t gather. Or rather his answers said it pointed towards a place which I’ve never heard of, and probably not a soul alive today has ever heard of either.”

	“Auril’s breath.” Phaedra said. “That’s what the fiend was trying to tell us before.”

	Odesseron blinked. “What’s this about Auril?”

	They hadn’t mentioned their encounter with Severesthifek to the red wizard.

	“The wind.” Victor said. “It’s cold and always blowing in from the north. Isn’t Auril the Torillian goddess of winter and ice?”

	“Where’s this coming from?” Odesseron asked.

	“From one of the fiends bound into one of the other barrows.” Inva replied. “And I’ll bet that the barrow entrance is on the north side of that second tier.”

	“Hmm… we’ll find out I suppose. Assuming the fiend was truthful.” The Thayan said and turned back to his conversation with the mummy. “What protections are there on the tomb? Are there wards on the entrance? And how do we bypass the wards?”

	The necromancer first looked confused, then frowned, and then smiled.

	“Who or what is Severesthifek?” He asked, both to the corpse and openly.

	Phaedra frowned even before the wizard gave them the architect’s answers. No need to necessarily tell him that their clue to the mound entrance was that very same Severesthifek.

	Ignorant of that information, Odesseron relayed more of the mummy’s answers, though they had to assume that he’d relayed them truthfully and without selective edits.

“There’s a fiend named Severesthifek bound into the central mound.” He said. “Though Nasrek doesn’t know what type, just that it’s very powerful. And the entrance is heavily warded once you find it, but there’s a ritual we can perform to allow us entry. Oddly enough he knows the ritual because he was part of it when they sealed the central tomb. They seem to have buried Nergal first and then constructed the other mounds later, keeping their slave labor alive till the very end.”

	The others nodded.

	“Any other questions?” Odesseron asked. “Otherwise I’m through with Nasrek and we can commence taking his things.”

	“The Codex.” Velkyn said. “Ask if he knows where it was, or what it looks like.”

	Odesseron nodded and did so, but he began to shake his head almost immediately.

	“He doesn’t know of anything like that. Or at least he didn’t know it by that name, and he wasn’t privy to what was buried with Nergal and Nergal’s most senior priests. But we don’t have to f*ck with the lesser mounds now that we know how to get into the central one, though we may spend some time finding that entrance.”

	Inva tapped a hoof against a stone column. “Out of curiosity, what was the name of the place that was mentioned for where the entrance was?”

	“Arkephen’s Tower.” Odesseron replied. “I’ve never heard the name before, either as a person or in connection with a tower. I suppose it might refer to the keep of an old wizard of Imaskar, or possibly a natural landmark they Untherites knew by a different name. Do you recognize it by any chance?”

	Inva shook her head. “Not a clue.”

	“Not to be had I suppose.” He said with a shrug. “And… Phaedra? You can release the lid now, I have him under sufficient control.”

	The all seemed to relax once the sorceress relaxed her pressure on the lid and nothing happened. True to his word, Odesseron’s magic had the long dead architect under control, and they had some manner of answers.

	“So what’s this ritual you mentioned?” Victor asked warily.

	Odesseron gave a mirthless chuckle. “Some chanting and a sacrifice performed in Nergal’s name placed on top of the seal on the tomb entrance.”

	“Sacrifice?” The cleric asked. “What kind of sacrifice?”

	“A living creature killed by suffocation.” The necromancer replied. “You then remove their heart and use it to smear their blood atop the seal before it cools.”

	Victor gave a frown. “We can find an animal. But let’s at least cook the rest of it rather than just killing it for our own convenience.”

	Odesseron rolled his eyes, and in return received a stare from the cleric’s brother and their own cohorts as well.

	“We can worry about that later.” Velkyn said dismissively, preempting any arguments. “Right now I think we’ve gotten all that we can get out of this tomb.”

	“So what now?” Phaedra asked, noticing the greedy look in the eyes of the thayans as they looked at the royal architect’s grave goods.

	Glancing at the objects scattered around the room herself, Inva looked back up at her companions. “How about a quick catalog of the rooms that we’ve already opened and then maybe a cursory split of anything we might be able to immediately use.”

	“Not a problem.” Odesseron said. “I can even have my apprentices spend time this evening identifying anything overtly magical, just to be of help of course.”

	“I’m fine with just making sure we’re not missing anything major here.” Velkyn said. “But I’d prefer to go looking for the entrance of the center barrow before nightfall.”


***​

            Odesseron had a very pleased look upon his face after they’d exited the gore-spattered entrance to the barrow. After all, he had only lost a few servitor undead and he’d found tomb goods enough to double his own personal wealth, even after his newfound compatriots had taken their fraction off of the top. And even more, there were over a dozen more barrows of at least equal wealth, given that the occupant of the tomb he’d just left had not even been a member of the royal family itself, nor a member of the priesthood.

	He was still smiling once they’d hiked up to the base of the central barrow mound and gazed up at its western flank. The hillside of the massive earthwork danced in slow tune with the wind as the tall, dry winter grasses rustled with rhythmic, erratic waves while a patchwork network of ancient pits and exploratory trenches long eroded, crisscrossed it like old scars.

	It was a massive, imposing and oppressive thing, purely on size alone, and the knowledge of what it was, what it was built to contain, and what lurked within, bound by magic to defend it from looters made it even more so. Those looters, and there had been many given the hundreds of trenches and pits scattered like rose petals on a grave, many of them had fallen victim to the specters and fiends who guarded the site, falling and joining the restless dead themselves.

	But unlike many of those would-be grave robbers dreaming of the gold of ancient kings or wizards, the group that stood looking up at the central barrow and tomb of Nergal, they were prepared with advance warning of just what guarded the tomb and lurked below the soil. Not only that, but they had a firm idea of where the tomb’s entrance was, and so they wouldn’t spend days or weeks combing the flanks of the mound and adding more and more false starts to so many prior before they too fell and added their own names to the barrow’s list of dead. No, they had no such intention of failing as all others had before, and their knowledge of the barrow might just make certain of that.

But even with their knowledge, they didn’t immediately find the entrance, though they did uncover something else. It wasn’t a second entrance but rather something else covered by a foot of earth and sod: a block of glass embedded in the hillside, reaching down into the ground too far to remove.

	“What the heck is that?” Phaedra asked. “This can’t be the entrance.”

	Odesseron eyed it warily. “It doesn’t match anything that our dead tomb building friend described. Whatever it is, it might not be important, and it’s not magical by any means.”

	It didn’t give off light, nor was the glass serving to plug another, wider tunnel leading down into the barrow. No, it was the entirety of the shaft, a single inches-wide octagonal solid. They puzzled over it a few minutes, but finding no apparent purpose for it, they eventually pressed on.

Heartened that they’d found something on the hillside already they set about their task again, digging with gusto. But still, it took them several hours of probing and digging before they found the putative entrance to the barrow, and only then because of what they knew from the cryptic answers of the tomb's architect and the barely lucid ravings of the fiend that was likely bound somewhere within.

"Well this is different..." Velkyn said as he crouched at the edge of the excavated section of hillside.

The wizard waved his hand through the air and watched as his movements, and his image, were reflected back at him on the polished surface of a flat plate of black glass. Thick and octagonal, the tomb plug had been concealed by several feet of hard packed earth and was flush with the top of a vertical shaft.

Inva tapped her tail's spade against the surface with a light metallic tang. "So much for stairs."

	“We have rope.” Marcus said. “Assuming that it’s a straight shaft down we’ll just have to anchor it nearby. And if the soil doesn’t hold, well I know that some of you can magically fly. It shouldn’t present a problem.”

	“It shouldn’t.” Victor added, nodding to his brother. “But what is it actually.”

"It’s the same stuff that we found earlier." Phaedra said, tapping the glossy surface with the end of her staff.

"It's obsidian." Odesseron explained. "Volcanic glass, probably from the planes of ash in western Unther, one of the volcanoes there."

Inva nodded. "Makes sense. The church of Gilgeam used that area to bury their priests, and before most of the rest of that pantheon was killed off or left Toril, they might have done the same. So no surprise that they might have carried some of that area's symbology here with them for building Nergal's tomb."

Velkyn looked up at the fading light in the sky and gathered their attention. "So who cares to open this up now, and who wants to wait till morning?"

"Let's leave it for the moment." Phaedra said. "I'd rather not release anything from the tomb, or try to sleep while cursed."

"In any event the ritual..." Victor gave an unpleasant tone to the word, "The ritual is somewhat involved, and we'll need to hunt something for it. So yeah, let's leave it till the morning."

The others had no complaints really, and though it was obvious as they left for their own camp that the thayans were eager to break into the tomb, in the interest of being polite they raised no objections. And besides, they risked less harm to themselves if they cooperated rather than breaking the seal in the dead of night.


***​

Morning broke without incident sending the long white rays of dawn stretching like knives across the barrows, but it was still bitterly cold like the polished claws of a chained and caged beast. And true to that imagery, as they woke and gathered at the base of the mound, to some of them, those with telepathy or fiendish blood, the air seemed tense, almost as if something were watching them, watching their actions and holding its breath.

Minutes later they clustered around the tomb plug and watched their reflections in the glass, waiting for the Thayan and his ilk to meet them to open the entrance for the first time in millennia. He was late, and he was the only one of them who knew the full details of the ritual to open the tomb with relative safety.

“So for the ritual and the sacrifice…” Velkyn mused. "What lives out here anyway?”

Inva shrugged. “All we needed was a heart from a snuffed creature so I figure anything should work.”

"Don't bother." Odesseron said, stepping around the ridge and into view.

The wizard held a ceramic bowl in his wet and bloodstained hands. A single heart, fresh and bloody, steeped in several inches of crimson fluid filled the bowl, sloshing ever so slightly with the wizard's steps.

"I wanted us to get started early." He said, holding out the bowl like an offering. "So here, problem solved. No need to go hunting."

The wizard smiled as his apprentices and several of his undead joined them all at the edge of the entrance. On a mental tally there were three undead, several familiars, and several crimson robed wizards. 

One of the apprentices was missing. 

There was a fresh heart and one less wizard. The youngest and most junior of their group was absent and the reason was sitting in the bowl in their master's hands.

“Oh you son of a b*tch...” Velkyn snarled to himself, turning away to look west and hide his expression.

Odesseron knelt down in front of the seal and held the heart in his hands. "Let's begin shall we?"

They had little choice in the matter. What was done was done, though Victor still held out hope that they might raise the slain thayan from the dead after they left the barrows. But it all of course hinged in how he'd been slain, if they could keep a bit of his flesh intact till then, and if the rituals to propitiate a dead god, a sacrifice, might impact it all in the first place.

Their anger and distaste though mattered little to the necromancer and with little preamble he began to chant. There was a sympathetic hum and vibration from the thick plate of glass, each syllable spoken causing one of the cuneiform glyphs embossed on the surface to shudder like a bell rung or tuning fork struck, each building towards something as the words were recited and the ritual performed. 

Finally, with a conspicuous silence from all gathered, near the liturgy's end the apprentice's heart was placed atop the seal and there was a hiss, a brush of air, cold and sterile at their faces, a death rattle invoked. 

The plug flickered with a pulse of light and vanished, leaving not so much as a trace of itself behind, and the entrance shaft into Nergal's tomb yawned wide and threatening.

"No explosion, no screaming ghosts, no released fiends." Inva said, gazing down into the black depths of the shaft. "After an uneventful night I'd been expecting some drama."

Gathering around the margins of the pit, they could see that it was not intended for easy egress, at least not for most mortals without the favor of the dead god buried within. The shaft was a sheer drop down, unlit, without steps or handholds. In fact the walls of the pit seemed to be made of glass, as if the sand of the barrow had been struck by lightning and fused in place, a local reproduction of the obsidian of western Unther's burial provinces.

But there was more... the smooth, slick surface of the shaft was not a uniform shade of dusky black, it was marked by places where the glass was distorted. Like ancient flies trapped in amber, there were shapes and markings held and etched within the material.

"So who wants to go first?" Marcus asked.

"Well I suppose that depends on how deep is it." Velkyn peered down the shaft, and despite his own drow-descended eyes, he couldn't pierce the gloom to see a bottom.

"One way to find out I suppose." Inva said, holding up a coin between two fingers. "Well... two ways maybe."

"Two ways?" Victor asked.

"Yeah." The tiefling replied.

Velkyn gave a confused look. "I get the coin but what's the second way?"

There was a sudden tap of Inva's tail again an armored shin. "I kick garibaldi over the side."

The fighter stepped back from the edge as Inva waited a moment to chuckle and break any sense of seriousness.

"I like the coin idea much better." Garibaldi said.

"No fun at all..." Inva said with grin as she stepped up to the shaft and dropped the coin.

The tiny silver disk dropped out of sight and vanished into the darkness. Nothing untoward happened, no tripped wards or mundane traps, but neither was there the expected chink of metal on stone to signal that it had struck bottom. Surely the shaft couldn't be that bloody long...

"No sound." Velkyn said, giving a sideways glance at the shaft.

A few seconds later though, one of Phaedra's ears twitched involuntarily.

"It just hit bottom." The sorceress said. "But damn that's deep."

"At least nothing happened though." Victor said. "The ritual... well it worked."

Odesseron smiled despite the discomfort his actions had provoked. "Someone go ahead and toss a rope down and let's see what there is."

"No, don't throw the rope down yet." Inva said, waving him off. "Any wards might not trigger against something that isn't alive. I'm not convinced that it's safe yet."

In response to that, Velkyn reached into a small bag at his waist and pulled out a tiny white object, a tiny white object that squeaked.

"Again?" Victor asked, looking at the mouse sympathetically.

Velkyn shrugged, glanced at Inva, and then back to the cleric. "Would you prefer garibaldi instead?"

The fighter of course took another step back from the edge and tried not to look at the growing smirk on Inva's face.

"Go ahead." Victor said, looking away. "You've got a point."

Velkyn gently tossed the mouse down the shaft and waited for any evidence that its passage had triggered any wards. But, just as with the coin previously, nothing happened.

"Care to drop that rope now?" Inva asked, glancing to Marcus. "I'll drop down and make sure there aren't any physical traps along the sides."

Marcus nodded and took out the rope and several iron spikes to secure it at the top.

"Tie it to one of the zombies." Odesseron said, pointing to the reanimated ogre standing several feet away. "It's heavy enough to anchor it on its own, and if need be I can have it pull her back up to the surface."

Velkyn chuckled as Marcus tied the rope around the zombie's waist. "Make sure not to get a gooey part!"

Inva tied a second rope to the end of the first, not knowing how long the shaft was, and stepped up to the edge.

"You care to have anyone come along with?" Phaedra asked, emphatically hovering a few inches above the ground for a moment. "I can go down with you."

Of course the double-entendre of the last phrase elicited a round of soft snickers.

Phaedra rolled her eyes. "That's not what I meant!"

Of course Inva had already dropped down the shaft and out of immediate line of sight of the others. Phaedra could only stick out her tongue when she looked down at the snickering tiefling suspended in the air, dangling on the rope and looking back up at her with a puckish grin.

After having a moment of amusement at the expense of the half-'loth who admittedly, she was attracted to, she slipped down the rope and vanished into the darkness. Descending foot by foot, checking the glass walls for any evidence of traps or wards, it didn't take her long to notice the glow of magic, albeit magic that seemed dormant or suppressed.

"Hey guys - so you know - we've been cursed!" Inva shouted up to her companions.

The symbols set within the walls were lines of text placing increasingly imaginative curses on violators of the tomb, and the script of each was woven through with magical wards set around the circumference of the shaft roughly every ten feet. Without undergoing the needed ritual at the surface, a fall down the shaft would have been hideously lethal far before their corpse hit the bottom.

Warded increment by warded increment, Inva slipped down the rope further and further. At each step she passed yet another line of suppressed glyphs and wards and lines of stigmatic verse aimed at any would-be vandal.

When Inva finally reached a solid bottom, fully 420 feet below the lip of the shaft, she stood on the bottom of a gently sloping hemispheric well of glassy stone, polished to a mirror shine to reflect the faint light from above.

"I've reached the bottom!" She shouted up at the others before turning and looking at her surroundings, pausing only to retrieve Velk's stunned but very much living mouse.

"What's down there?" Came several shouts from above.

The tiefling didn't immediately answer them as she stared at a massive pair of onyx and silver double doors on the south side of the well. The basin of the shaft was cold, black and secluded. Inva was alone and in her element, and for a long moment she simply closed her eyes, spread her arms and reveled in the sensations. 

There at the doors to a dead god's tomb, she felt particularly close to her goddess, and that moment of selfish contemplation was simply too much to pass up. The others could wait a second, a moment, a minute before she called them down.

"There's a pair of doors down here." She finally called back up to them. "And there aren't any traps, so come on down as you will."

Phaedra, Velkyn and the thayans were the first to join the tiefling there at the bottom of the shaft, bringing several globes of conjured light with them as they descended. In truth though, the magical light was more for the benefit of the others that followed who lacked the ability to see in darkness as well, and required the light to judge their position during their descent by rope.

"I don't see any sort of handle or locking mechanism on the doors." Marcus said as he ran a fingertip along the silver margins of the seal.

Odesseron gathered his robes and grumbled. "The architect we spoke with yesterday didn't mention a single dusty word about their being any sort of second ritual for a second door."

"Now Inva," Victor said, point to the door. "You said that the writing on the shaft on the way down was just a series of curses, but what about the writing on the door."

Inva was a step ahead of him there and was already trying to make some sense of it, at least enough to gather what it was loosely saying.

"It's a prayer. A liturgy actually." She said, running her finger along first one line of cuneiform and then another. "This line is for a primary reader, and then the next is a group response."

"Might it not be trapped?" Odesseron asked. "The wording is laced with magic, though it's divine and I can't say that I'm ultimately familiar with the patterns."

"I doubt it." Inva said. "The prayers seem pretty genuine, even if I don't really get it word for word. It probably unlocks the door."

Victor nodded. "Give us a transliteration into common to read and we'll handle the chorus."

Inva nodded and scribbled the dozens of lines on parchment, indicating those for the primary speaker and then for the response. Being more familiar with the tongue, she began and they responded, line by line, waiting for something to happen. They didn't have to wait long though.

As each line was incanted, the glass began to glow with an inner light, reaching a zenith and then fading back to darkness as the last line was spoken, ending with the whisper-soft click of a locking mechanism falling loose and the opening of the doors by a single inch.

A cold wind brushed at the their cheeks from the open gap, and the dark interior of the tomb beckoned.


***​


----------



## HeavenShallBurn

Impecable work as always Shemeska, either of your story hours are the sort of thing I'd buy without hesitation if they were books.  In fact I wish more of the p***-poor excuses for fantasy I see in the local bookstore were more like your campaigns.

By the way if your 420ft deep reference was intentional all the cooler, just shows your breadth of interest.


----------



## Clueless

Good writeup. Though Velk's temper is definately boiling quietly at this point...


----------



## FyreHowl

*pat pats velkyn* Him and Phae both, just at..different people.


----------



## Ryltar

Judging from the party's antics, everyone was definitely having fun at this point .

Nice update. I'm really looking forward to the continuation (and hoping for the inevitable clash between the Thayans and the characters. Though Edwin is almost too cool to lose).


----------



## recentcoin

Niiice...

The tomb is deadly, dark and deep
With levels to go 'ere I sleep...

RC


----------



## Shemeska

As difficult as it might have seemed, the open entrance to the tomb seemed even darker than the depths of the well in which its prospective plunderers stood. With the doors pushed open, they peered into the interior as best they could, but even with eyes enhanced by heritages fiendish or otherwise, they could discern little at first. In fact, for better or for worse, nothing emerged from the yawning gap but a cold wind that brushed at their faces, licking like a dozen ephemeral tongues from out of the darkness like djinn trapped in Shadow, begging for release.

"That's not right." Marcus said. "The air isn't stale."

Inva was quick to nod. "It's still moving."

Sure enough it was. An initial release of positive pressure was expected when a long sealed tomb was suddenly opened, but even after that first and sudden gust of air when the doors swung wide, there was a breeze drifting out of the entrance at a constant, disturbing rate that couldn't have been natural.

Velkyn smirked as his eyes strained against the dark. "Feels almost like home…”

	Phaedra looked at him oddly for a moment. “I didn’t think that had been home for a long time. If you mean home like Sigil, this place really isn’t jaded enough to qualify you know.”

	The half-drow nodded. “Original home. But this place lacks spiders, so it’s much more pleasant.”

	Off to the side, Odesseron had moved closer to the entrance, ostensibly to examine the doors and the space beyond, but frankly the thayan was curious about whatever personal details the two of them might have been discussing. But by the time he’d moved closer, they’d finished and he was left to speculate.

	Holding his conjured light higher up above them all, giving himself a better working light in the process, Victor removed a number of torches from his pack and laid them at the base of each door.

	“What’s that for?” Phaedra asked as she watched him hammer the wood into place.

	“I don’t like this place already.” The cleric replied. “And I’m nervous about it sealing back up after we’re inside. I’ve got plenty of spells to create light, and plenty of torches in reserve as is. They make convenient doorjambs.”

	Inva glanced up at him from where she’d knelt down at the edge of the door, feeling the flow of air and looking for signs of any traps. “It’s a good idea.” 

	Victor smiled. “Why thank you.”

Her tail tapped the stone a single time. “Welcome I suppose. But that was my free compliment for the day. You’ve used it up…”

	Victor looked concerned for a fraction of a second before Inva briefly turned and chuckled.

Their moment of humor aside, they peered down the hallway, hoping to make out finer details before actually entering. The corridor stretched off into the interior of the barrow, dark walls of frosted glass returning their light in scattered, wandering currents, creating luminous little eddies upon the black columns that supported the roof every ten feet. They stared at the play and glitter of the light, because as it refracted within the walls, the walls seemed to move with a swirling of wind from the intricate patterns cut or suspended within their matrix.

"Creepy yes, but you've got to admit." Inva said with a tone of admiration to her voice. "That's something right there."

"Pretty." Velkyn said, glancing at the first set of the columns. "But I'm not going to trust it even more because of it."

The target of his comment, the black and mirror polished columns, gazed back at them from hollow, carved eyes present upon their surface. Each of the columns, every three yards or so, was cut or cast to resemble a dancing figure caught in the wind. The figures, each of them unique, had their mouths open and eyes wide in an expression of either ecstasy or suffocation, a disturbing duality of terror and grace made even more poignant as the corridor's optical illusion made them appear standing in a storm, gasping for breath.

“Phaedra? Velkyn? Any magic in there?” Marcus asked, putting his hand on his blade as he glanced warily at the columns.

Inva turned to Odesseron, "You can feel free to step in and volunteer anytime you know."

“There aren't any wards within the hallway.” The red wizard replied. “At least to the extent of my vision. Just the same currents as the rest of the mounds.”

“But they’re stronger." Phaedra added. "I can’t say what it is, but there's more than just a succubus here.”

Inva glanced into the darkness. “That's what worries me.”

Curious as much as they were worried and cautious, they continued down the hallway as they talked, and all the while the tiefling was a dozen feet ahead of them, testing and probing the walls and the floor for any evidence of mundane traps. Of course her job was made all the more difficult by the fact that the glass of the walls was cut in a bizarre and intricate fashion, reflecting light and shadow, moving and drifting in a way that obscured any legitimate surface features behind its graceful illusions of wind.

"Sh*t." Inva muttered. "Do -not- move."

	Velkyn came to a halt. “Sh*t what?”

	Inva pointed to a patch of ground that didn’t seem any different. “There’s a pressure plate right in front of us.”

	“Where?” Marcus asked. He hadn’t noticed a thing, and he still didn’t even as the tiefling was pointing it out.

	Inva noticed the others staring at the spot. “You can’t see it till you’re almost on top of it. They arranged the blocks on the floor to work with the light patterns.”

	“Alright.” Victor said. “Everyone keep any light sources you have still, and don’t move.”

	Inva nodded. “That’s a start. Stay here and let me make certain that there aren’t any more.”

	Carefully, Inva moved one hoofed foot away from the edge of the plate and slowly found its carved edges. A few copper pieces jammed into the seams, and a mark of bright white chalk to mark the borders of the trap later, the tiefling slinked off down the hall, eventually repeating the same process several more times before returning.

	“Three more past here.” She said. “I’ve marked them all, and they’re jammed so they won’t trigger with normal pressure.”

	Velkyn looked down at the first of the chalk outlines. “Were they hard to find?”

Inva shrugged. “They weren’t easy. The makers did a really good job hiding them. Very sneaky, I approve.”

	“Notice anything else up ahead while you were looking for traps?”

	“A few things actually.” The tiefling replied, nodding her head. “You’ll see it when we get closer.”

	They weren’t let down in any way as they cautiously avoided the pressure plates and approached a wider section of the hall where an elaborate motif was carved into the floor. Artistic patterns of wind and Untheric script swirled around a glittering, reflective plate of sorts.

	“What the heck is that?” Velkyn mused, looking at the metallic patch of floor.

	Inva peered down at the script that outlined the floor section. “The most holy Nergal – may he find eternal peace… blah blah blah.”

	A bubble suddenly broke the surface of the plate.

	Velkyn moved forward. “What the hell?”

	Another few seconds and another bubble sent a ripple through the ‘plate’. It wasn’t a plate at all, it was a shallow pool of liquid mercury.

	“It’s liquid metal.” The half-drow said. “Huh…”

	Inva motioned with her hand. “Someone give me their sword. I want to see how deep this is.”

	Garibaldi complied and watched as the tiefling dipped the two-handed blade into the liquid. It was deep, and the blade slipped into the mercury nearly to the hilt before it stopped and Inva moved it through the pool with some difficulty, looking for the edges and any features at the bottom.

	“So why didn’t you use your own sword?” Victor asked curiously.

	The tiefling stuck out her tongue and continued to poke and prod at the depths of the pool. “Because this sword’s longer…” 

	“Ah.” Garibaldi said. “Well I’m happy to have helped then.”

	Inva didn’t reply, she was too busy with the pool and with what she’d found in its depths. There was certainly something there. Deep at the bottom of the pool and situated at regular intervals, there seemed to be a series of holes, probably the source of the periodic air bubbles which rose to the surface, forcing their way through the dense liquid metal once they had built up a critical amount of pressure.

Inva stood up and withdrew Garibaldi’s sword, letting the metal drip off of the surface before handing it back to him.

	“There’s some sort of hollow beneath it.” She explained. “What else beyond that… I can’t say. The metal probably blocks any scrying as well.”

	“How would we even get down there in the first place?” Marcus asked.

	“We’d have to take the metal out.” Phaedra suggested. “It’s too heavy and too toxic to dive into.”

	Odesseron frowned. “Easier said than done perhaps. Plus the corridor continues on past here.”

“Preferences?” Velkyn asked.

	Phaedra shrugged. “We can always come back, and it’s easier to open a door than… well… do whatever we’ll have to do with whatever that’s down there.”

	“If it’s anything.” Inva said. “There’s my obligatory chip of cynicism.”

	Velkyn shook his head. “Bah. You’re just as curious as I am.”

	“I suggest we pass it for the moment.” Odesseron said. “Like Phaedra here said, we can always come back. Besides, I can ward the thing with an alarm to make sure that we’re aware if something comes out from under it, if there’s anything there at all.”

	The others looked around and eventually came to a consensus: move on for the moment and return to the pool of mercury later in the event that they didn’t find anything of greater interest further into the tomb.

	Continuing on, they passed through an archway at the end of the hall and turned a abrupt right angle, entering into the opening stretch of a massive vaulted gallery, standing there in awe under the outstretched arms of two massive statues. The statues were carved from the same glassy stone as the rest of the hallway, and resembled humans with avian features: winged arms and wickedly clawed feet like those of hunting falcons. Like snarling, fallen avorals, or perhaps petitioners or divine servants of Nergal, the statues were the largest of those set against the walls along the upwards incline of the corridor, but they were not the only ones.

	“Anyone care to place a wager that the statues are animated to attack us?”

	Velkyn gazed down the corridor, looking for any distinct magical auras, and found them in abundance. All of the statues glowed, each pair of them to either side of the hall, every twenty feet. Unlike the avian-styled colossi at the entrance of the gallery, the subsequent statues, each of them standing within a decorative niche set into the wall, were carved to resemble warriors dressed in the same style of the spectral warriors who haunted the surface of the barrow high above their heads.

	“They’re not golems.” Velkyn said, squinting hard to discern the school of the dweomers. “But they’ll do something if you go past them. Contingencies and such, but I can’t tell what exactly.”

	“Joy.” Phaedra said. “Magic generally doesn’t do well against constructs, so don’t mind me if I step back a bit.”

	“You’re in good company dear.” Odesseron said, though in truth he’d been at the back the entire time regardless.

Inva held up another coin between two fingers. “How about we do this the fun way? We grab a copper and toss it town, see what happens.”

“Sure.” Velkyn said. “I'll hide behind Victor.”

	Francesca and Garibaldi looked at one another and drew their weapons as Inva tossed the coin down the passage. Once again they were going to be at the front line.

	The coin clattered down the passageway, rebounding from a wall and flying past the first two sets of statues, finally coming to a rest at the feet of the next pair. The air was still for a moment, cut only by the resonating rattle of the coin as it spun in place and finally stopped.

	Velkyn tilted his head. “So maybe I…”

	He never finished though. He didn’t need to, as a moment after he’d started to wonder if something would happen, a static charge flooded the air and the first pair of black glass warriors stepped free of their niches, the carved hollows of their eyes alight with a phosphor glow.

“Ok.” The half-drow said, stepping back. “Looks like we do this the hard way.”

	Unlike golems, animated objects, or even most servitor undead, the guardians of Nergal’s tomb walked with a fluidity and grace that resembled that of living warriors, elite soldiers of a long-dead tradition. In fact, the statues seemed to dance upon the air, and as they stepped forward without any sound of footfalls upon stone, they were in fact walking upon the air with a liquid cadence that bespoke of intelligence lurking behind their glowing eyes. They were less statues than something akin to the helmed horrors of ancient and forgotten Raumathar.

	But perhaps most disturbing about them, something seemed to swim within the glass. Dark, vaguely humanoid forms, like spectral skeletons, the statues almost seemed to present a double image as they stepped forward, almost as if the spirit of the warrior they had been carved to resemble lingered on, trapped within the glass, serving in death as they had in life.

	But there was no need to let the constructs approach within melee range, and with a whispered word, Velkyn caused the hallway in front of and around them to erupt in a mass of sticky, silken and stereotypically spider-like webs. The effect was immediate: the first of the glass warriors was caught fast in the webs, immobile while the other struggled to cut themselves free. Looking past the first pair, a second pair of the tomb guardians was likewise hindered and slowed by the spell and their own entrapped fellows.

	Arrows flew across the distance, some glancing off of the entrapped constructs, while others lodged deep, sending out cracks, but not appearing to cause extensive damage. Spells however might prove more effective, and that was clearly Phaedra’s thought when she acted. 

	The sorceress stepped forward and pointed her hand at one of the statues, the furthest one from the others, and one which seemed closest to breaking its way free from the webs. With a harsh word and a smooth gesture, a crackling bolt of lightning burst from her fingertips and connected with the construct, snarling across its surface and incinerating the webs…to no apparent damage.

	“Damnit.” She cursed. “They’re immune to lightning.”

	Taking cue and taking aim, Odesseron smiled. “Not an issue dear. You simply have to use something not based on the elements. Allow me to demonstrate.”

	A burning line of green energy flashed across the distance, and the thayan chuckled as he watched it, knowing that the moment that it struck its target, the target would be reduced to naught but dust. At least that was what would have happened if he hadn’t missed, as the line went wide and burrowed a deep pit into the side of the passage, leaving the construct entirely unharmed.

	Velkyn slowly turned and looked over his shoulder at the necromancer and inwardly both smiled and rolled his eyes. So much for Odesseron being a pinnacle of the Art. He was skilled yes, but he was probably more arrogant than his skill justified.

	Spells aside, they still had time before the constructs closed the distance, and three of them were still trapped, wholly or partially, in Velkyn’s webbing. Marcus fired his pistol again, striking home and sending a spider web pattern of cracks through the chest of one of the statues as Victor recited a spell and darted forwards.

	He wasn’t sure if the prayer would work, and perhaps normally it wouldn’t have, given the composition and magical nature of the statues, but it was worth the attempt regardless. The cleric deftly touched his hand to his holy symbol and then onto the shoulders of the first of the statues, willing the material to weaken, deform, stress and finally give way to his hand like stone trimmed from an imperfect sculpture by a master artist.

	The glass warrior’s arms dropped to the ground and shattered into dozens of pieces, but Victor’s elation was short lived. Breaking loose of the webbing, the other statue slashed at Victor with its sword and sent him retreating backwards to avoid further injury.

	With the cleric out of the way, the space was clear and Velkyn hurled a bolt of acid while Phaedra sent a cluster of glowing missiles streaking unerringly at the other. The acid ate deeply into the construct, and it seemed likely to last and do a progressively greater amount, but the half-‘loth’s own spell was snuffed as it hit its target.

	“Damnit!” She screamed, slipping into yugoloth for a few other curses, upset that none of her spells had actually caused damage.

	But as she vented her frustration, the fighters had closed the gap and engaged the warriors as they finally broke free of the webbing. Blows were traded and blood was spilt, but more glass than blood littered the floor, especially as one of the four constructs had earlier been reduced to staggering around without arms or weapons. Blow upon blow, the statues seemed more skilled than their living targets, but numbers and circumstances weighed heavily against them, and soon they fell, one by one to mace and sword and lingering acid.

	Each broken statue led to elation on the group’s part, but something else sprung from each of those individual triumphs. Each time one of the glass warriors fell and shattered, the dark and ephemeral figure that had swum within them, and which had apparently been the source of the glow in their eyes, maybe even their motive force, they rose up into the air and hovered in the darkness.

	Finally the last statue fell and shattered upon the floor, but nearly as soon as it did, yet another wraithlike form sprung from the remains and joined those that had previously leapt out of the others. There was another static hum and the immaterial figures began to congeal into more obviously humanoid forms, the spirits of the dead warriors still served in death, even deprived of their surrogate bodies.

	The group stood there for a moment, staring at the spectral creatures, perhaps hoping that they would vanish or dissipate once the last of their kind had been released from its glassy prison. Perhaps the spirits had been unwillingly bound into eternal servitude, much like how the lingering ghosts of Nergal’s funerary procession relived and recreated their ceremonies and eventually their executions in an eternal, nocturnal cycle. But no, the congealing spirits served in death as willingly as they had in life.

	“Victor? Are those undead?” Phaedra asked as the figures began to drift forwards.

	The cleric gave a very brief nod, but he was already acting to banish the dead before they drew closer. With one quick flourish he drew forth his holy symbol and sent a burning pulse of golden light through the specters, consuming them utterly.

	“F*ck off!” He shouted in his own native dialect of elven.

	Victor smiled as they gingerly moved through the broken glass, picking through the remains to collect the weapons the statues had held. That had felt good, and despite the wounds he and the others had received, some of them deep, they had performed well, and that was a good portent for what might come later as they moved deeper into the tomb.

	There were no further traps or guardians that they encountered, and at the top of the gallery the incline abruptly ended and the corridor continued at a straight angle. Unlike the earlier gallery though, the passage was devoid of the niche-bound statues, but that absence only made them all worry about what might be lurking in their way instead.

	They ‘d progressed down the passageway only a few dozen feet before Victor held up his hand for them to stop. “Guys. Hold on.”

	Inva raised an eyebrow. “You notice something I haven’t?”

	Victor’s hand remained where it was, indicating that they should stop, but also pointing directly up at something in the ceiling: a large engraved stone plug in the glass.

	“Must be an elf thing.” The tiefling said, looking up at the plug. “Nice job.”

	“Is there anything written upon it?” Marcus asked, peering up and looking at the decorative symbols cut into its surface.

	Inva shook her head. “Doesn’t appear to be. But they likely wouldn’t if they’d intended to conceal it from anyone intent on robbing the tomb. That’d be us of course.”

	“But they’d probably ward it all to hell regardless.” Phaedra said.

	Velkyn shrugged, already looking for dweomers on the stone. “So far as I can tell, there aren’t any magical wards in place on it.”

	“Doesn’t mean it isn’t trapped though.” Inva said with a dose of cynicism. “Pull that out and I can just imagine a ton of acid, or rocks, or something worse pouring out on top of us.”

	Phaedra peered up at the featureless plug. “Is there any way to tell?”

	“I could cast an augury.” Victor said. “But I don’t have all that many of them memorized.”

	Inva tapped the wall with her tail-spade. “This sounds like the time to blow one though. Otherwise there’s no other way to avoid the risk.”

	Victor nodded and whispered the prayer, invoking his deity’s advice on whether removing the plug would cause them harm.

	“No harm.” Victor finally said. “I didn’t get any sense that there was a trap of any sort. It’s just a concealed passage.”

	“Let’s go for it then.” Marcus said as he and Francesca took out some rope and other tools.

	Though the process was awkward, they eventually managed to hammer a wedge into the gap between the plug and the ceiling. Soon thereafter, with some prolonged effort, eventually they dislodged the plug from its place, sending it crashing to the ground and kicking up a storm of dust from the opened passage above.

	First Inva and then Velkyn, the smallest members of the group, they climbed up the hole and examined the short length of corridor revealed.

	“…and behind the door… is another door!” Velkyn said as they reached the terminus of the passage.

	The object of the half-drow’s exclamation was a second plug. Set flush with the wall, it was more properly a sealed door, though unlike the first one, the second one was covered in an elaborate pattern of golden runes surrounding the holy symbol of Nergal.

	Perhaps they’d finally found something.


----------



## Zarnam

Hmmm.....interesting...a bubble of air out of a vat of mercury...I'm not very good at physics, but such things are not supposed to happen imo (it won't pass, even with 1mm sq. applied pressure...the vat is about a meter deep...brrrrrrrr..._creeeepyyy_)

_Creeepyyy_..._the Breath of Nergal_...brrrrr


----------



## Inconsequenti-AL

This is a really excellent arc to the story... seems like a fun place to be exploring! Did it manage to make the players at all nervous?

Loved statues btw. 

And thanks for the writing!


----------



## shilsen

Zarnam said:
			
		

> Hmmm.....interesting...a bubble of air out of a vat of mercury...I'm not very good at physics, but such things are not supposed to happen imo (it won't pass, even with 1mm sq. applied pressure...the vat is about a meter deep...brrrrrrrr..._creeeepyyy_)




Tsk, tsk - didn't anyone tell you that physics in D&D is a house rule?



> _Creeepyyy_..._the Breath of Nergal_...brrrrr




Now this I agree with. Nice update, as always.


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## Ohtar Turinson

Are the statues homebrew? If not, what are they from?


----------



## Shemeska

Zarnam said:
			
		

> Hmmm.....interesting...a bubble of air out of a vat of mercury...I'm not very good at physics, but such things are not supposed to happen imo (it won't pass, even with 1mm sq. applied pressure...the vat is about a meter deep...brrrrrrrr..._creeeepyyy_)




*waves hands dismissively with a major sense of irony* Stupid laws of science! Always getting in the way of cool sounding ideas! Bah!



			
				Ohtar Turinson said:
			
		

> Are the statues homebrew? If not, what are they from?




The description is original. The stats I used for them were cannibalized from the stats for Helmed Horrors in _Lost Empires of Faerun_ (originally printed in Monsters of Faerun), but I shuffled some traits and added/removed some to fit the Nergal theme. The wraiths being released upon their destruction was my own thing as well, and they were just standard wraiths with some boosted hitdice.

In retrospect I -really- enjoyed this particular arc and location.


----------



## Clueless

Didn't hurt that you got a peery look about half way through and we had the conversation: "So. Great pyramid? Hey look! A plug in the ceiling... Yep... great pyramid."  It was a particularly fun crawl.


----------



## recentcoin

Nothing like a quick jaunt through a nasty tomb to make you wonder what the other assignments would have been like.

RC


----------



## Shemeska

recentcoin said:
			
		

> Nothing like a quick jaunt through a nasty tomb to make you wonder what the other assignments would have been like.
> 
> RC




Some of those 'other assignments' end up reappearing later on.


----------



## Shemeska

In the half-light of the freshly opened shaft, the symbols on the sealed door glittered like tiny golden constellations in the night sky.

“Inva?” Velkyn asked, motioning to the script. "If you would."

The tiefling stared at the symbols for a long, hard moment before shaking her head. “I don’t know a word of it. It’s a different dialect, or a code, something like that. I can’t help out here.”

	Velkyn frowned. “There’s no magic on it. At least none that I can see.”

	Meanwhile the others called up after them, curious what they’d found, and if they were alright or needed help.

	“We’re fine!” Velkyn shouted back. “Just… give us a minute here.”

	Unseen to them both, a tiny scry focus immediately appeared above them. The Thayan wasn’t taking the risk that once separated from him and his own people that his erstwhile allies wouldn’t simply loot to their hearts content, and he wanted to make certain that they were telling the truth about whatever it was that they saw when they came back down to report it.

	“So do you want to open it?” They both asked one another at once.

	Inva smirked. “I’ll take that as a no.”

	“I have a bad feeling about it. And besides, we can always come back to explore beyond this point if we don’t find the Codex elsewhere in here.”

	Inva nodded. “Alright, then let’s go back down and let the others know and see what they think.”

	On the way down of course, Inva deliberately flicked the tip of her tail and smacked the tiny glassy orb of Odesseron’s scry focus. Not that she necessarily held it against the man to not have implicit trust; no, on some level it was just a wise idea to know what they were doing up there, but it was rude and she simply didn’t appreciate being spied on, she preferred the other way around thank you very much.

	Odesseron was smiling when they climbed back down from the shaft. “So what did you find?”

	“Not much.” Inva said. “A sealed door and some runes I can’t identify.”

	“And no traps.” Velkyn added. “And no magic.”

	“That doesn’t sound right.” Phaedra said. “Everything else so far has been trapped all to hell. If it’s important it just stands to reason that the original builders would have done so up there.”

	“Exactly.” Odesseron said. “Care to wager on the idea that there’s a trap just beyond the door?”

	Marcus shrugged, “Not really. I’d rather just know if it’s safe or not. Victor?”

	The cleric nodded and began to pray a simple, but very useful augury. ‘Is it in our best interest to pass beyond the sealed door above?’ A straightforward question, and the answer from his deity was just as direct: NO.

	“Uhh… I don’t suggest we go that way.” Victor said. “Something definitely isn’t right up that way, given the tone and intensity of the response.”

	Victor’s divinely inspired foresight wasn’t questioned in the least. Something had seemed suspect about the door already, and the response to the augury had confirmed it as more than simple paranoia. And so casting one last, baleful gaze upward, the group progressed deeper down the passage.

	“Well at least we won’t have to worry about that dead end or any traps beyond it.” Marcus said, looking back over his shoulder.

	Odesseron scoffed. “Keep in mind that I’m not looking for just one thing. Leave it behind now, I won’t complain, beneficent man that I am, but eventually I’ll ask for your help when we go back there.”

	Garibaldi tried to change the topic of conversation. “Well Victor, at least we can count on your brother to find out those hidden chambers.”

	“Speaking of which, have you ever been dowsing?” Inva asked, glancing up from where she’d been looking for traps.

	Victor paused and looked down at the tiefling. “What do you mean?”

	“The elf thing.” She said. “You know, we get garibaldi to grab you by the head and hold you up, and when we get to a spot with a hidden door, you tug to one side… at least that’s what I’ve heard. Doesn’t it work like that?”

	Victor chuckled with as much good humor as he could manage. “Your ears are just as pointed as mine. You and Velkyn both actually.”

	“Oh I’ll still tease.” She said. “And in any event, it got everyone to stop and laugh at you rather than continuing, which is good because there’s a spell trap across the hall.”

	“Eh?” Victor asked. He hadn’t noticed anything.

	Inva pointed to a small series of runes cut shallow into the walls. The runes were unfamiliar to any of the spellcasters, but the intent seemed obvious since the same runes were cut into the opposite side of the passage as well.

	“Lovely…” Phaedra said. “It’s giving off a bit of an evocation aura.”

	The tiefling nodded as she reached into a bag at her waist. A moment later she held up a squeaking mouse, the same one that she’d dropped into the tomb’s entrance shaft earlier.

	“It’s a lucky mouse.” She said, looking at the glances she was getting. “He survived the first time, and he and his sister can tell me what this thing does and what the recharge time on the trap is, assuming it has one.”

	“I doubt he’ll be lucky after this…” Victor said. “Not that I’m going to volunteer to go in his place mind you.”

	“I assumed so.” Inva said, taking the mouse by the tail and gently tossing it across the warded stretch of corridor.

	Blue-white lightning arced across the passage, temporarily illuminating it with a light as harsh as the smell of ozone. Where the coruscating bolts touched the runes on the other wall it threw off a shower of sparks and left a brilliant corona of lingering static in its wake along with trailing, slowly rescinding ghostly afterimages in their eyes. 

Of course the mouse was incinerated.

	Inva chuckled and held the other mouse up, “Not so lucky indeed.”

	The bolts continued for several seconds and finally abated, throwing the corridor back into relative gloom and the tiefling counted off several seconds as she prepared to throw the other mouse.

	“Don’t.” Phaedra said.

	“Excuse me?”

	Phaedra stuck her arm across the gap abruptly and lightning coursed through her hand with no effect except for the static causing her fur to billow and stand on end.

	“I’m immune.” She said, shaking her arm and brushing the fur back down. “Save the mouse for later. I’ll just walk through and find it out on my own.”

	She paused and though about it a moment more. “Just so long as nobody says anything about the fur. It’s embarrassing.”

	“Suit yourself.” Victor said. “Won’t your clothes and such… you know? Lightning can’t be good for that.”

	Phaedra gave a polite chuckle. “Shouldn’t be a problem. Most of the magical bits are fairly well proofed.”

	Victor shrugged and the others didn’t raise too much of a fuss at the half-loth’s partial evasion of the question. Why question her about the clothing issue, after all she was going to handle testing a magical trap for them; not a fiendish gift horse to be looked in the mouth. Of course Phaedra wasn’t concerned about her clothing, precisely because she wasn’t wearing any, all of her ‘clothing’, at least at the moment, was entirely an artifact of her own shapechanging abilities.

	But without any further comment or complaint, Phaedra stepped through the ward and was immediately enveloped in a crackling cascade of lightning. Ten seconds later the spell stopped and she stood there with a mildly unpleasant look on her face, looking more like she was descended from some sort of planar pomeranian and a lightning mephit than anything else.

	While Velkyn and Inva snickered slightly, they all quickly moved through the warded space while it was still busy recharging, returning back up towards its lethal potency. Once beyond the trap, the corridor began to ascend once more at a shallow angle, and in the process of their ascent they found and bypassed another latent spell and a pair of pressure plate triggered traps.

	Once past the series of traps, and of course after some more giggles at a very static-poofed Phaedra, the gallery grew more and more elaborate in the detail carved into the walls, and rather than decorative gusts of wind, the stone seemed cut into the shapes of flickering sheets of windblown flame. It was disturbing, not only from the clash of aesthetics with the overall theme of the tomb and of Nergal’s portfolio, but also that some of the demonic servitors cut into the walls seemed to shine with the faintest reddish glow.

	“Is that a light up ahead?” Phaedra asked, peering into the darkness and warily noticing a reddish glow, the same glow reflected within the glassy eye sockets of the snarling figures.

	“Yes.” Inva said. “Yes it is but…”

	The tiefling’s voice trailed off, and at the same time Phaedra’s ears perked. There was something moving in the darkness ahead of them, and they could hear them moving before they could see them emerge out of the gloom and into the range of their vision.

	“What the hell is that?” The half-loth muttered as the sound reached her ears.

	There were several things out in the gloom approaching them, and based on the sounds of their footfalls, they weren’t the same glassy, spirit containing statues that they’d fought initially when they entered the tomb. No, there was a rattling sound of bone on bone, a clatter of metal against metal, and one of the figures in the darkness was significantly heavier and larger, just based on the methodical plodding of its steps; whatever that latter one was, it was massive.

	“Guys, be ready.” Victor said, preemptively taking out his bow and nocking an arrow.

Moments later a pair of skeletal warriors strode out of the gloom, wearing ancient but still glittering ceremonial armor, and moving with the same disturbing agility that the earlier tomb guardians had possessed. But unlike those earlier constructs, their armor seemed more decorative than functional, and in fact, while one of them carried a gleaming kopesh, the other carried not a weapon but a glowing length of bluish crystal: a wand.

True undead rather than constructs, they both abruptly stood to the side as another figure emerged into the light, the source of the lumbering footsteps and the grinding of bone on bone. A hideous amalgamation of dozens of mortal skeletons, the creature towered over its smaller brethren, looking down with a trio of grinning skulls as it brandished elaborate weapons in each of its six arms.

"What the hell is that?" Marcus asked.

Inva grinned and began to cast a spell. "Something that hopefully has a high center of balance."

Immediately the ground under the undead and their freakish compatriot shimmered with a magically conjured slick of grease. Whatever their own immunities or spell protections, they weren't protected from the combination of gravity, an incline, and the oily surface. The two skeletal warriors were already in the affected area and immediately began to lose their footing, the sword bearing one falling and dropping its weapon, while the wand holding one stopped and managed to brace itself against the wall.

The bone golem was not so lucky as its fellows though, and as it lumbered forwards, largely oblivious of the slippery skein across the floor, it fell like a collapsing tower during an earthquake. With a massive crash the creature spilled forward with the momentum from its earlier movement and began to slide down the ramp, helplessly flailing its arms and legs like an overturned beetle.

Rumbling down the incline and picking up speed, the golem's bulk obscured the one remaining upright tomb guardian.

"Best use of a first sphere spell I've seen in a while." Velkyn said as he watched the undead stumble and flail.

"Why thank you." Inva said, giving a bit of a bow as she stepped back, well out of the way of the sliding golem's arms.

The golem would eventually careen past them, but so long as they were careful to avoid the reach of its weapons or being bowled over by it they were safe. The same could not be said of their having any sort of safety from the skeleton holding the wand though. With a sound best described as a rasping hiss punctuated by the staccato rattle of teeth only loosely tethered to their skull, there was a flash of light and the corridor plunged in temperature.

"Sh*t!" Velkyn shouted as the vapor in the air began to freeze and crystallize out as tiny snowflakes.

With the exception of Inva and Phaedra, every member of the group was affected with the skeleton's freezing curse. Grunts of pain echoed through the hallway as ice crystals formed on or even underneath exposed skin, lips dried and cracked and eyes began to painfully sting.

Grimacing through the pain, Victor moved first, recognizing the threat of allowing the skeletal mage to use its wand a second time. Taking out his bow and whispering a prayer to his deity, the cleric fired a pair of arrows up towards the top of ramp, striking the undead creature both times.

Further back down the slope of the hallway, Odesseron stepped to the side and turned invisible. It was only a trio of creatures yes, and so his temporary companions could handle them easily. Let them use their spells, and he'd keep his. Plus, he knew full well that the golem was just that, a golem, and he'd be virtually useless against the lumbering construct.

It hissed again but still remained standing, even with one of the bolts embedded into its sternum, and the wand continued to sparkle with evil intent in its outstretched hand.

"Hell with that." Velkyn said, fixing his eyes on the undead and stepping to avoid the oncoming golem.

As the half-drow was chanting, a bolt of lightning erupted from Phaedra's hand and slammed into the tumbling construct, resonating through its form before discharging out and into the one fallen skeletal warrior. Unfortunately the electrical force seemed to have no effect on either of them, and nothing came of it except for an odor of ozone and a string of rather inventive curses in a pidgin of celestial and infernal.

Meanwhile, still flailing aimlessly, the bone golem rumbled past them all, and immediately afterwards, Velkyn finished his incantation and his spell took effect. The wand-wielding skeleton still brandished its crystalline rod and the object still shed an icy luminescence, but the undead guardian was fixed rigidly in place.

The next moments were more drudgery than danger, as both undead were fixed firmly in place, not moving on their own accord even as they were hacked to pieces by Francesca and Garibaldi.

"It's a convenient spell." Velkyn said, glancing up towards the two fighters and smiling as they nudged at the shattered bones with their feet.

"Well at least that's two dangers down." Inva said, glancing over towards a spot in the hallway. "So you can come out now. I think us lesser wizards have taken care of the problem."

Odesseron faded back into visibility. "There is still the golem you realize. A fall isn't going to destroy it in all likelihood."

"No." Velkyn said. "But the traps it'll fall into on the way down are something else entirely."

And no sooner had he spoken then there was a resounding crash from the bottom of the passage followed immediately thereafter by a fierce electrical hum and crackle as the wards activated and enveloped the hapless golem.

	“So much for selective warding.” Inva said as she watched the blue-white glow pulse and surge from below.

	Victor smiled. “I doubt the tomb builders considered their own guardians being clumsy, or clumsy with help.”

	“Anyways…” The tiefling said, feeling pretty good with herself. “It’s taken care of.”

Cautiously moving up the ramp and joining Francesca and Garibaldi, they found no further tomb guardians, undead or otherwise. The incline continued forwards past where the guardians had been, but for the moment their attention was held more on the glowing sword and crystalline wand that lay where their former undead owners had fallen.

Marcus picked up the sword and gave it a few appraising swings through the air. The sword was fairly heavy, though well balanced, and seemed to have been cast in some manner of magically hardened bronze, rather than any sort of steel.

"Not bad." He said, holding it up and offering it to the others.

Inva shook her head. "I'm already preferential to mine. It's nice and all, but..."

"What she's trying to say is that it's money." Odesseron said. "Though that wand on the other hand..."

Velkyn had already picked it up from the bones of its former owner. "It's an interesting little thing, but if you want to look at it after we're done here we can do that."

A sudden loud noise resounded up the passage and a familiar tremble passed through the stone.

"You've got to be kidding me." Phaedra said as she slowly turned around and threw a minor light spell down towards the bottom of the ramp.

Sure enough, standing fully upright, battered but not destroyed, was the bone golem, slowly clambering its way back up towards them after having survived its collision and the magical traps it had set off in the process.

In truth though the construct had little chance of ever reaching them, slow as it was. For each step it took back up the ramp, and for each provocative slash of its swords on empty air, it was battered with a series of ranged attacks. Marcus and Francesca both fired time and again with their pistols, Victor fired arrows, and Velkyn used the opportunity to use the newly acquired crystalline wand.

Eventually, despite its unnaturally crafted resiliency, only halfway towards them, the golem finally buckled under its own weight from the damage. Slumping over in a pile of diffuse bones, half of them shattering as its magical animation failed, it kicked up a cloud of dust, twitched one last time and then went silent.

"Well," Phaedra said. "Now that that's over with, let's move on to something I can feel helpful with."

"Don't worry, I'm sure we can find some lightning traps up ahead you can test for us." Inva said with a chuckle as she passed the sorceress.

"Yeah." She replied, trying to make the best of it. "It's better than, oh I don't know, tossing Velkyn in to check them."

Velkyn paused. "Wait. What? Hey, I've been more than useful so far thank you very much. It's not my fault you're immune to lightning and the skeletons were too."

But with Inva snickering and Phaedra and Velkyn still bantering, the group carefully moved past the inanimate bones of the undead guards and casting one last look at the remains of the golem, they slowly began to walk up towards the top of the ascending gallery. All along the way the tiefling checked for any further traps but the tiefling found none, at least not till they reached the top of the ramp.

"Well guys," Inva said, backlit by a glowing green barrier of shifting ghostlike forms. "I didn't find any traps so we're safe to go."

She paused for a moment and then turned around. "Oh dear, seems I missed one. So very well hidden..."

Velkyn rolled his eyes and there were several chuckles behind him.

The barrier glowed with a phosphor green light, a disturbingly cold glow that seemed to leech away at their body heat as they stood in its proximity. Wispy, like many steamers of thin mist, it was nonetheless opaque and looking at it, they gradually became aware of the faces writhing within, like entrapped and damned spirits within a glass prison, and even more, the faces seemed to whisper.

Velkyn looked at the severe glow of necromancy the spirit wall exuded. "Well, it's got to go. It just doesn't fit with the decor. Sorry guys."

	“Not a worry then.” Odesseron said. “I’m familiar enough with similar spells. It shouldn’t be difficult to dispel. Stand back.”

	“Suit yourself I suppose.” Velkyn said, stepping back and giving the red wizard some space.

	Odesseron began to chant, and very briefly reached his hands out, almost as if he expected someone to take them. But of course his apprentices weren’t there, he’d left them behind at the barrow’s entrance, and so his normal practice of thayan circle magic wasn’t an option. Realizing the mistake of habit, he resumed a more orthodox manner of casting and intoned the words of a powerful dispelling dweomer.

	The glowing barrier wavered but did not fall.

	The necromancer cursed in a guttural mulan dialect. “A rather powerful priest set it in place. This may take several attempts.”

	“I thought this wasn’t going to be a problem?” Velkyn smirked at the other wizard’s failure. “Let me try.”

There were some suppressed and muffled chuckles, nothing the thayan could hear, as the half-drow began to whisper the words to a spell to counter the barrier. A moment later and the stationary wave of necromantic force first guttered and then died like a match in a hurricane.

"Not bad." Odesseron nodded his head appreciatively. A wizard superior in skill to Velkyn had cast the ward, but the half-drow had dispelled it nonetheless.

Velkyn gave a short bow and gestured them up the opened passage. "Thank you, it's what I do."

	Beyond the spiritwall the corridor leveled out and ended in a single open archway, but there was something different about the hallway up to that point. The tomb had previously been swathed in darkness, embraced by the shadows and finality of Nergal’s death, but slowly they’d begun to notice a faint red hue within the glassy walls. As they approached the end of the passage, they saw the source of the glow.

Spilling forth a dull reddish light, the archway at the corridor’s end yawned wide, opening into a room that was easily the largest they had yet seen within the central barrow, or any of the others.

"Nobody step inside..." Odesseron ordered from the rear of the party.

	“Already ten steps ahead of you on that idea…” Velkyn muttered.

The first inclination in their heads was that the chamber resembled that in which they'd found the succubus tethered and bound into the last, very much lesser mound. The floor was decorated with a massive, inset iron pentagram lined along its perimeter with the misshapen lumps of melted candles, while at each point of the star sat some manner of metallic sphere.

But that wasn't the detail that dominated their attention.

Hovering in the very center of the binding circle, suspended several feet above the ground was a melon-sized, blood red crystal glowing with a fierce internal light. The gemstone, some manner of ruby or spinel of obscene size, appeared to move with an almost frenetic excitation as they drew closer to the chamber. Rather than pulsing like a beating heart though, the gemstone flickered like a waxing flame, feeding on the air like a vampire on heartsblood.

Phaedra felt a pressure on her mind, a telepathic weight, some presence holding its breath with anticipation at their approach.

"Victor?" The sorceress asked. "Would you mind checking the room..."

_I knew that you would come..._ The whisper trickled into the half-loth's mind in perfect time with the rise and fall of the tomb's omnipresent breeze like the exhalation of a god, the pleading of a fiend.

She shivered but ignored the voice. "Please? I don't like this."

The feeling was broadly shared, even if they weren't privy to the whispers of a True Tanar'ri licking at the base of their minds, and Velkyn and Odesseron were already going about their own divinations. Under their eyes the chamber was aglow with magic, virtually all of it directed inwards towards Severesthifek's prison, centered on the metallic spheres at the points of the pentagram.

	The fiend sensed the moment of its release. It could taste release, and there so close to its unwitting saviors, its thoughts swum with its wishes and desires. A thousand bloody acts of violation juxtaposed with the purest ideas of freedom and choice and will. It only needed them to break the wards that it could not on its own, bereft of a physical body as it was.

_Come closer, come closer… oh do come closer. For all the bindings and curses of Nergal’s forsaken priests, give me a mortal coil and a weak will and all their precautions will be for nothing… come closer, oh do come closer…_


----------



## The Forsaken One

Just copied your complete SHs into a word file. Gratz on breaking the 1000 pages with this update . (1002 now in case you have no clue how big your own thing is )

I'll be taking it to the printers tomorrow and have it printed and bound in a couple of volumes so it can go on the shelf next to sep's and PC's SHs after I finish reading it all as good bedtime literature and something to read during my long hours in train and bus each week .


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## Burningspear

Obviously absolutely *FABULOUS*   ,

I have read half of the 1st story line and are up to date on the 2nd,

I actually started reading the first story line shortly before i had a 6 week trip to the Ukaine,
and during my trip, if i had time, i would read a bit on this story, it was so intoxicating.

I wish i could play such a detailed and fun game.
And Shemmy, u write good, very good, u really need to think of publishing this kind of thing.

Have fun you all in reading this, i know i am ,


Burning spear


(Dutch guy living now in the U.K., trying to find a group to play with)


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## Goldferret

I loved it all  Planescape  was one of my favorite settings for 2 ed ,so when it was dropped I was P.Off . Your stuff was a great read ,and now I will start a Game tomorrow night. Thanks for doing this Shemeska I am truly inspired.


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## Shemeska

I'm glad that everyone seems to be enjoying my storyhours, and even more it can inspire folks from time to time. 

And on that note, here's another update.


***​

Victor didn't like the place either, even if he couldn't feel the giddy expectations of the fiend, brimming with a searing, boiling mixture of bloodlust and hatred.

"Hold on a second guys." He said, putting up a hand. "This is quite a bit different from when we found that succubus. I don't trust the place to just be binding another fiend. Call me paranoid, but that seems too straightforward. Let me try a few things."

The others didn't complain, especially given how some of them could already perceive the latent magic swirling about the chamber. Given that the tomb was constructed by a dead power's priesthood, divine magic might stand a better chance of determining just what they'd left behind in wait for future generations.

That in mind, Victor whispered the words of a prayer and immediately regretted his actions, giving a sharp exclamation of pain and turning away from the chamber. The room swum with the taint of undeath, seven discrete and burning glows suspended in an ocean of pain inducing evil, seven little worlds in orbit around a pulsing, glittering spinel sun.

"Son of a..." He muttered as he staggered into garibaldi before regaining his balance.

"Well," Inva said. "That's an optimistic sign for us..."

Victor shook his head, both to shake off the effects of the spell, and to reply to the tiefling. "No, it's not all bad. Just way too much evil. That's a big fiend, but there might be some other things in there as well, probably undead, and strong ones at that."

Gesturing to what he'd seen before the sensations had overwhelmed him, Victor pointed beyond the iron pentagram and its bound and imprisoned fiend. Beyond each point of the star was a sealed door inset into the far wall of the chamber, each covered with silver cuneiform script suspended in black glass. Seven doors, seven tombs, each glowing liberally with an undead presence. 

"Nobody touch anything." Velkyn said as he moved forward.

Following the half-drow, the others gingerly stepped into the room, staying away from the boundary of the binding diagram and making their way towards the sealed doors on the other side. After all, in the earlier barrow mound, they'd found the main burial chamber past the chamber that had held the bound succubus.

The doors were sealed with glossy bricks, either obsidian or some manner of dark, glossy crystal that swirled with minute imperfections that carried over between the individual blocks, creating a mosaic with their flaws. Gossamer spirits of the dead rose up from their tombs in the cunningly crafted, haunting scenes, souls caught up by a gale of wind bearing them away to the afterlife.

Velkyn stepped close to the first door, taking note of the Untheric script that made up half of the lines depicting the winds. "What do you make of this Inva?"

The tiefling wasn't looking at the door however, and in any event the script was a cursive, decorative form that she didn't understand beyond picking out a word here or there. Rather she was standing next to one of the bowls at the edge of the binding circle, peering down at it curiously.

They weren't perfectly spherical, and in fact they appeared to be two separate vessels one of iron and one of gold. The object she stood over was composed of two bowls, joined at the seams and sealed with wax, molten silver, or some other substance.

"Weird..." She muttered, leaning in closer as she noticed writing that wound its way along the seam, chipped or hammered into the material.

"Guys..." Phaedra said, looking around for anything amiss. There was a sudden telepathic lull in the air.

As cautious as Inva normally was, self-preservation bordering on selfish paranoia -justified given her past-, that was precisely the wrong move for her to have made. The crystalline tomb containing Severesthifek's essence flickered and something lanced out seeking to shove her consciousness aside and seize control.

Phaedra spun around as a deep chuckle echoed in her mind, rumbling like a peal of thunder and she saw Inva slip backwards and fall onto her backside.

The others turned at the sound and subsequent muttered curse from the tiefling.

"What just happened?" Odesseron demanded, spooked as he was by the proximity of a True Tanar'ri, imprisoned though it was. It was making him jumpy.

"Son of a b*tch..." Inva muttered while her tail lashed angrily. "Something tried to get inside my head."

They all gazed up towards the Balor's prison. Victor however was whispering a prayer and looking intently towards the tiefling with obvious intent; he wasn't going to take the chance that the fiend had actually possessed her.

"Are you alright?" Victor asked, peering at her intently, seeing the same thing he always did when he looked at her: a blank spot where an aura of good or evil might otherwise be if she didn't studiously ward herself.

Inva brushed the dust off of her tail and breaches, lamenting the supreme moment of ungracefulness as much as the dirt.

"I'm fine." She said. "Don't worry Victor, I'm still the same sarcastic bitch I've always been..."

Victor shook his head and smiled, Inva was fine. What he didn't notice though was the gleam in his brother's eyes.

As Velkyn gave a sigh of relief that she was fine, he was still worried about what had triggered the mental attack on her in the first place. "What did you touch?"

"I didn't touch anything." Inva said. "I just looked at one of the damn bowls."

"They're demon bowls." Odesseron said. "They're part of the binding circle."

The tiefling scowled up at the necromancer and her eyes glittered angrily in the reflected light, "That would have been helpful to know."

He shrugged, "I hadn't gotten close enough to see them. And I've only read about them, not seen them in person before. If I was binding a fiend, I'd do it differently, in fact I have done it differently quite a few times."

The spellcasters, all of them, descended into a petty bout of bickering and discussion of the bowls, each of which was anchored to the spirit of Severesthifek like the white hot nails driven through the flayed skins of petitioners on their iron racks in the libraries of Phaedra's ancestors. Each of the bowls anchored a separate fragment of the balor's essence to the binding circle, each of them kept it fractionally bound, and together kept it obedient to defend the tomb.

But so close to its prison, only footsteps away, the fiend was able to exert a fraction of its will otherwise.

The spellcasters bickered, but off to the side, Marcus felt like he was dreaming. It was like one of those lucid dreams where you realize in the middle of some impossible situation that you're in a dreamscape, that you're not awake and from some distorted and nonsensical 1st person/3rd person dual perspective, you're controlling things while watching yourself at the same time. Except Marcus wasn't controlling anything, he was watching without having a hand on any of his own strings, dancing to a fiend's flute.

He tried to scream, he tried to warm the others, he tried to stop and purge himself of the fiend who'd slipped effortlessly into his mind, but he was powerless against the millennia-pent fury and will of a true tanar'ri. And while he was thinking and struggling, it only took the balor a split second to accomplish one fifth of its goal of freedom.

Crash! A single swift kick sent one of the bowls flying across the room and into the far wall.

"What the f*ck?!" Inva shouted as she turned away from Odesseron and looked across the circle.

"Marcus! What are you..." Phaedra shouted before she saw the vacant look in his eyes and the pause as he moved towards another one of the bowls. "Sh*t! He's possessed!"

Across the room the broken remnants of the bowl sparkled with equally broken magic. Ancient binding dweomers crackled and ignited with a harsh glow as they failed one by one, both the spells penned in ink on the inside of the bowls and on the carved, parchment wrapped bones and other physical tokens of the fiend that they'd held sealed within.

A single spiderweb crack broke upon the surface of the balor's prison.

The room exploded into a chorus of shouts and a flurry of motion as people alternately tried to stop Marcus or get out of the way of those who were.

As he screamed in Abyssal, howled in rage and frothed at the mouth, Garibaldi, Inva, and Velkyn pinned the fighter to the ground and held him prone, inches away from another of the bowls.

"I'd banish the fiend to get it out of him but he's not -from- Toril, you made that clear earlier, that really complicates things." Odesseron said as the fighter continued to plaintively, desperately struggle.

"I can take care of it." Victor said, walking up to his brother, preparing to force the fiend to abandon its host.

But then, abruptly, Marcus went quiet and a bewildered expression crossed his face. That of course was when Francesca started to smile.

	Crash! A second bowl shattered as the other fighter stomped on it heavily, cackling with a voice that wasn’t entirely hers.

	“It’s like a magic jar spell.” Inva shouted as she tackled Francesca from behind. “Someone throw a ward against it or else the fiend is just going to keep trying each and every one of us the moment we’ve got our guard down.”

	As quick as the tiefling was, she wasn’t a large person nor was she very strong, and Francesca was dragging herself forward on the ground with Inva in tow, moving towards the next bowl.

	“Some help please!” Inva shouted as she was struggled to keep the much stronger Francesca from moving. “Marcus! I’m gonna stab her if I have to.”

	A moment later and the fighter was there, helping hold down his possessed cohort and trying to avoid getting bitten or punched in the process. But as they struggled, they could hear the fiend in their mind as the crystal in the room’s center began to glow brighter by the second. Each bowls’ cumulative loss was weakening the prison, letting Severesthifek act more and more in his normal character rather than by the strict instructions of the priests who had bound him there to serve.

	“Do something!” Inva shouted up towards Victor and the other spellcasters as Garibaldi helped out Marcus.

	Francesca, already speaking in Abyssal, began to chant the initial phrases of a spell.

	“Ah sh*t!” The tiefling said as she dodged a kick and heard the fiend’s casting by proxy. “Now! Now would be a good time to do something!”

	Victor began to chant almost immediately, whispering the prayers to invoke a protective spell against evil, a side effect of which was to prevent possession. His holy symbol glowed brilliantly like a fragment of the sun taken to earth, and as the light touched each of his companions and allies, they felt a sudden, steady reassurance against harm like a parent standing at their back with a hand upon their shoulder telling them not to worry.

	Francesca went limp for a moment, followed by a wave of confusion as Inva, Garibaldi, and Marcus got up from on top of her. Three of the demon bowls were still intact, and Severesthifek had been, for the moment, deprived of his chance to break the shackled that held him into Nergal’s service.

_“Fools!”_ The balor’s voice screamed into their minds as his prison rattled violently, spilling crimson light from its cracks.

"F*ck you!" Velkyn said, pointing directly at the crystalline prison.

_“Release me! Release me and I will reward you!_

	Velkyn sneered at the binding circle, “Ignore the son of a b*tch.”

	Marcus and Francesca’s looks were filled with even more hatred than the half-drow. They’d felt the fiend inside of them, felt its rage, and they knew that the first actions it would take if given freedom would be to wallow in that state, slaughtering the first things it came across: them.

_“NOW! RELEASE ME NOW!!!”_

	But its chance was lost, and for the moment at least, the power of Victor’s deity was holding it at bay, impotent and raging.


***​

Wary of just how far the enraged fiend could reach and what it could do on its newly loosened chain, beyond watching them and alerting other guardians of their presence, they abandoned any notion of searching the seven tombs linked to the balor’s chamber, and backtracked. Rather than risking a fight versus undead with a true tanar’ri in their midst waiting for a moment of weakness, they figured they could explore the rest of the tomb and only return there if the codex wasn’t found elsewhere.

	That left them with two options: a sealed door that divinations had already revealed to be a danger, and of no use in finding the object they sought, or returning to the first branch in the tomb that they’d found and had initially left unexplored.

"And so here we are again..." Velkyn said as he glanced down at the octagonal pool of mercury.

A single bubble rose to the surface with a dull hiss as the air escaped the dense, silvery metal. Normally that would be virtually impossible, given the properties of the liquid, but yet it was happening nonetheless. But Velkyn wasn't overly concerned with that, he was mentally scowling as he stood there at the pool's edge, frustrated both from having to walk all the way back through the tomb to where they now stood, and from an increasing anger towards their red robed and tattooed erstwhile ally.

Meanwhile, Odesseron was in the middle of a spell of sending, speaking to his apprentices that had been left behind at the barrow's entrance. 

"Get yourselves comfortable up there." He whispered as the magic carried his words high above. "Build a fire or something, because we'll be down here a while. And build it by hand, because I'll be using your reserves for a circle casting once I have to transport things out of the tomb."

Crass, pompous, presumptive, disrespectful *ss. Velkyn felt like punching him in the face, preferably with something sharp. If the man got much worse, got under his skin, he was sorely tempted to kill him.

Inva tapped her blade on the edge of the pool to get their attention. "Now as fun as a swim might be to some of you all, mercury... not so good."

"We already tried to scry," Odesseron said. "And without knowing what's down there, any form of teleportation is risky, if it would even work inside of here. So do you have any better suggestion?"

"Physically moving the mercury out." Victor said. "If it comes to it, we can try that, I could conjure a few buckets or something."

Suddenly the surface of the pool vibrated like a sheet of taught rubber that had been thumped in the center. They all stepped back from the edge, half expecting something unto a water weird to lash out at them, but then they noticed the liquid depress like a heavy and invisible weight had been dropped onto it, and the look of concentration on Phaedra's face.

"You think you can lift that out?"

Phaedra bit her lip. "Maybe... just somebody open up a bag of holding for me to shove this stuff into. It's heavy and it's hard to keep this stuff together."

Marcus opened up a bag and Phaedra complied, gathering up and funneling the mercury in a thin but constant stream out of the pool and into the extra-dimensional space. Slowly but surely the level of liquid metal shrank, and inch by inch they uncovered a shaft that ended in a flat seal of vented black glass.

"And it's even got what looks like a curse on it." Inva said. "So very homey."

Odesseron's eyes narrowed. "A real curse or priestly boasting?"

The tiefling waved his concern off as she translated. "Not anything magical, though the plug's got some abjurations on it looks like."

"To keep up the weight of the mercury? Absolutely." Velkyn commented.

"So what's it say?"

"Something about being 'the most holy repository of Nergal. Only those initiated into the dark mysteries by the will of Nergal are worthy to pass. For those not blessed, only darkness resides within.’"

They looked at one another, half curious, half worried about what the dead god might have left lying in weight for them. Magical or not, the curse was having an effect on their nerves.

Inva looked down at the plug, "And so we're at an impasse with something blocking our way from certain fortune and maybe even certain death. So who wants to have their fun? Spell? Rock? Telekinesis?"

_"...Marcus..."_ Phaedra mentally whispered back.

Velkyn raised a hand and gestured at the plate, whispering a few sibilant words that seemed to resonate after leaving his tongue. The plate began to hum and shudder, then a series of cracks slowly traced their way across its surface from the sonic attack. All was calm, and then the glass imploded downwards with a resounding shatter that then welcomed a swirling updraft of bitterly cold, eerily fresh wind.

"Weird..." Victor said. "That's fresh wind."

Velkyn nodded, "Very weird, but at least it's only about a ten foot drop down from the opening. We'll only need one rope."

Phaedra looked at him oddly, "A ten foot drop down from the opening? What do you mean?"

A moment passed and the rest of the party looked down the shaft and then likewise gave the half-drow the same funny look. As far as they were concerned, the glass seal had shattered and fallen away to reveal nothing but an ominous and pitch black opening. Even for those whose bloodline allowed them to see in normal darkness and shadow, they saw nothing but an umbral void that licked at them with a windborne tongue.

Velkyn paused and realized he'd inadvertently let slip something he'd never mentioned.

"It's about ten feet from the opening." He repeated. "Magical darkness, I can see through it."

Inva gave him a look both impressed and also vaguely jealous. "Not bad. Explains the curse too."

Victor nodded, "The magical darkness yeah. If you follow Nergal, or have some object his priests would have on you, the darkness probably lifts."

Odesseron nodded. "Not that it really helps the rest of us though."

"I can dispel some of it if we need to." Victor said, then turning to Velk. "But otherwise we might just need you to go first and guide us by a rope."

Phaedra and Odesseron were meanwhile whispering spells of their own to let them pierce the darkness. The former's was of Baatezu origin, the latter of Mulan, but the function was equivalent enough to Velkyn's ability, though in truth Phaedra's was closer in nature to the source of that than not.

	But one by one they clambered down the rope and into the lower passage, staying closely together in the darkness.

	Inva passed a rope around, “Everyone just hold on and trust that Velkyn doesn’t lead us into the depths to some evil spider goddess or something similarly cliché.”

	“Haha.” Velkyn said, looking down the hallway. “I’ll tug the rope to have you all move, and if I need anyone to stop, I’ll say it out loud.”

	They started to move, slowly and awkwardly at first since most of them couldn’t see their own feet or each other, much less the path of the corridor. But Velkyn, muttering about ‘stupid spiders’ and ‘stupid drow pantheon’, led them down a straight stretch of hallway that seemed carved from glass more so than built, eventually turning twice before reaching something that made him stop.

“Well this looks ever so welcoming.” Velkyn said, glancing to the left.

	There, its surface flush with the rest of the wall, a jagged array of spikes jutted from the wall.

	Velkyn turned and whispered a spell. “And what do you know, it’s even more welcoming to the right.”

	“What’s there?” Marcus asked uncomfortably from out of the gloom.

	“Oh, just a contingent spell to toss you back into a wall of spikes. Fun, fun stuff… it’ll just take a minute to dispel it.”

	With the exception of Phaedra, Odesseron, and Velkyn, the others stood there in the darkness and could only listen and shiver as the lurking spelltrap was dispelled. A moment later and the rope they held was gently tugged and they moved forward, following in good faith along a path they couldn’t perceive except for the occasional bump against the frost-kissed walls of glass.

	Time lost some of its meaning, deprived of a major sense as they were, but twice along their slow and shambling progression, they were all ordered to move to one side and walk slowly. Apparently at several places in the corridor there were blatant, undisguised pressure plates set into the floor. Normally they’d have seen them, even if they’d been flush with the rest of the floor, but the tomb designers had gone under the assumption that anyone but their own priests would have been walking blind, unable to see the traps in the magical darkness, and it was only because of a single strange ability, and two rare spells that the group wasn’t likewise struck entirely sightless.

	Another tug on the rope. 

“Alright, everyone get comfortable.” Velkyn said. “We’re at a stop for the moment.”

	Victor began to whisper, and suddenly they were all blinking and squinting as a brilliant sunlight radiance illuminated the hallway.

	“Warning please!” Phaedra said as she covered her face with a sleeve.

	Victor gave a sheepish look, but any angry looks in his direction over the sudden light vanished as soon as they all had a chance to look at where they were.

	The hallway ended a dozen feet ahead at the foot of a pair of metallic doors. They gave no magical glow, they appeared to have neither handles nor a locking mechanism, and the margins between them had been sealed by melting them shut.

	Inva walked up to the door and traced a finger across the surface of the weld. It had been done well, not in any sort of rush, and it might be difficult to get past, depending on what type of metal it was.

	Phaedra looked at the tiefling. “’Hon, I don’t think you can pick this one.”

	Inva half-turned and beckoned her over with her tail as a dozen frozen, metallic faces leered down from the door carvings. “You mind touching the door for a half-second?”

	Phaedra shrugged and touched the door, jumping back when there was a hiss and a bit of smoke as she made contact.

	“Well, it’s a silver door.” Inva said, patting Phae’s head as the half-loth sucked on the singed fingertip for a moment as it healed.

	“Don’t disintegrate it.” Odesseron said. “It’s worth something.”

	“Wasn’t going to disintegrate it.” Inva replied. “I was going to have Victor sculpt away the stone from the hinges and have Phaedra move it to the side. If it was steel or something besides silver it might have been too heavy.”

	Odesseron didn’t reply to that mild retort, and he stood back against the wall rather quietly as they proceeded to remove the doors just as Inva had suggested. But sure enough, the moment the hallway was opened, the Thayan was back up front as if he expected them to arrive into a riches packed burial chamber at any moment.

	But not yet.

	With the doors removed and pushed to the side, the hallway continued beyond the reach of Victor’s illumination, and plunged back into magical darkness. Those that could see through the sorcerous gloom however, saw that the corridor was flanked every thirty feet by paired statues of vulture-headed divine servitors, each of them carved with a permanent snarl as they brandished glassy lightning bolts.

Brushing past Odesseron, Velkyn took the lead again, stopping just before the first pair of statues.

	“Inva, do you have any more mice?” The half-drow asked.

	From back in the gloom, there was a rustle of cloth and a few soft squeaks. “Want me to just throw one?”

	“Yeah, just…”

	A mouse went flying through the air between the two statues, and the air crackled with lightning.

	“Alright.” Velkyn said. “We’ve got traps and we’re down a mouse. Sorry Inva.”

	“Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty where that one came from.”

	Then there was a squeak from the corridor in front of them all.

	“Umm… was that the lucky mouse?” Phaedra said as he ears perked to the sound. “I think the little guy survived.”

	Another squeak.

	Velkyn strained to see something moving on the ground. “What the…”

	The ‘mouse’ was there, but it wasn’t alive. The lightning had virtually carbonized its flesh, and little remained but the skeleton, which was still moving around like a normal mouse, but with tiny pin-pricks of light glowing in its eye sockets. The ‘pinky’ wasn’t quite so pink anymore.

	“Not bad.” Odesseron said. “Anything that gets killed by the traps rises as an undead. Cute.”

	Behind them, they could hear Inva putting away her bag of holding with the other mice. “On second thought, I won’t be wanting that one back.”

	Velkyn and Odesseron both looked at Phaedra as the odor of ozone washed over them with a cold rush of wind from deeper in the tomb.

	The half-‘loth sighed and her ears went flat. “Fine. I’ll go find out how many traps there are, what the recharge time on them happens to be, and what else is down there.”

	She stepped forward and into a blistering rush of lightning, but after the glow faded, with her fur sticking up from the static, she turned and pointed back. “You owe me!”

	But regardless of being more than a bit self-conscious about the static and feeling like an over glorified version of Inva’s mice, Phaedra tested each of the numerous traps. Any true priest of Nergal would have been safe, either immune to the magic, or more likely, they wouldn’t have triggered at their passage as they did for Phae, her companions, and any other tomb robber who trod the same path. Each of the traps also seemed to have a few second delay before being able to go active again. Not much time, but enough to carefully shepherd the group to the end of the hallway where it looked like there was an entrance into a chamber.

	But unfortunately for Phaedra, the hallway held more than traps and magical darkness.


----------



## Burningspear

Woohoo, that was nice again ))

and i got first reply


----------



## Burningspear

Time going by makes me wonder when this juvenile version is going to get an update, i was to exhilirated about the other update that i did not mind not seeing this alive again, but now....


(chanting in the background)
...........*We Want More...............We Want More...............We Want More...............We Want More...............We Want More...............We Want More...............We Want More...............We Want More...............We Want More*...............


----------



## Shemeska

Not as often as the first storyhour 

This week SH1 is scheduled for an update, but at the full conclusion of it's current plot arc, which will mark about 40-45% of the total SH being complete, and something of a turning point in the plot, I'll be writing up a prologue of sorts to the major metaplot of the latter half of that campaign and then putting the breaks on for two weeks or so. At that point I'll start giving SH2 some love, probably through the conclusion of this current plot line in the Great Barrow, and into the introduction of the next plot arc (and we'll revisit that meeting between Phaedra and A'kin from earlier).


----------



## Burningspear

*hmmz*

the week has gone and no update as yet, although i did see that there is a update comming for the bigger storyline... :\


----------



## Shemeska

I woefully undershot how long it would take to write up to the point I'd intended to switch over from SH1 to SH2 for a while. And I also realized that a few later events weren't so later, and I've had to move them into upcoming stuff to keep the proper chronology going.


----------



## Shemeska

Phaedra turned away from the opening and moved back towards the group when she felt something brush against her. She assumed it was only a bit of lingering static from the lightning traps but then she felt it again, and felt the air turn colder, almost to the point of being painful. A moment later the air grew thick and her movement slowed.

	Something was wrong.

	Phaedra tried to open her mouth to speak and then she realized that not only was no sound coming out of her mouth, but also that she couldn’t breath.

	Sh*t! She panicked as a malevolent sense seemed to crystallize out of the air and carried with it the sense of something, or multiple things, watching her, laughing at her. Suddenly the air began to squeeze.

	Back down the corridor, Marcus shuffled his feet. “I wonder what she found down there.”

	“Hmm?” Velkyn asked.

	“Well, it’s been a while and she hasn’t come back.” The fighter replied. “Hopefully she’s alright.”

	There was a sudden electric-blue current that burst across the hallway as one of the traps erupted into motion. Despite the darkness they heard the crackle and smelled the ozone.

	“And speak of the devil…” Inva said. “Or ‘loth…half ‘loth… mutt… yeah. Anyway, that would be her.”

	Victor’s ears picked up the rapid pace of her footsteps. “Why is she running?”

_Something’s chasing me!_ Came Phaedra’s telepathic warning. _Help!_

	More traps went off as she burst through them, a trio of things in tow that were best described as hollow envelopes of nothing, bits of living, self-contained vacuum. Her telepathic babbling rambled on for the next few minutes and the time went by with a flurry of movement as Victor and Garibaldi stood their ground and met the hollow creatures with arrows and blades.

	If they’d been weakened by blundering through the traps, or been entirely clueless about the lay of the ground, stumbling in the darkness, the creatures would have been much more deadly opponents. As it was, they were dispatched with little difficulty considering that Victor and Garibaldi had been fighting blind, and they provoked less worry and danger than they provided for a spooked Phaedra and a wonder on Inva’s behalf of just what they might have been in the first place. But there were no more of the vacuum quasielementals, or deific creations akin to them, and after they had calmed down the half-‘loth and assured her that they had killed the creatures and that it was apparent that the darkness held no other such guardians, they managed to coax her back to the front of the party to continue leading them down the corridor, hopefully to find its end point in short order.

	“Watch your step.” Phaedra said as she was momentarily outlined in blue-white lightning.

	With the light came the backlit image of the half-‘loth’s fur standing on end, blowing outwards with the corona of static energy coursing harmlessly through her body. And just before the lightning ended they could see her frowning at the rather comical, decidedly unflattering appearance.

	When darkness fell upon them again, there was a giggle somewhere behind the sorceress. “You’re so much better than tossing a mouse down the hallway!”

	“I know your voice Velk, even if you’re behind me and I can’t see you.” Phaedra replied.

	“You did remember to bring a brush right?” Inva chirped, giggling immediately afterwards.

	Phaedra grated her teeth and some of her fur stood on end momentarily, and not from any static. In fact, several more lightning traps later, when the fur on her face was drifting and moving on its own accord from lingering, residual charge, she was nearly ready to let her temper get the best of her from her friends’ giggling. But seeing her discontent, Velkyn walked up behind her, did his best to smooth out the errant fuzz with a spell or two, and talked her down. It seemed to work, and some additional scratching of her ears seemed to do the trick and calm her down, plus a silent motion to the others to lay off for the moment.

	But they seemed to have reached the end of the traps, and after another thirty feet of darkness they emerged into a chamber. It was still submerged in the same inky darkness, and the smallest rime of frost crunched under their feet as they made their first shuffling, tentative steps inside. But the chamber, despite having no obvious exits, was not a final burial chamber, nor exactly a dead end, but it certainly had a feature that caught the attention of the three who could see it, and likewise the ears of the others who could only hear the gentle, syrupy lapping of liquid.

	“Someone please tell me what that sound is?” Marcus said as he slowed to a halt. “I’m taking that this isn’t a burial chamber? Another dead end or something?”

	“…it’s something alright.” Velkyn said, looking down at the floor.

	A pool, a circular notch in the floor filled with nothingness that seemed to pulse and swell, licking at the stone margins with as much a haze as a true liquid form. Tiny tendrils of shadow wafted up from the surface and then coalesced back down like a writhing mass of serpents.

	In the darkness, Inva smiled. She felt it, even if the magical darkness prevented her from seeing it. The pool was not any liquid, normal, alchemical, or magical. No, the pool was filled with shadowstuff, and even more so, it was a portal.

	Odesseron looked down at the pool, “Well this certainly explains something.”

	Inva nodded, “That the tomb of Nergal is both inside the center barrow here and yet not within the center barrow.”

	Like its mummified architect had told them, Nergal’s tomb was in fact there, dead center in the barrow complex, but physically transposed onto the bloody plane of shadow. It fit the deity certainly, and as she looked at her shadow reflection staring back and winking from within the portal, Inva inwardly smiled since it rather fit her as well.

	The Thayan nodded and gestured to the writing around the lip of the pool, “Does the writing give a key to the portal?”

	Inva shook her head, “It’s just rambling about the pool being the entrance to the most holy inner sanctum of Nergal. It looks permanently open if you ask me.”

	Velkyn rolled his eyes at the priestly wording. “Every door we open, we’re walking into yet another most holy place. How many levels of holy are we in now? No, I think it’s just a code for ‘we drop the temperature even more past this point, hope you enjoy the cold’.”

	Phaedra giggled but Victor was looking distinctly uncomfortable.

	Marcus looked at his brother. “So I take it you don’t want to be the first person through?”

	The cleric looked back up from the pool of shadowstuff and grimaced.

	“Well… as much as I find it distasteful…”

	“Oh hush!” Inva pushed him over the side and through the portal.


***​

Victor tumbled through the portal, plunging into the liquid darkness that seemed to hungrily surround him like a living thing as he struck the surface and slipped below. It was cold and the shock of the transition left him gasping for breath as soon as he emerged onto the other side, landing heavily on his hands and knees.

The cleric shivered and blinked as his eyes adjusted to wherever he'd emerged. It was dark, and despite the black interior of the tomb they'd just left, his eyes struggled to compensate, and the light he'd carried with him originally was actually dimmed, either giving off less light, or the environment was actively consuming its glow. Victor felt the crunch of dry grass and cold earth beneath his fingers, and as his eyes reluctantly dilated and allowed him to see his surroundings what he saw was anything but natural.

He stood on a cold expanse of grassland, like the Great Dale in late autumn, but the colors were all wrong, like the land was an ink wash painting by a bitter artist in the grips of despair; there was nothing but shades of black and white mixed and blurring together, indistinct the moment he looked away to something else. Looking up, the sky was a pale, faintly shimmering gray with black, heavy clouds hanging low and threatening above a brooding plain.

"Oh hell..." Victor muttered as he felt the plane sap at his will, given its antithetical nature to his deity and his personal convictions.

More details emerged as the shadow border gave way to the depths, and steeling his mind, forcing the gloom to grudgingly reveal its secrets, Victor gazed out over the dry grass and onto a twisted version of the Great Dale that never was. The mound complex was gone, replaced by a flat, wild plain that lay waist deep in shifting, hissing grass: the Dale prior to the arrival of the ancient Mulan grieving their fallen god. 

Everything was a nearly monochrome landscape of black and gray, and shadows danced in the negative spaces between the waves of grass blowing and moving on the touch of a cool, immaterial wind from out of the blurred, indistinct horizon. Distance was skewed and warped, and the distant fringes of the Forest of Lethyr and the diseased Rawlinswood were now frighteningly close, barely a half league away, looming, threatening, and distorted in their play of black on gray.

But in that vision of a Great Dale that never was, the footprint of the Untherites was not entirely absent, and where on the prime material there would have been the central mound, Nergal's Tomb, its twisted reflection on Shadow was something altogether different. Away from where they stood, the ground sloped down to form a natural depression in the plain, at the center of which was nestled a perfect and untouched black stone ziggurat. Silvery light flickered and danced like a ceremonial flame around the temple’s summit, shedding a wan, pallid glow as if the moon had been snatched out of the sky and imprisoned like a jewel in some idol within.

Behind and around him, the grass crackled and snapped as the others emerged through the portal, a bit of waning laughter at the cleric's expense trailing away as surprise and uncertainty overwhelmed their mirth.

"Thanks for scouting the place out Victor." Inva said with a giggle. "That grass shouldn't be a threat to anyone else ever again."

There was some more laughter, but perhaps tellingly, it was the tiefling's hand that reached down to help him back up to his feet. For all of the bluff and bitter irreverence, when it came down to it, she knew how to keep friends when she wanted to, and for all her moral failures in the cleric's eyes, she wasn't a bad person to have in that capacity. All of the mocking aside, she didn't hold anything ill towards Victor at all, that was just how she treated everyone given the opportunity.

"I can't say that I really care for this place." Victor said, brushing the dirt from his hands and watching warily as his flesh seemed to shed bits of light in the process.

"Welcome to the plane of Shadow." Inva said, appearing quite at home in their surroundings, while the others seemed various shades of unsteady.

Shadow had a unique effect on any who entered it, usually toying with their feelings and emotions just as much as it sapped at their body heat like a cold draft that couldn't, for all their efforts, be stamped out. Victor seemed to be taking the worst of it, and light flowed out of his skin like silt in a steady current, and concurrent with that illusion of erosion, he felt the warmth leaching from his flesh, escaping into the shadowstuff.

"Hey, cleric of "The right god"." Inva said, poking him in the side. "Just ignore that, it can't do you any harm unless you dwell on it. I've been here enough to know."

Odesseron glanced over at the tiefling. Obviously he'd misjudged her on a number of levels. He'd assumed that she was a competent thief and something of a middling wizard, but her non-reaction to the plane of Shadow, and indeed her reveling in the exposure gave a much deeper breadth to her character. All of them had gradually been appearing to be more than they seemed, some more so than others however. They were people to keep tabs upon, and possibly people to employ given his need in the future if his plans to seize position among the ranks of the Tharcions or even Zulkirs were to come to fruition.

"So how do we get back?" Marcus asked, turning around and looking at the surroundings.

"The portal isn't gone." Inva replied. "There's a weak point between the prime and the shadow border here, even if you can't see it at the moment."

Phaedra narrowed her eyes and seemed to stare at the ground at her feet. "You're right..."

Knowing what the tiefling had said, the awareness of the portal seemed to alter the ground, or at least her perception of the ground. Where there had only been cold, frozen earth, and trampled grass, the shadowstuff seemed to partially condense to a misty, gray-colored liquid in the loose shape of the original portal back in the depths of the central barrow.

"We can still get home." Inva assured them. "And even if that wasn't an option, that wouldn't be the only way. It is however probably the safest."

She gave a far too assured of herself smile and motioned towards the looming ziggurat in the distance. "I believe we have a tomb to plunder."

Marcus moved ahead, confidently striding off, but perhaps sensing something or just doing his brother a favor, Inva whistled for him to stop.

"Before I forget, just one more word of advice." The tiefling said. "Everyone stay together as a group. If you wander off too far from anything that's defined, the plane has a tendency to make it very difficult to get back. Distance is warped, and ten minutes of wandering off in a random direction might put you miles away from where you started. It's dangerous, and I don't want to have to track anyone down if they get sucked past the fringe."

Nodding and taking her advice well in mind, the group moved from the portal and deeper into the gloom, hoping to reach the tomb without spending too much time exposed to the plane, and whatever might be lurking in the gaps between more distinct locations.  The gleaming light of the ziggurat at first seemed distant, maybe a quarter mile from the portal, but before they even realized it, they stood at the base of its steps, looking up at the glossy black stone foundations. Distance was a fickle thing, and the deeper into the plane one went, this fact grew even more so.

A pair of leering, vrock-like statues stood at the base of the stairs, coldly gazing down at the would-be defilers of their long-dead master's final place of rest. But outside of drawing a moment's hesitation from the group, they did little else. So secluded from the prime material, perhaps the dead god's priests had felt traps or wards to be either unnecessary, or a profanity so close to the true tomb.

But in either case, the ascent towards the summit was quick, and with each step the cold light refracted more and more through the material under their feet, mixing with the shadowstuff and the unnatural silence to provide for a disturbing, eerie atmosphere. Even in death, Nergal seemed to demand reverence, and the surroundings of his tomb only added to the strength of that desire.

"No traps and no guardians so far." Velkyn said. "Why do I not like this?"

Phaedra nodded, "I don't like it either, but it's not like we're expecting Nergal to stand up and..."

Inva cut her off, "As cute as you are Phae, you can stop with that line of thought right there..."

Phaedra replied by sticking out her tongue and the others did their best to ignore the faces the pair subsequently made to one another. All the way up to the top of the steps, right to the point where they were able to look inside, the two exchanged looks of mock annoyance that went far beyond the borderline of flirtation, and they were smiling and repressing giggles by the time the opening to the structure atop the ziggurat yawned wide before them.

Their expressions and laughter died a moment later, with a veil of quiet respect and solitude replacing it as they saw the interior. Awash in the same silvery light that bathed the top of the Untheric pyramid itself, the chamber was centered around a single platform that seemed carved from solid shadowstuff. Atop the platform and laying in state was an ebony-skinned, hawk-headed male figure some twenty feet in length, the source of the light and the only thing that seemed to push back the shadows that swirled about him and a circle of smaller platforms, each supporting the corpse of one of the royal family and its closest aides.

The room’s walls were spherical, and they constantly shifted, almost as if the light streaming from the god-corpse of Nergal's last avatar were defining the shadowstuff, forcing it into its shape. The light was cold, carrying a sense of pronounced sorrow and regret, pushing an expression of quiet reverence upon the group as they stepped into the chamber itself.

Dead or not, standing in the presence of a dead god, amid the trappings of his mortal faithful, in the manifest expression of their grief, it was a powerful thing to experience. Around such things it was difficult to not stand in a moment of quiet contemplation out of respect for the fallen, and their grief, especially when you were there to loot their corpses and plunder their wealth. But that atmosphere also was distracting, so much so that they never noticed that two of the funeral platforms were devoid of a corpse, and that one of the sarcophagi stood open and empty.

"So what would your codex happen to look like?" Odesseron asked as he glanced down at the desiccated remains of one of the royal family members, bits of gold and jewels still glittering with radiance despite the millennia.

"Who knows?" Velkyn replied, "But if it's anywhere, it's probably here. We'll have to see if any of the bodies are priests or royal wizards, somebody who might have had need to carry it."

A moment later a bolt of blue lightning erupted out of thin air, sending Inva diving for cover behind one of the sarcophagi and leaving the area coated with a swathe of ice as a robed, skeletal figure faded into sight on the other side of the chamber.

"Ok. F*ck reverence!" Came Inva's scowled response from behind the alabaster casket, followed immediately by the whispered start of a divination.

Bathed in the light of a dead god of air and darkness, surrounded by the infinite gloom of the plane of Shadow, looking up into the face of an undead wizard, Victor suddenly felt a rush of supreme confidence that till that point he'd lacked.

"Back to the hells that should have claimed you!" He shouted, holding forth the symbol of his deity and feeling a wash of power channel through his body before it erupted in a bolt of blistering radiance.

The lich shrieked as the overwhelming force of positive energy consumed it, collapsing to the ground in a cloud of dust and powdered bone. But even as it fell, its unlife snuffed at the source, there was a hiss that echoed across the room from others of its kind who seemed offended rather than harmed by the power of Victor's god. So close to their own divine patron, even if long-dead, the strength of a foreign cleric's convictions could only carry so much weight, and it spoke incredibly of Victor that he'd been able to do what he had.

"There're at least two others out there!" Inva shouted, able to see a pair of robed figures cloaked in invisibility across the room as her spell took effect. "And they don't look like zombies either!"

Shuddering at the implication, Phaedra whispered an incantation to speed her mind and quicken her actions, hoping to give her more time in the event of a protracted spell-dual with any spectral mages, or help them, any liches.

Moving next, standing next to Phaedra, Velkyn whispered the same spell that Inva had a moment earlier, but he cast it not on himself but on Marcus, knowing that the fighter was useless in the fight unless he could see a target. Marcus stepped back as the spell took effect and a trio of skeletal figures took form, and by the time he drew his sword and charged at what looked like the undead revenant of an ancient bard, Velkyn had already taken a page from Inva and made a move for cover, reasoning that the undead would confine their spells to nothing that would risk major damage to the tomb and its honored dead.

The bard was preternaturally quick however and it was already working magic before the half-drow could turn away. In fact all of the undead in Nergal's sanctum seemed possessed of an unearthly speed; they'd probably been hasted long before they'd all stepped into the tomb, and the undead had been waiting to see if they were looters, or perhaps worshippers or descendants.

The bard's translucent fingers held a long, ornately carved flute, but the sounds that leapt from its tip were twisted into something enchanted and malevolent as they reached Phaedra and Velkyn’s ears. Had they been anything other than what they were, the sounds would have inspired a heart-stopping dread, invoking their greatest fears, a dirge capable of slaying them where they stood. But by virtue of blood, fiendish and fey, neither of them was affected, and as soon as that became apparent, a snarl crossed the ghostly features of their would-be killer before it began playing a song to embolden its fellows.

Marcus was halfway to the bard, and Garibaldi and Francesca were both moving in the direction of the sound of the flute when the other lich, one of the last high priests of Nergal, screamed a blistering curse from the black depths of his soul. The words erupted outwards, rocking the senses and stopping the fighters in their tracks with its potency. Had they been lesser beings, possessed of less inner conviction, the invocation might have killed them all where they stood, but it was devastating nonetheless, and for Phaedra even more so.

The half-'loth paused and shuddered as the shadowstuff pooling at her ankles suddenly felt as if it were about to snatch hold of her, as if the plane of Shadow itself sought to grab hold of her as a being entirely non-native and forcibly expel her back to the plane of her birth (whatever that might have been). It was a harrowing few moments, but somehow she managed to resist the effect, and when she recovered from her daze, her eyes were still looking at Nergal's tomb, rather than some other vista in Elysium or Gehenna.

But Nergal's priest was hardly finished, and having already witnessed the heresy of a cleric of a power of light and good obliterate one of the viziers of the royal family, the cleric-lich turned its gaze to Victor and called upon one of the most powerful curses granted by his fallen god that was yet within his mind.

Extending its hand, a bolt of darkness leapt outwards, slamming into Victor with a roar of black flames. For a moment it seemed as if he might have been consumed by the unholy power, but when they receded, Victor was still there, still clutching his holy symbol, brutally burned and injured, but still alive and defiant against the lich's power.

Slowly the ringing in their ears stopped and the discord struck by the cleric's blasphemy receded, allowing them to regain their senses, and not a moment too soon as the pair of powerful undead guardians were already moving to hurl yet more spells.

Shaking her head, Inva narrowed her eyes and seemed to melt into the periphery of the room's shadows, moving to flank the cleric as Velkyn stayed hidden, whispering the same spell to let him see their unseen attackers. Necromancer or not, the half-drow was useless if he wasn't able to see them.

Red light flared in the eye sockets of the lich-priest, and had it lips, it would have sneered as it repeated its prayer of invoked destruction a second time, not at Victor, but at his brother, keen to prevent the fighter from disrupting the song of the spectral bard. A harsh, hissing litany of word rang out and black flames engulfed Marcus, drawing a scream and hurling the man to the ground.

"Marcus!" Victor cried out, inwardly praying that his wayward sibling was still alive.

The flames cleared and the lich hissed; Marcus was injured but somehow had managed to resist the priest's hideous spell.

Twice the defilers had resisted the destructive touch of his patron. Twice they had defied him as well as his god, and their presence would not be tolerated a moment more. Extending a fleshless hand down to the burial platform that he had lain upon in dreamless sleep for millennia, he gripped one of the last gift's of his god before they had gone to wage open war upon the most hated and godless Imaskari, a time when he himself had still been mortal. It was a black onyx talisman forged in the depths of darkest shadow, imbued with the screaming torment of all those souls ensnared by the god's talons upon the battlefields of the afterlife, and poetically enough the receptacle for his own soul in undeath.

"Zeerkash eret Nergal!" The lich screamed, pointing at Victor with one hand while grasping the talisman tightly in the other and holding it close to his bejeweled, gold inscribed sternum.

The reaction was immediate. Nergal was long dead, despite his priest's delusional laments that he would rise again, and spells invoked in his name called upon an ever waning pool of slowly dispersing faith. But the talisman as an artifact possessed of a strength all its own was not constrained by the content of such reservoirs.

Suddenly the chamber was awash in light as without warning a brilliant crack ripped open in the ground directly beneath Victor, spilling forth a torrent of flames like it were a portal to some proverbial hell below. He screamed as the lich's laughter echoed time and time again over a hail of screams that called out for endless agony from the chasm's depths.

"Sh*t!" Victor shouted, scrambling to grab something as the floor dropped out from beneath him and he felt the touch of very real, very physical fingers grasping for his feet and ankles.

The lich cackled, lost for a moment in the absolute conviction of a fanatic calling down judgment upon an infidel, but the laughter was premature. Victor lunged to one side and gripped the edge of an open sarcophagus lid, holding on for all his worth, watching the blood leach from his knuckles till he felt the heat subside, the screams fade away, and the grip upon his legs vanish back into nothing.

The crack in the floor closed, leaving no trace of its appearance, and as Victor ducked for cover behind the same marble casket that had saved his life, the lich cursed in its own forgotten tongue and turned to find its next target.

"Oh f*ck this." Odesseron muttered, eyes wide over the array of powers displayed by the lich, empowered and emboldened even more by the buttressing of the spectral bard's continued magical tune.

Let the others draw the lich's attention, let them doom themselves on the contingencies that danced across its body, but the bard was something else entirely. The bard had to go, and it presented itself as a worthy target without the risk of directly assaulting the undead priest.

Odesseron screamed a phrase in Mulhorandi and pointed to the bard, sending a glittering and deadly beam of emerald light across the chamber to strike the apparition. The magic connected and the flute's haunting song went silent, replaced by the momentary scream of its immolated master and a discordant clatter as the enchanted instrument dropped to the floor amid a pile of silvery dust.

It was a self-serving action, and the intent had been to strike a blow without risking his life in the process, but unfortunately for the Red Wizard, the bard's disintegration at his hand provoked the exact opposite. Howling with rage, the lich-priest turned and gestured with a single smooth action, and there was nothing Odesseron could have done to protect himself; he'd long ago sacrificed the entire school of abjuration in his quest for more and more mastery over the necromantic arts. But agony more so than irony washed over his flesh in the last moments of his life before it all went black as the lich's curse reduced his flesh to ash.

Distracted from its immediate surroundings by its flurry of spellcasting, the lich had made no move to protect itself from physical attack, and before Odesseron's ashes had fully settled to the ground Marcus drove the heavy basket handle of his sword into the its skull. But though the blow was heavy, and nearly knocked the spindly creature to the ground, it also activated a latent contingency.

Marcus cried out and for the second time that day was flung backwards as a jagged bolt of black energy erupted from a heavy silver pectoral around the lich's neck, lancing out to strike with deadly accuracy. The blow was not lethal, but much like the undead cleric's negative energy laced touch, the contingent spell left the fighter frigid and numb, teetering backwards with his teeth chattering as his muscles clenched unresponsively.

Perhaps less brave, or perhaps just more knowledgeable about arcane defenses, the moment the contingency was activated and its power expended, Inva coalesced out of the raw shadowstuff that formed the wall behind the lich. Lashing out and up, her sword stabbed repeatedly at its ribs and spine, eliciting a hail of necromantic sparks while gouging out chunks of brittle bone and slashing its moldering robes to ribbons.

Still grimacing from the lich's earlier assaults, Victor saw his brother injured for a second time and quickly drew an arrow to his bow. Normally it would be idiotic to fire a ranged weapon into the middle of a melee combat, but the arrow whose fletching touched his cheek was something out of the ordinary. He'd prepared them that morning when reciting his prayers: arrows imbued with positive energy, specifically designed to disrupt and destroy the undead. Given their enchantment, even if he struck his brother by accident, they were more than likely going to help him after the initial wound. It was a gamble, but it was one he needed to take before letting the lich take any more deadly action.

Three times an arrow flashed through the air in so many brief seconds, intended for the lich, but twice they sunk into Marcus's back, sinking deep and drawing blood a moment before their healing power washed through his flesh to repair their own errant damage and more. One of the arrows however sailed past the fighter and lodged in the lich's side, spearing through the back of one shoulder blade and sending a tremor through its form when the enchantment buffeted the creature with positive energy.

Away from the fighting, Garibaldi whispered a prayer and a circle of holy flame leapt up to surround him as Velkyn stood back up and called out a powerful necromantic command. Undeath had its benefits, but it also carried the drawbacks of having entire schools of magic devoted to commanding and controlling such beings. Velkyn shouted out a simple command of *HALT* with as much force as he could muster, hoping that the lich's distraction and injury would have weakened its willpower to the point where he could force it to submit.

The command went out and the lich turned and snarled, moving to cast again.

"Ah.... sh*t!" Velkyn said, ducking for cover even more quickly than he had the first time.

Congealing out of shadowstuff a second time, Inva flicked a single bead of amber flame at the lich's feet, figuring that she'd be gone by the time it detonated, the lich wasn't quick enough to dodge, and that Marcus... well... Victor could always heal him later. Sadly though, she failed to notice, or at least account, for Garibaldi's headstrong rush into the fray. The not-quite paladin was wreathed in flames, and only twenty feet from the lich-priest, he was wreathed in flames of an altogether different sort.

"What the hell was that?" Velkyn shouted as he felt the wave of heat emanating in waves even where he'd taken cover.

Inva slipped out of the room's shroud of darkness and ducked in next to him with a decidedly "whoops" expression on her face.

"The lich tossed a spell." She said, giving a grimace and then immediately looking away, especially from were Phaedra sat, still recovering from the earlier spell that had nearly banished her.

More shouts rang out and they heard the sound of more arrows being fired by Victor, the sound of sword on bone, and one last, almost desperate invocation by the lich followed by a defiant bellow from Garibaldi. Peering back over the top of the sarcophagus they'd ducked behind, Inva saw Victor tending to his brother and garibaldi both while next to them the lich's remains slowly smoldered.

But there was killing a lich and there was _killing_ a lich, and one was always harder than the other.

"Where's the phylactery?" Velkyn asked with some urgency. "He doesn't look like anything stranger than a typical lich, outside of being a priest instead of a wizard, but I want to snuff it rather than risk any of these guys coming back after us."

"We'll find it eventually." Inva said as she walked a circuit around the room, deliberately prodding each of the other corpses with the end of her sword. "He won't be coming back immediately, but let's make sure there's nothing else in here to surprise us first."

Of course the tiefling very openly didn't go near the corpse of Nergal's avatar; that one would be well enough left alone, conspicuously so.

Meanwhile, Francesca crawled out from where she'd taken cover and looked down at Odesseron's remains. "Hey guys? What should we do about the Thayan?"

She drew a few confused gazes, and it took them all a moment to realize that they'd completely forgotten about the necromancer. Outside of a few magical trinkets, a book of spells and the man's crimson robe, nothing remained but a pile of fine white ash, and it was likely that the cause of his death would prohibit anything but the most powerful resurrection spell from returning him to life.

"F*ck him." Velkyn said emphatically, turning to look down at the necromancer's remains with a smile.

There was a moment of silence and they all realized that they honestly didn't have much care or concern. It had been a business relationship, a strained and awkward one at times, and several of them had only worked with him out of a desire to avoid open conflict. They had little reason to lament his passing, and Velkyn at least openly despised the man, his attitude, his treatment of his apprentices, and virtually everything about him.

Velkyn was still smiling at the pile of ash.

"You know, you've got a smile on your face that won't quit." Phaedra said as she watched light stream off of the half-drow's smile, a unique circumstance on Shadow, where normally she'd have seen light glinting off of that same grin.

"Absolutely." He replied as he knelt down and sifted through the powder-fine remains. "On some level I'm disappointed that I don't get to kill the b*stard myself, but there's an irony to him being killed by a lich. Lich-bait indeed."

Phaedra gave a soft chuckle as Velkyn lifted up the spellbook and blew the dust off of the cover.

"Not like he'll be using it anymore." Velkyn said. "Besides, I'm curious to see how well equipped he was and how much was just an act."

"Probably a bit of both." Inva said as she sat atop one of the funeral beirs.

Velkyn smirked, "At least we don't have to give him a share now."

"What about his apprentices?" Victor asked.

Phaedra shook her head, "The ones that are left anyways..."

"Yeah..." Velkyn sighed. "We'll have to handle his apprentices later, but I've got an idea on that, depending on what their reaction is. Honestly I'm not sure that they'll be much better than him, but we'll see."

In the meantime though, they had more primary concerns. Somewhere they would hopefully find the priest-lich's phylactery, and potentially another phylactery for the undead wizard who'd been disintegrated by their late Thayan companion. And hopefully somewhere in the chamber they would find the Codex of Long Shadows and Last Breaths, whatever it was, whatever it looked like.

"Hmm." Garibaldi said, looking at a small dais next to the lich's burial platform.

Resembling an altar in some ways it was surrounded by a small circle of black candles, all long since melted down to misshapen hunks of wax and soot on the floor, probably lit just before the tomb builders had traveled back to the barrow on the prime material. But nestled in the center of the circle sat a human skull carved with intricate lines of flowing cuneiform script, inlaid with silver, with its jaw hinged open to hold a flawless, fist sized amethyst.

"Guys?" Garibaldi called out to the others. "What do phylacteries tend to look like?"

He would have gotten a reply, several replies in fact, but his attention was suddenly snatched away as the gemstone in the skull's mouth began to pulse with an inner light and the skull itself rose up in the air to hover at eye level with him.

"Guys?" The fighter asked with a bit of urgency. "Umm..."

Purple light flickered off of his face as the gem inset in the skull flickered fiercely with its inner light.

"_Upesh. Upesh Ma’hackteh. Shuval’akt!_" The words of a language distinctly differently than ancient Untheric echoed defiantly inside Garibaldi's mind, and in the minds of each of the others as they suddenly turned to look at the floating skull. "_Nergal m’akt’tresse! Gilgeam m’akt’tresse! Wa me’pe gora’tov. Imaskar gora’tov!_"


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## Burningspear

wicked details about the shadow Ziggurath, and i love the "ancient" languages being spat out....


ALL HAIL SHEMMY,

May Nergal kick player butt, and vica versa 

and first reply, lol.


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## Fimmtiu

Shemeska said:
			
		

> "Guys?" The fighter asked with a bit of urgency. "Umm..."




Best line yet.


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## Burningspear

*Kick at the DM's shins, write faster the Demon says...


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## Shemeska

Burningspear said:
			
		

> *Kick at the DM's shins, write faster the Demon says...




*chuckle*

I'm trying to finish writing something this week that has a deadline.


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## Ghostknight

Beautifully written, as enjoyable as story hour 1.  Problem is, now that I'm up to date on both I've gpt to wait for the next update!


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## Burningspear

Shemeska said:
			
		

> *chuckle*
> 
> I'm trying to finish writing something this week that has a deadline.




I think that line has gone dead and needs reanimating 

-"Clear!"

*Bump, Krrrrzappppp....


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## Shemeska

Update sometime late next week. This week has been dead and I honestly don't remember much of it because I've been coming home and sleeping within an hour or two. My job is in the middle of a trio of vaccine studies and I've been getting worked nearly to death as the junior scientist in the group. Yay nearly 300 orbital bleeds in a two day period.

Due to the delay, the next update will be a bit longer.


----------



## Burningspear

Shemeska said:
			
		

> Update sometime late next week. This week has been dead and I honestly don't remember much of it because I've been coming home and sleeping within an hour or two. My job is in the middle of a trio of vaccine studies and I've been getting worked nearly to death as the junior scientist in the group. Yay nearly 300 orbital bleeds in a two day period.
> 
> Due to the delay, the next update will be a bit longer.




then u better make it at least 2 pages full long , because i am catching way to much dust here in the "future" (U.K.).. lol


----------



## Shemeska

“Holy sh*t!” Velkyn exclaimed as he looked at the hovering, speaking skull that looked nothing so much as a demilich.

	Reacting purely on instinct, Victor held aloft his holy symbol and invoked the name of his god. Sunlight momentarily filled the room, illuminating a small section around the cleric with the distinct exception of anywhere near the corpse of Nergal’s last avatar, but otherwise nothing much happened before the shadows and silvery light rushed back in like the tide and swamped the foreign god’s intrusion.

	The skull, absolutely unaffected, turned to glance at Victor and a distinctly dismissive scoff echoed in his head. Garibaldi of course hadn’t moved an inch from where he stood, a deer-in-headlights look fixed on his face.

	“…Ooops?” Victor said as he slowly began to back away with a look of contrition on his face.

	Whatever it was, demilich or not, his attempt to turn it, the same power that had so many times sent the undead of the Great Barrow into flight, or incinerated them outright, it had done absolutely nothing. He wasn’t going to further provoke it, and he dreaded what actions it might take next.

	But the floating skull did nothing, though it mentally spoke a few inscrutable words towards Victor, dripping with condescension.

	Morbidly curious, Inva whispered the arcane phrases of a tongues spell. Moments later after she heard the next few statements by the floating skull, she blinked with a mixture of emotions crossing over her face, emotions that comprised a bit more awe, surprise, and seriousness than was typical for the her.

	“You can put that down Victor.” She said, listening as the skull turned to look at her and repeated its first pronouncements.

_”Upesh. Upesh Ma’hackteh…”_

	“He’s not a demilich, and he isn’t the phylactery we’re looking for.” The tiefling explained. “-He’s- the codex of Long Shadows and Last Breaths.”

	“Excuse me?” Victor asked, lowering his holy symbol.

	Velkyn looked at it: a floating, talking skull. “It’s a mimir?”

	The skull didn’t seem to like that statement; evidently it could understand them perfectly, and was either unable to talk to them outside of its ancient tongue, or just unwilling to. Regardless of which the case was, it belted out a long string of angry words, followed by manic laughter, finally followed by a shout of pain and a crackle of energy that surged across the lines of silver runes carved into its cranium.

	“Woah!” Marcus said, taking a step back. “What the hell was that?”

	Inva winced. “Nergal reaching out of the grave to punish his killer.”

	“Excuse me?” Victor asked a second time.

	Phaedra tilted her head, “Wasn’t Nergal killed by one of the Imaskari emperors?”

	The skull shook slightly, almost as if it were recovering from a seizure or fit of some sort. Again it rattled off a long string of words, but the second time its tone was more subdued, though with the same undercurrent of cynicism and suppressed anger.

	“The first thing he said.” Inva explained. “Roughly translating: I’m still alive. I am still here. Nergal is dead. Gilgeam is dead. Imaskar lives on.”

	Victor came to an unsettling realization. “Wait a minute…”

	“Yeah…” Inva nodded. “The Codex is a mimir made out of the skull and spirit of the last Imaskari Sorcerer-King, Grand Artificer Yuvaraj the Purple Emperor.”

	The skull-mimir nodded, and the soul-gem lodged in its mouth pulsed with light.

	“For those of us who aren’t from Toril,” Marcus said, pointing to the skull. “Review the history here a bit?”

Inva nodded, “He was responsible for the abduction of the Mulhorandi and Untheric people from their worlds, and he was there when their gods came to Toril seeking revenge. He managed to inflict a mortal wound on Nergal before they finally killed him and took their revenge for what he’d done.”

	The skull rattled off another several statements and Inva nodded. “Correct me if I’m wrong here. Or say it yourself if you don’t want me to interpret.”

	The skull continued speaking in Raurinese, the tongue of Imaskar, and let the tiefling continue to translate.

	“They forced him to bear witness to Nergal’s dying words, and they forced him to serve as an unwilling repository for the lore of his enemies, a witness to the eventual destruction of the Imaskari Empire and people at the hands of their slaves’ gods.”

	The gilt skull hovering before them contained the soul of one of the most powerful spellcasters to have ever walked the face of Toril.

	“Yes…” Yuvaraj said, slipping into an archaic yet fluid dialect of planar common. The Imaskari were intimately familiar with the planes; of course their last emperor knew how to speak to his guests.

	“I was made to listen to Nergal’s babbling delirium before he passed away, and after they had carved their prayers into my skull they carried me as a trophy as they finished their destruction of my nation and my people. Their victory was not complete, but alas, I’m unable to speak on the issue. Their restrictions on what I might say are more a hell than any of the lower planes, and more a torment then my current state of being as an over-glorified mimir, an unliving example of what the elves might call a selukiira.”

	“Well you won’t have to stay here in Nergal’s tomb anymore.” Velkyn said. “Our employers are rather interested in meeting you, though I’m not sure if they entirely knew just who or what you were.”

	Inva gave him a skeptical look. “Assuming they told us everything they knew before they sent us.”

	“Who sent you?”

	“That’s a very good question.” Victor said. “We don’t know all of the particulars. One of them is a wizard, but I won’t know precisely what race he might be. He looks human, but I doubt that he is. We haven’t met any of the others yet.”

	“We’ll be taking you to meet them.” Inva explained. “Well, once we’ve finished looking over what Nergal seems to have left us that is.”

	“You have my gratitude.” Yuvaraj said, putting as much thanks into his tone as his status seemed capable of permitting. “In the meantime, I am obligated by my current nature to offer you what information I know, within limits set forth by Nergal’s priests. Ask me any question and I will answer if capable.”

	“So what do you know about looting Nergal’s tomb?” Marcus asked.

	As grossly inappropriate a question as it was, Yuvaraj projected a mental impression of a smile, all a moment before the pain came once again. As he’d indicated, Nergal’s last clerics and the high-priests of the Untheric pantheon had written prohibitions and strictures into his state of existence down to what he was capable of saying, what he couldn’t say, and what would bring down punishment unless he avoided it. They left open the chance to blaspheme, tempting and taunting him with the satisfaction of speaking his mind, but he would suffer for each and every word of it.

	“I am limited to a great extent in what I can say mortal.” The Emperor explained. “A result of the process by which the clerics of Gilgeam, Nergal, Assuran, and others ripped my soul from my corpse and bottled me inside the gem they set into my skull like an apple in the maw of a roast pig. I would wish nothing more than to help you… collect… what you wish from this place.”

	It was obvious the Sorcerer-King gone mimir was picking and choosing his words carefully so as to avoid pain, and to provide what knowledge he could to the people who could actually affect his most-hated enemies, past and perhaps still present.

	“Be direct mortal. I can answer you more in depth if asked specific questions.”

	Victor winced at the agony the man’s state of being must have been, all at the same time he knew that in life he was responsible for atrocities on a grand and staggering scale. Still, Victor had to feel pity, but they had some other pressing questions before they could begin to understand more about who Yuvaraj was, and just why their employers wanted his spirit so badly.

	“One of the clerics in this tomb was a lich.” Victor stated. “He had a phylactery. Do you know what it looks like and where it is?”

	“His phylactery was crafted out of and embedded into the magical structure of a minor artifact, generically referred to as a so-called Talisman of Ineffable Evil. His particular amulet, roughly four inches across and carved of black onyx, is currently still gripped in his hand.”

	“You enjoyed that.” Inva said, leaning back against one of the empty sarcophagi.

	“Yes. Yes I did.” Yuvaraj spat. “He was one of the lesser priests involved in my… situation. He can rot in Hades for all I care. I suspect that he’ll find his afterlife even worse than mine however, given the status of Nergal’s domain.”

	Phaedra grimaced, “I can only imagine.”

	Garibaldi looked to his left and stooped down to pick up the talisman still resting amid the corporeal remains of the clerical lich. He looked at Victor and then down to the phylactery, and then with a nod he placed it on one of the funeral biers and smashed it into a dozen pieces with the heavy, weighted end of his sword’s pommel.

	Again there was the sensation of pleasure projected by the trapped spirit of Yuvaraj, but he’d crossed a line and a sharp cry of pain echoed across the chamber a moment later.

	“As you can see, there are limitations in place.” He said with some difficulty, still recovering.

	“Could we remove them?” Velkyn asked.

	The skull rotated side to side, shaking its head in the negative. “My knowledge of how to do precisely that is locked away among the topics that are entirely prohibited.”

	Inva and Velkyn looked at one another, thinking the same thought. Yuvaraj was Imaskari, and the vast majority of that ancient kingdom’s lore was vanished and forgotten. Their magic was also among the grandest and most unique to have ever been developed on Toril, so the question remained, what could the spirit of their last emperor tell them about that magic, and Imaskar itself.

	“I take it that you’re prohibited from telling us about Imaskari magic?”

	The skull audibly sighed, for a moment sounding like a broken prisoner. “Yes…”

	“Damn.” Velkyn said, gently kicking Nergal’s funeral platform. “Too much to hope for I suppose.”

	Yuvaraj drifted slightly closer to the ground, almost a submissive gesture. “Not only am I prevented from using any magic of my own, but I am utterly prohibited from teaching it to others.”

	“What about Imaskar itself?” Velkyn asked. “Can you talk about it and its history?”

	“To an extent, but only in the context of the eventual conquest of my nation by our slaves and their god-kings. I could tell you of the fall of Inupras and the march of Horus-Re through the gates of the city, and I could speak of the features of the city as it was sacked, but I couldn’t delve into its history except when relating to its destruction. The foreign gods took revenge on us, on me, for what we did. But I do not regret it”

	Yuvaraj was getting angry again, and the end result was by that point well known.

“I would do it again.” He snarled. “I would build a hundred cities on the broken backs of their worshippers, and I would dance atop Nergal’s corpse and every other so-called god if I had the chance. I watched him die, and I will treasure that moment when he begged first for help, and then deliriously begged for release from his pain. I never begged, not even when they tore my soul out. I…”

	The skull dropped to the ground, enmeshed in a coruscating field of purple energy whose static crackle was overshadowed complete by a howl of pain. When it ended, Yuvaraj was once again more subdued.

	“Ask what you will. But please do not tempt me to say what I mustn’t.”

	Victor looked down at the lich’s shattered phylactery. “What my brother asked about before, just in a bit more detail. Are there any traps here in this chamber, and are their any other phylacteries present? There was the one lich, but more undead of a similar nature, but I’m not certain if they others might be able to reform after their destruction.”

	“There are no traps in the most… holy… sanctuary of Nergal. They considered it superfluous and blasphemous. There were only the undead guardians, and among their kind only one of them was a true lich. The others were undead yes, but more primitive, not capable of regenerating a form after the destruction of their shell. They rose not out of intentional descent into undeath, but as a side effect of their burial and their dying oaths to their patron. There is nothing else to bother you.”

	Marcus looked around, Velkyn glanced at the spot where the undead wizard had been disintegrated, and Inva let loose a covetous giggle that simply couldn’t be held in any longer. It was open season on a dead god’s tomb, at least for whatever could be immediately stuffed into bags, pouches, and pockets to bring out of the tomb and back to the prime material. They had what their employers wanted, though it was a person as much as an object, and anything else in the tomb was theirs to claim.

	In rapid fashion the standing sarcophagi were opened, their contents emptied and the corpses within stripped of obvious grave goods. The bodies lying in the open atop their funeral platforms were similarly stripped, and ultimately only the corpse of Nergal’s avatar itself was left unmolested.

	Gemstones, coins, jewelry and adornments of archaic design, and all sorts of mundane treasures began to pile up, with a smaller pile of obviously magical or unique looking objects set off the side, but the second pile was smaller only by comparison to the first.

	“We can’t carry all of this…” Francesca lamented as she opened up a sack and glanced at a pile of gemstones at the edge of one corpse’s shoulder.

	“That’s what coming back is for.” Inva said as she picked up a glowing, rose-quartz ring from the destroyed remains of the undead wizard.

	The ring wasn’t magical, at least it didn’t glow with a dweomer beneath the tiefling’s divination magic, but the ring was glowing on its own, and the moment that Inva picked it up, she knew immediately that it wasn’t simply natural phosphorescence.

_Passing now from the hand of Iutep Shulnok, Court Conjurer and Son-in-Law of Nergal, once bound to the hand of Imenseph, Artificer of Kaeleish, you hold me in your hands, Towapesh’s Eternal Companion. Wear me, and I shall be with you unto the end. Wear me and know me, if you are worthy of my gifts._

	Inva grinned and looked at the others. She knew that if they got into a discussion over it, there was going to be an argument about who got the ring, something which screamed –artifact-. Yes there was probably a drawback to wearing it, and inwardly she suspected that putting the ring on was probably much easier than taking it off, if the ring’s name and words were any indication.

_Nothing risked, nothing gained._ She thought to herself before slipping the ring onto her left ring finger.

	The rose-quartz ring was carved into the shape of an ouroboros, a serpent biting its own tail, and the moment that she slipped it onto her finger, she felt it awake. Suddenly becoming animate, the ring rotated a complete circle of her finger and then proceeded to release its tail and sink its fangs into her flesh, drawing up and consuming a pair of tiny drops of blood.

	“Damn it…” Inva muttered, shaking her hand. “I should have expected that.”

	Velkyn and Phaedra looked over at her and collectively spoke their first thought. “What did you do?”

	Inva held up her hand, showing the ring, showing the tiny smear of blood, and showing the glowing ring that wasn’t glowing with any obvious magic under the sight of her companions.

	“I tried it on to see how it would look.” She replied, frowning at the ring. “It seems to have taken a liking to me.”

	“Has it done anything else?” Phaedra asked. “I’m thinking about curses and such.”

	Inva shrugged and gently tugged at the ring. As expected it didn’t move an inch, and though she could adjust its position on her finger, rotate it around and gently move it ever so forwards and back, attempting to slip it off of her finger was impossible. The ring was bound to her, presumably till death, or maybe the loss of a finger, neither of which was a pleasant thought.

	“Hasn’t even said anything since it bit me.” She said.

	The ring hadn’t made any comments or indications of what it was capable of since she’d put it on, though she was vaguely aware of it at the fringes of her consciousness. It was there, but it was being measured and distant, likely still mulling over the quality and content of its new companion. Eventually she figured that it would break its silence and they would talk, but till then, there was little she could do.

	“We’ll be keeping an eye on you.” Velkyn said. “Just in case it’s intelligent if you know what I mean, possession and all.”

	Inva nodded and sat down again, admiring the ring and trying to coax it into responding, but after several moments of the ring’s continued silence she gave up and went back to sifting through more of Nergal’s treasure.

	Next came a plethora of wands, a glass staff whose surface flowed and crawled with a drifting series of shadowy runes. Whatever it was, it seemed imbued with the essence of shadowstuff, and though Inva seemed more curious about the ring in her hand, everyone else looked at the staff, and then at her and realized that she’d be the only one suited to use it even before it had been properly identified.

	Velkyn picked up a second staff, one of bleached and polished white wood inlayed with a line of golden Untheric script. The staff felt warm to his touch and was tipped with a flame carved from carnelian, with a single colored flaw that resembled nothing so much as a curl of smoke at the flame’s tip. It wasn’t self-identifying, but the connection to flame or smoke was obvious, and as soon as they had time, he’d be casting the spells to be certain of its purpose.

	A number of magical bracers and similar protective objects were found, cursorily identified and divvied up among Phaedra and Marcus, the latter of which also took a ring that produced a barrier of force, much like a smaller shield, but which wouldn’t cause any encumbrance.

	Off to the other side of the tomb, Francesca picked up a slim pewter and ivory flute whose surface swirled with tiny symbols of wind storms and gusts. It was the same flute that the spectral bard had been using when they entered the tomb, but it wasn’t definite if the powers it had shown had been ones granted by the flute, or by its own magical abilities as a bard or an undead creature.

“Anyone have an idea what this might do?” The fighter asked, holding up the flute and turning towards the pile of objects that Velkyn, Inva, and Phaedra were hovering over like vultures at a carcass.

	Velkyn looked back and at the flute that was glowing at a more than decent strength.

	“Quite a bit of conjuration magic.”

	Later when they had a chance to discern just what it did, they’d find that the flute was capable of summoning and controlling air elementals, assuming the user could properly play the instrument. Additionally, and perfectly in line with something found in the tomb of a god of air and darkness, the flute had a limited capacity to summon forth a wind storm when played at midnight on the prime material.

	Francesca nodded and went back to sorting a cluster of wands while Velkyn admired a slender and well-balanced dagger that glittered with a sheen of ice.

	Marcus put down an incense filled censer and looked over at the others. “Do we want to make claim to stuff now, or are we going to wait till later once we’ve fully identified things?”

	“I think a little bit of column A, a little bit of column B.” Phaedra said.

	Victor shivered. Surrounded by the dead, a dozen feet away from the corpse of an evil god’s avatar, in the Plane of Shadow… it was all as far away from his concept of what was healthy and holy as it could be. Nergal’s essence was still swirling about the tomb, and occasionally he would find himself having to force himself to breath, like the dead god would have happily let someone willingly suffocate in his tomb, a fate that appeared to have happened on some scale elsewhere in the tomb complex among the builders and some of the buried dead themselves.

	It might not have just been Nergal’s presence either, because the Plane of Shadow on its own tended to twist, distort, and exacerbate certain feelings and perceptions. The plane was a dark mirror of the prime material, and while Inva might have been at home in the dark wasteland, Victor felt like the plane was trying to suffocate him even more than a living Nergal might have tried.

“This place is disturbing.” The cleric said, unconsciously rubbing his holy symbol like a worry stone.

	“The dark getting to you?” Inva asked, suddenly standing behind him, emerging from the gloom behind one of the sarcophagi, the red of her eyes standing out from the darkness.

	Victor jumped in surprise and the tiefling grinned and giggled, slapping his shoulder as she walked past him.

	“Sorry Victor.” She said, still grinning. “I couldn’t help that.”

	“I know.” He replied. “But still, this place is seriously getting under my skin.”

	Phaedra felt mildly uncomfortable, but it wasn’t anything that she couldn’t put up with. “Is it that bad?”

	Garibaldi nodded his head vigorously, and seeing that it wasn’t just Victor expressing such a level of discomfort, Francesca and Marcus nodded as well. Half the group wasn’t comfortable with the surroundings, even in the absence of any danger, assuming that the floating skull of an ancient sorcerer-king with a brutal hatred of gods had been telling the truth about the absence of danger in the first place.

	Perhaps it was best if they retreated to a safer, or at least more comfortable location.

	“Yeah, it’s pretty bad.” Victor said. “Would anyone object to getting everything together and moving out of the plane of Shadow? Maybe even back to the surface on the prime? I don’t know if I could even receive my spells here when I pray to my deity.”

	There weren’t any real objections, though Inva made some half-hearted jibs at her fellows for being scared of the dark, or scared of things hiding in the dark, maybe including herself. But the decision seemed pretty solid that leaving the Plane of Shadow was in order, and likely moving back beyond the tomb on the other side of the portal as well.

After some final discussions about who was going to carry what, they prepared to leave, making one final pass over the contents of the tomb. As they did so, Garibaldi glanced down at the pile of dust and pooled robes that marked where their erstwhile ally, Odesseron, had been disintegrated. "So how exactly are we going to break the news about Odesseron to his apprentices?"

	“Gingerly.” Velkyn said. “I don’t want them attacking us, which they might just do.”

	“They don’t strike me as very loyal though.” Victor said. “Well, not to their old master anyway. You think they’ll retaliate if they think we killed him?”

	He shrugged, “No, they’re not. I’m assuming they won’t care that he’s dead and they’ll take it as an opportunity to enrich themselves now that they’re not in his shadow anyway. I’m worried that they’ll freak over losing out on material from the Barrow they might have gotten from him, or that they might freak because I’ve got his spellbook and they might consider that theirs. I don’t know.”

	“Should we give the guy a proper burial or anything?” Garibaldi asked. “I’m assuming that nobody is even considering bringing him back to life.”

	“He doesn’t deserve it.” Velkyn said firmly, a frightening solidity in his voice. “Neither a proper burial or resurrection. Wherever his soul goes is what fate he’ll be deserving of. Hopefully somewhere ugly.”

	“I’d guessing Carceri.” Inva said. “If I was a betting girl.”

	Velkyn nodded. “That’d be a safe bet I think. But yeah, we’ll handle his apprentices when we get back. Odesseron’s ashes can share space with Nergal till the end of time. It’s better than he deserves, but it’ll have to do.”

As they gathered their spoils, Yuvaraj included, and descended down from the top of the ziggurat, it seemed that Nergal's tomb was to become Odesseron's as well. There wasn’t a single lament, verbal or mental, about the Thayan’s fate as they wandered back into the shadow fringe, back to the pool of liquid shadow, and finally back into the depths of the Great Barrow on the Prime.

	Back in the tomb, there was a small discussion about exploring some of the additional chambers and unexplored sections, but the discussion was brief. They had as much treasure as they could possibly carry, even taking magic into account, and more importantly they had the object that they had come for in the first place. With the Codex in their possession, they had very little reason to risk their lives within the trap-studded recesses of the central mound.

	It took just under an hour to make their way back through the barrow and to the glass-coated shaft that led up to the surface. Thankfully there was little but a mental grumble from Severesthifek the imprisoned balor as they made their way to the exit, and they had little intention of ever meeting the tanar’ri again.

"Throw down the rope!" Velkyn shouted up towards the pinpoint of daylight at the top of the shaft. "We're coming back up!"

"And if you don't lower the rope, or you decided to run off with anything from our camp, life will be unpleasant…" Inva muttered darkly.

"Oh, I suspect life was already unpleasant for them." Phaedra added.

"Well the worst of their unpleasantness is over." Velkyn said. "We left his dust back on the Plane of Shadow."

Victor nodded, "True. Hopefully they won't follow the same path as he did."

Velkyn took a deep, measured breath and shrugged. "Well see how they'll take it. I'm not keeping my hopes up, but we'll see how they handle it. Hopefully they aren't stupid about it because they've got an opportunity to do better now that they're out from under lichbait's shadow."

Inva motioned with her hand impatiently. "Anytime now guys. Don't make me pop out of that zombie's shadow."

Phaedra raised an eyebrow.

"Well I could..."

A sudden sound of heavy friction and uncoiling rope from above cut off any complaints however, and a few seconds later the heavy, weighted end of the rope dropped down from above.

Velkyn gripped the rope and started to climb, "And now we see how they take it."


***​

The first thing they saw at the top of the shaft however wasn't the bald heads and red robes of the apprentice Red Wizards, but the rotting face of one of their zombies. The zombie could have cared less that its creator and primary master was dead; evidently the apprentices still had control over it, and indeed Odesseron's pupils were all standing only a few feet back from the shaft, behind their source of cheap, if pungent, labor.

The apprentices looked at them curiously, expectantly, and with a bit of suppressed dread as they climbed out of the barrow entrance. Depending on how things inside the tomb went, their master might be in a sour mood, which wouldn’t benefit them at all, and would make the rest of the evening difficult.

Inva smiled at them, “I hate traps. I love treasure. Lich's are a pain in the *ss. Light is overrated if you ask me..."

"And your former master is dead." Velkyn added the last notion, which was the one that needed to be said.

"Ever so dead." The tiefling chipped in, unwilling to have her irreverence completely upstaged.

	“What?” One of the Thayans asked incredulously.

	“Dead.” Phaedra told them as she flew up and out from the barrow entrance.

	“Disintegrated to be exact.” Velkyn said. “You’re welcome to go back down there and find the dust that was left of him, but we’ll tell you right now that it’s not exactly on the same plane.”

	The glass staff that Inva cradled in his arms leaked a bit of shadowstuff into the dying dusk light. “The Plane of Shadow is a bit of an acquired taste.”

	The apprentices collectively stared at them with shock, giving expressions as hollow as their zombie. They stood there in shock for a few long minutes, absolutely stunned by the revelation.

	“So the question is.” Velkyn stated. “Now that you’re out from under the hand of an uncaring master, just what are you going to do with your freedom?”

	And that was the point where any notion of loyalty or community among Odesseron’s former apprentices cracked, splintered and died. One of the apprentices immediately teleported, probably hoping to get back to Thay before the others did, giving him time to lay claim to their master’s most valued possessions.

	“Bastard!” Another one of them shouted, coming to the same realization. Unable to cast the spell themselves, they took out a small token and crushed it in their fist, activating a similar spell to speed them across the leagues and return them to their magocratic nation of birth.

	And so it went as Odesseron’s apprentices scrambled to escape and take their own ill-gotten share of their master’s estate, utterly ignoring his and their former allies. Two of the wizards remained however.

	Khezen Ansalab looked across to her lover of convenience and made a decision that came quick to her, a true child of Thay’s brutally competitive magocracy. She shrugged and whispered the words to a teleport, choosing to leave her fellow apprentice to his fate in the wilds, hundreds of miles from home. In the end he was competition, despite their different focuses in the various schools of magic, and he was still crippled in body and magical capacity from the undead attack a few nights before. Because of that he wouldn’t be able to get home on his own, and she could let the elements do her work for her, leaving her hands less overtly sullied than they already were.

	“Goodbye.” She said, shrugging and avoiding his gaze and the look of loss on his face as she vanished.

	Velkyn winced and clenched his fists. He loathed those wizards more and more. He despised their culture as a perversion of the proper order.

	“So much for loyalty…” Phaedra sighed. “You’d think I’d be used to it from family and all, but damn.”

	“She left me!” Whimpered the lone remaining Thayan. “She left me behind…”

	His lover had abandoned him, tossing him aside when a quicker route to power had made itself available. He’d entered into their companionship purely out of lust, but over time he’d grown fond of her, and to some extent he felt that she might have shared some of those feelings. But had she ever loved him? Left alone in the Great Dale, unable to cast anything more than a cantrip because of his earlier experience with the shadows, he slowly came to the realization that no, she never had in all likelihood.

	“What’s your name?”

	He stared off into space and tears collected in the corners of his eyes.

	“I asked you, what’s your name?”

	The voice jolted him and he looked up at the drow’s face. “Sorander Dakros. Apprentice necromancer of Thay.”

	Velkyn nodded and looked at the man sternly, though since the man thought him to be a fullblooded drow, he could have rested entirely on those laurels and the other wizard would have been none the wiser.

	“Your colleagues left you here.” Velkyn said. “They abandoned you, and without magic it’s very likely that you’ll die out here in the cold from exposure or the claws of something hungry before you manage to get back to civilization. I have an offer for you, but I’ll need you to answer a question for me with absolute truth.”

	Dakros nodded and waited.

	“Which is more important to you?” Velkyn asked. “Your Nation or your Art? Choose your loyalty.”

	The Thayan blinked and stuttered, the gears of his mind probably running themselves into a smoking tangle as he weighed his chances of survival, the bitterness of his betrayal and abandonment by his former lover and fellow Thayan, and the unknown of the offer by the necromancer _drow_ asking the question.

	“So which is it?”

	Dakros swallowed hard and looked up at the other necromancer. “My Art.”

	Velkyn nodded and his expression became softer. The Thayan visibly relaxed.

	“We’ll discuss your future apprenticeship and your future in general once we get back to Sigil.”

	Dakros looked confused. Evidently he’d never heard of Sigil, or just hadn’t expected that his master’s former allies weren’t from Toril.

	“But till that point, we have some business of our own to attend to.” Velkyn explained, taking out a bag of holding and tossing it to the ground. “Get in, and we’ll take you out when we’re back in the City of Doors.”

	The Thayan looked at him, looked out at the winter sky of the Great Dale, and hastily stepped into the yawning, magical opening of the bag, vanishing into the stasis of its extradimensional space.

	“Well that went well I think.” Velkyn said as he closed up the satchel and put it back on his belt. “We’ll have to find something to do with him now, but we can worry about that later.”

	“You didn’t have anything to offer him?” Marcus asked, raising an eyebrow.

	“No, I did.” He replied. “I know exactly where I’ll be bringing him, and I’m pretty certain that it’ll work out. I just haven’t asked the person I’m going to hand him over to if he’ll agree to it.”

	Phaedra tilted her head. “You’re not thinking…?”

	“Yeah, that’s who I’m thinking of.” Velkyn answered. “Why would he say no?”

	“Because it’s a Red Wizard.” Phaedra said. “He hates them.”

	“Then we’ll just leave out that Dakros is a Thayan before we drop him off.”

	“Yeah, that’ll go over well.”

	Victor broke into the conversation with a question. “Who are you going to hand this guy over to? I take it you both know him?”

	“Our “uncle”.” They explained. “Family friend, we knew him growing up. He’s a nice guy. A little obsessed with magic, married to a barmy of the best sort, but a nice guy.”

	“What’s his name?” Victor asked. “You haven’t yet called him by name.”

	Velkyn chuckled. “We’re trying to avoid that.”

	“Because he’ll hear us.” Phaedra said. “And this’ll work better if we can just spring it on him.”

	“He’ll hear you? How?”

	“Because that’s just what he can do.” Phaedra smiled. “He’s a proxy or something like that.”

	Or something like that. Dakros might find himself a home and a new master, but the eventual trip to Sigil was going to be interesting in the way that a priest of the Chinese pantheon might call it interesting.

	“Anyway, should we pack up camp and get going?” Inva asked them all. “The food in Center is a bit better than out here. No offense to your conjured food Victor, but it’s a bit on the bland side. I’ll take my food like I take my vices: exotic.”

	Phaedra snickered and caught Inva winking at her. Victor, and Garibaldi even more so, were incredibly easy to squick. Victor chuckled and shook his head, taking the tiefling’s joking in stride, though it might have been an open question how much of it had been a joke, and how much of it had been accurate.

	“So back to Center then?” Velkyn asked.

Victor made a face at the idea, "I really, -really- don't want to go marching right back to Center. It's not a pleasant place, and I'd rather leave here for somewhere that has sunlight. The weather and cloud cover here is far too much like Center's sky. Gray."

	Phaedra shrugged, “Where else were you thinking?”

	“Someplace here on this world if anyone is familiar with it, or maybe one of the Gatetowns on the Outlands. Just, just not Center.”

	Inva shrugged as well, “I’d suggest Hopeless just to save us some time on the trip to Center, but that city sucks so no. Gnome-ville is looking like a decent compromise I suppose.”

	“Gnome-ville?” Velkyn asked, grinning.

	“Exactly.” Inva replied. “Gnome-ville. My ever so adoring name for Tradegate.”

	They chuckled and traded some comments about that particular city as they went to gather their camp together, and take a quick look at anything that might have been left at Odesseron’s camp. But finding nothing that hadn’t already been stripped by his apprentices, they prepared themselves to leave Toril itself and head to the outer planes.

	Yet before they did so, they first returned their horses back to the small outpost in the western reaches of the Dale, and only once that was done were finished with that world. Before they left for the Outlands however, in the fading sunlight of the Prime, Inva noticed that her ring, a shade of rose in darkness, had turned a dusky black in natural light. She wasn’t sure just what that meant, but as soon as they were settled and resting, she had every intention of finding out.


***​

	Amazingly, their planeshift onto the Outlands only placed them a dozen miles outside of Tradegate, and a teleport made the miles vanish in an instant. They were in good spirits then when they walked into a small inn and tavern to the south of the town’s markets, slapping gold onto the bar and ordering food, spirits, and the last available rooms. Luck was apparently on their side after their experiences in the Great Dale.

	About an hour later, having filled their stomachs and taken a moment to wash, they went about sorting through their gains and picking and choosing objects as Velkyn and Phaedra identified their properties.

	“Oh these are always amusing.” Velkyn chuckled as he held up a golden wand. “A wand of wonder. It’s like having a faerie dragon usable by command word.”

	“Amusing or dangerous?” Phaedra asked, remembering her “aunt’s” misadventures with one of those creatures.

	“A bit of both I think.” Victor said.

	Across the room from them, Marcus and Francesca were busy cleaning their pistols, while Inva sat by herself, staring at her ring while the mimir that was Yuvaraj hovered silently only a few feet away. She had plans for him, but only if her ring remained silent.

“Ok now this is nice…” Velkyn said back on the other side of the room, holding a small, carved silver box taken from the broken corpse of the dead lich back in Nergal’s tomb. It was a phylactery in the classical sense, a container with bits of scripture or other holy relics contained within that allowed someone wearing them to benefit from a divine gift, focused and attuned by the objects inside.

	“What does it do?” Victor asked, being the one person who’d be the most obvious to benefit from such an item.

	“Hmm…” Velkyn said, gradually understanding more and more of its properties as he concentrated. “It was called Selukarth’s Efferent Phylactery… allows a priest access to the specific spells granted by gods of air and wind, even if they aren’t normally able to do so.”

	Victor blinked. That was incredibly useful.

	“So what’s the drawback?”

	“Yeah…” Velkyn said, slowly putting the object down as he understood just what sort of price it extracted. “You have to wash it in the blood of a sacrificial animal killed by suffocation, or else you can still use the granted powers, but at a cost to your own health that then won’t return till the same process is repeated, but with a sentient creature killed by suffocation.”

	Victor made a face. “I think I’ll pass.”

	Garibaldi rolled his eyes. “Stupid evil gods.”

	Sitting just within earshot, Inva rolled her own eyes and silently whispered a prayer to Shar as she looked down at the ring on her finger.

"So how talkative are you feeling?” She asked Towapesh’s Eternal Companion. “Now that we're quite a ways away from Nergal's tomb, do you have anything to say?"

The ring gave no reply, either telepathically, or even so much as a quiver on her finger. Enigmatic as when she'd first picked it up, the tiny jeweled eyes of the ouroboros glittered in the room's light, nestled happily atop the smeared, yellow-blue bruise slowly leaking its way down her ring finger.

"Apparently not very talkative at all." The tiefling said, frowning momentarily. "Keep your secrets."

There was an ever so faint sensation of amusement at the far edge of Inva's perception. Evidently the artifact felt attached to its silence, was still uncertain about the tiefling, or was simply headstrong.

Inva gave a sly grin, "Of course there might be ways around that."

Again at the edge of her mind there was a touch of emotion from the ring, this time something lodged between a grumble of irritation and pleasantly tacit approval.

A few moments later she was staring into the hollow eye sockets of Grand Artificer Yuvaraj, last Emperor of Imaskar. The sorcerer-king come mimir had been made an unliving repository of knowledge, and so long as he wasn't prompted to share the arcane secrets of his dead empire then he would hopefully be able to talk frankly. The object was found in his killers' tomb, and the scope of his knowledge was likely leagues deeper than Inva's.

"Hello there." Inva said cheekily as the amethyst lodged in the skull's mouth glittered with internal light.

	“Yes?” The skull asked, slipping into its programmed role as mimir.

	She held up her finger to show the lesser artifact. “What do you know about this?”


----------



## Shemeska

And half of the next update is already written as well 
	

	
	
		
		

		
			





I've been a busy little 'loth this weekend.


----------



## joshhg

Ooh, Artifacts! This is going to be fun.

Shemmy, would you mind answering a few questions?
How far are you in this campain in real life?
How do you keep the two Codexes sperate?
Does any of the PCs from SPS 1 show up here in 2?
Is there a Rouge's thread for this storyhour?

And...
What does the ring do?  

Thanks for the read!


----------



## Shemeska

joshhg said:
			
		

> Ooh, Artifacts! This is going to be fun.
> 
> Shemmy, would you mind answering a few questions?




No problem. 



> How far are you in this campain in real life?




It's a little over two years old at this point, and probably in the latter stages of the (meta)plot.



> How do you keep the two Codexes sperate?




Not sure what you mean by that.



> Does any of the PCs from SPS 1 show up here in 2?




Yes. Tristol, Clueless, and Nisha show up a few times and Fyrehowl is still around but I think she only shows up once, briefly. It's 150+ years after SH1, and they're the ones still alive at that point due to age issues.



> Is there a Rouge's thread for this storyhour?




There was, but I don't know if the giant crash a while back destroyed it. I haven't been able to update it since then however.



> And...
> What does the ring do?




On the surface it operated as a +3 ring of resistance, and gave a +2 on spot checks and knowledge arcana checks. That was all the self-identifying gave initially. Anything more than that (and there's more...) depends on if the ring (or perhaps more properly the thing bound within the ring) likes the person wearing it.

More on the ring on Friday.


----------



## Burningspear

Shemeska said:
			
		

> And half of the next update is already written as well
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> I've been a busy little 'loth this weekend.





Good little girl u have been, thats nice to see, and what a read this page was, very nice indeed.

I love the mood and aroma u put into the scenes and and i am crazy of anything Untherite, so u made my life nice with this Nergal Tomb thing.


----------



## Ordbyrht

Shemeska said:
			
		

> There was, but I don't know if the giant crash a while back destroyed it. I haven't been able to update it since then however.



The thread's still around; you can find it here.

Keep up the good work Shem, your storyhours are a delight to read.


----------



## Arytiss

*Makes spot check*

Tristol's a proxy?

When are we going to be finding out about this? Or is it something that happens between the storyhours?


----------



## joshhg

Arytiss said:
			
		

> *Makes spot check*
> 
> Tristol's a proxy?
> 
> When are we going to be finding out about this? Or is it something that happens between the storyhours?




If you don't mind spoilers:
[Sblock] Tristol becomes a Chosen of Mystira (sp?) later on. You can find out more about it by reading his journal for SPS #1. The link is somewhere in that thread. What I read of it wasn't bad, but it is full of spoilers, so beware. 
I do wonder how if Shemmy had any problems with allowing the template. [/Sblock]



> Not sure what you mean by that.



Spoilers once again
[Sblock] I know from the Wizards boards that the Codex of Infinant Planes shows up later on. I was wondering what you called the two of them seperate, but I guess that by the time CoIP shows up, Skully Co. is gone. So it really doesn't matter. Thanks for answering my questions! [/Sblock]


----------



## bluegodjanus

Hmm. So they never investigated the pool of mercury? I'm curious as to what was down there.


----------



## Shemeska

bluegodjanus said:
			
		

> Hmm. So they never investigated the pool of mercury? I'm curious as to what was down there.




They did. That was the last place they went, leading to a shaft going down and ultimately to the room with the portal to the Plane of Shadow.


----------



## Shemeska

Yuvaraj turned to face her, but outside of a flicker of light from within its component soul gem, he made no response as he waited for her question.

“Sorry, let me be more specific I suppose.” Inva paused and pointed directly at the ring. “Are you able to tell me about this particular ring?”

Yuvaraj nodded, "Without restriction and with pleasure."

His response carried with it a tone that had been absent in any previous conversation: he seemed pleased, almost deviously so. 

"This line of questioning is something of a loophole in my state of being. I was asked this very same question once before, by the very wizard whose bones you collected the ring from in the first place. I told the ring's history, most of it at least, to the now deceased Iutep, and I can happily discuss the record of that conversation, and a great deal of tangential facts related to it. It allows me to talk about my people, and I appreciate that. Thank you."

The Grand Artificer's skull bobbed like a happy child.

"Well..." Inva chuckled. "With all the irony of me saying so, I'm glad I could put a little ray of sunshine into your situation. But, having said that, I'm a tad concerned that a number of people have asked about this particular bauble, and they correspond with a trail of corpses in this thing's past. I wonder what I've gotten myself into, but hopefully you can tell me a bit about this ring."

"Indeed I can, but I should say that you might take the earliest portions of my knowledge about the ring with caution, because its nature and precise history are somewhat muddled. The Imaskari were notoriously secretive. What in particular would you like to know about it?"

Inva held up her hand and gently tugged at the ring. Of course, it didn't budge from its position atop her finger. "Call it whimsy or greed, but I put this on and can't seem to take it off now. Is it possible to remove it?"

"Yes. It is within your power to do so now."

Inva looked at the ring and then back up at the skull. "Hmm. What's the catch?"

"You would have to die." Yuvaraj bluntly replied, drawing a rather nonplussed reaction from the tiefling. "A particularly existential escape I suppose: you always have the opportunity to exercise your free will and take your leave of this life. Upon your death, the bond between you and the ring will be broken, and if a new wearer takes the ring, were you to be subsequently resurrected, you would be free of that companionship for better or for worse."

Behind her, Inva's tail alternately twisted into a tight curl and then relaxed, belaying her irritation at the answer. "Not quite the answer I was hoping for. Is there anything that doesn't involve existential despair and me dying?"

"Loopholes always exist, especially among those desperate enough to try to find them, and Towapesh himself, the ring's current namesake, was just such a person as I'll explain later. So yes, there is another way besides dying, though it is considerably more painful."

"Joy..." Inva said, frowning and glancing down at the ring. The tiny crystalline serpent wrapped around her finger made no reply, mental or otherwise, but Inva spoke her mind regardless. "But don't worry about me, I'm not giving you up, not yet. I'm just making sure I'm informed of my options."

She turned back to Yuvaraj. "So what's the second option?"

"First you'd have to sever the finger while under the effect of regenerative magic. You'd also have to have a recipient, so to speak, also under such magic. They would have to sever one of their fingers and willingly accept your finger, and the ring, to be magically grafted to their still-bleeding stump. Once the magic on them had accepted the graft and eventually replaced it with their own flesh, the new host would be bound to the ring and your link would be severed."

"And my missing finger?"

"After the ring was bound to the recipient, your finger would grow back due to your own regeneration magic, but not before that point. Perhaps a bit of spite from the ring, or perhaps not, and this may or may not hinge upon the ring accepting a new host in lieu of yourself."

Inva nodded and bobbed her tail lazily from side to side, "It's a spot better option than dying."

Back on the other side of the room there was a sharp cry of "OUCH!". Inva looked over and past Yuvaraj to see Marcus wincing and staring at a yellow, fist-sized gem in Victor's hand. Crystalline mist seemed to swirl like a jaundiced fog within the gem's faceted interior, and its light spread uniformly out to a distance of around fifteen feet, apparently not blocked by any obstacles.

"What the hell happened over there?" Inva asked, momentarily distracted.

"Marcus lied." Phaedra said, pointing to Victor's brother.

Inva raised an eyebrow. "Congrats to him I suppose, but what's so special about that? I lie too, quite a lot sometimes, but I don't make a girly scream afterwards."

Victor shot an apologetic look at his brother and held up the gemstone in his hand, prompting Inva to step back a foot as its light moved a fraction closer.

"It's something of a lie detector." Velkyn explained. "The divination we cast on it didn't say what exactly it did if you lied within range of it, so we told Marcus to lie. Apparently it hurts."

"Nice little toy." Inva said, belatedly adding. "Keep it away from me."

Phaedra grinned, "I'll scratch Inva's name off the list of anyone wanting to claim that."

The tiefling shook her head and looked back at Yuvaraj who hadn't bothered to turn back to look at what had happened, and who seemed entirely unconcerned with any of it.

"Yeah I thought that was amusing too." Inva said. "Have to see if I can get them to trip over that from time to time. Anyway, let's get back to this ring now."

Yuvaraj nodded and finally seemed to bring his attention back to the present. On some level it might have been that when not being spoken to in the capacity of a mimir, he might have lapsed into dormancy of a sort, consciously or not.

"Something I should add about the latter method of transference. During the period when the ring is transferred to its second user, before the regenerative magic replaces your finger, the ring has the capacity to speak to both people and it may object if it feels the shift in users is for the worse. While the shift is not necessarily unpleasant to the ring, it may object up to the point when this occurs, but never violently. It is simply attached emotionally to any current wearer of the ring much as a familiar would be."

"Hmm." Inva said, looking at the ring. "I've never had a familiar. I've always considered them cute, sometimes useful, but far too often targets and liabilities. You're a bit different though."

She looked back up at Yuvaraj. "So what about the ring's history?"

"The first reference to the ring that I am aware of, was in connection with Towapesh, an artificer of moderate ability who lived approximately 1000 years before the fall of Imaskar. Towapesh died at the hands of an improperly bound Pit Fiend, but he was the first known holder/companion of the ring that now bears his name, though it isn't known if he constructed the ring himself or obtained it elsewhere. The ring was stripped from his smoking, partially devoured corpse however, and afterwards it passed into the possession of Imenseph the artificer-governor of the western city of Kaeleish. Imenseph was ultimately killed by the deific manifestation of the Mulhorandi God-King Anhur. I was never told of the rings fate from that point till it arrived on Iutep’s finger, a space of roughly one month, but that seems immaterial."

"You didn't say that Towapesh actually made the ring though." Inva said. "Just that it first showed up with him as far as you know."

"That is correct." Yuvaraj nodded. "While the ring's design and material of construction does suggest an Imaskari origin, it does not bear a makers sigil that would be common for such objects if it was truly made by one of the artificers, be that Towapesh or an earlier predecessor. Towapesh would have marked his creation prominently if he'd made it, because it would have been the crowning achievement of an otherwise unremarkable career. Additionally, there exists an outside prospect of the ring having been created during the centuries of my reign as Grand Artificer, and by magical accident or planar anomaly it could have been sent backwards in time to Towapesh's period of history. If there were any maker's sigil from my period I would immediately recognize it, but again, no such mark exists, and for such an item to have entirely escaped my attention during my rule is unlikely."

"So what do you think is the most likely origin?"

"I would speculate that the ring is either from an older period of Imaskar, well over 1500 years before my reign, and that it was likely created by an obscure artificer. But of course, there is always the chance that the ring came from another source entirely, with no direct connection to the Imaskari other than its period of circulation among a known pair of wizards, and then into Iutep's hands."

"Other sources?"

"As I revealed to Iutep under much different circumstances, Imaskar gained portions of its arcane traditions from a diverse number of sources, many of them extraplanar, and so what appears at first glance to be an Imaskari object, might not even be from the prime material, and might in fact predate Imaskar entirely."

Inva tapped the spade on her tail against her thigh. "You've got me curious about that now. When you say extraplanar sources, whom specifically are you talking about?"

The skull lowered its chin and shook from side to side. "Sadly I cannot say due to the bindings in place upon me. Where material touches upon our magic, the Untheric and Mulhorandi gods were terrified of a resurgence of our lore, and the ideology that went along with it, and so they took what steps they could to bury it."

Inva shrugged, "I'd assumed so. Oh well. So what can the ring actually do? It hasn't said much, and it's not really self-identifying."

"As I mentioned before." Yuvaraj explained. "It acts in a capacity similar to a familiar, and it has offered advice and knowledge to its current bonded companion. The ring may have gained its arcane knowledge simply by association with the succession of wizards who held it over the centuries, or some unknown wizard may have supplied such knowledge to it at the time of its creation of old. However much of its knowledge may be its own, resulting from a being that was intentionally bound into the essence of the ring." 

"That..." Inva drew out her response. "...has interesting implications. If it's a bound creature, it's not exactly a familiar. What do you think it is?"

"Good question." Yuvaraj replied. "The ring does not behave as an entrapped being at all, so I find this latter origin scenario unlikely. But this is speculation, and the ring, if it has informed past wearers as to its origin, including Imenseph who I knew personally for several centuries, or Iutep who I knew briefly, that information was not passed on to me or any others that I'm aware of."

_"When I was old, Towapesh's world was yet stardust in the void, drifting around its parent star in its infancy."_

Inva went rigid as the ring broke its silence. The former Purple Emperor droned on, but she was no longer listening to him. The ring had her captivated entirely.

_"My perspective is expansive my dear."_ The words were spoken in a fluid dialect of Calishite, Inva's native tongue, almost as if the language had been pulled from her mind and curled around the ring's serpentine tongue. The voice was seductive, seeming to slither across her mind with the spreading warmth evoked by a lover's touch, words whispered in her ear by a courtesan in the process of undoing her corset. _"I will say Inva, that you are correct about my not being a simple familiar. I am here in this form for various reasons, but in the end, only this reason needs to be known: I do this because it pleases me to do so. I wish to experience the world through like-minded beings, and having tasted your mind and your blood, I see little that I do not like. We shall prosper and enjoy ourselves, you and I."_

Inva's face was flushed and she brought a hand down to her stomach as the ring withdrew from her mind and left a few gentle, trailing contractions within her in its wake. She was glad she was sitting down.

"...the ring seems capable of reading the thoughts, moods and memories of who it is bonded to." Yuvaraj continued, oblivious to Inva's contact with the ring's intelligence, oblivious to the fact that she had just learned firsthand that particular capability.

"So what's the drawback?" She finally asked, still flushed. "Surely this isn't completely a benefit for the wearer. The ring is intelligent, or harbors an intelligence, and surely it has its own wishes. Have any past wearers mentioned such?"

"They have." Yuvaraj replied. "The ring has been known to question its holder on their thoughts, even as it combs the surface of their mind and reads what bubbles to the surface. It listens and asks for clarifications, reasons, details etc, perhaps to invoke a better sense of the personality of whom it has been linked to. Iutep mentioned that it seemed to harbor an intense dislike of vrocks, something that apparently brought about an argument between ring and wearer when Iutep summoned a flight of those demons early during the campaign against Imaskar."

Interesting, but it didn't give an absolute identity to the ring's inhabitant. Hating one particular type of tanar'ri might mean it was diabolic in nature, or simply another form of abyssal demon. And if it felt it was compatible with Inva, that didn't mean much either since she wasn't particularly drawn to either of evil's opposite ends. The ring might fall to either side, but still consider her largely like-minded.

"Based on everything I heard of the ring, particularly from Iutep, it honestly seems to just desire to be bound to someone of equal or compatible nature and then experience life vicariously through them, helping as it can. It is very obvious however that the ring is rather selfish towards the welfare of itself and its bound companion collectively."

_Worry not my dear._ The ring whispered into her mind. _We should make a very nice match, and yes, I do seek to experience the world through my companions. I enjoy the experiences, and I will act as I see fit to ensure that you survive to continue to provide me this window into the world. Call upon me in the future, and we shall see what I can provide to you._

Inva looked down at the ring, growing more and more comfortable with it the more it spoke to her. She no longer felt worried, nor did she feel any desire to take it off even if the process were easier. The shift in mindset might have been genuine, or it might have been a result of the ring's increasing bond; she honestly wasn't sure, but as their relationship progressed and evolved, she was curious to learn more about it, and what it could provide.

"Sadly, that approaches the limits of my knowledge." Yuvaraj stated. "Or at least that approaches the limits of what I am capable of saying."

Inva nodded. "That's fine. I appreciate what information you could tell me though."

Yuvaraj said nothing more and simply remained hovering in mid-air, and stayed there the remainder of the night, silent and motionless like a dim, skull-shaped lantern.

By the time Inva had finished speaking with the unliving mimir however, the others had finished their divinations on the remainder of the items that they had scavenged from Nergal's tomb. More wine had also been delivered to the room, and Inva took a bottle and rejoined her companions to celebrate their success. The warmth of the wine slowly diluting itself into her bloodstream, and the increasingly jovial conversations with Phaedra, were superficial to the latent presence the tiefling now felt in the back of her mind from the ring on her finger.

That night, with a bottle and a half of wine to her credit, she finally crawled back to her room in the inn to sleep. She slept alone that evening, but she wasn't truly alone as she pulled the sheets up to her neck and gently toyed with the sparkling, glowing ring upon her finger almost as much as the holy symbol around her neck. Still, she felt no worry or threat. The presence was compatible, even though for the moment it continued to keep its secrets with a dangled lure of power and knowledge in her mind's eye. Time would reveal more.


***​

Daylight saw the group eating a small breakfast and paying their tab before leaving and making as quick a trip as possible to Center. Quickly returning to Sigil through the Tradegate's portal, they made use of the previous route through the City of Doors to make their way to the City-at-the-Center, arriving in the city's Pluton district, under the long shadow of the Palace of Dandy Will.

Victor was uncomfortable, and so was Garibaldi, but despite the city's location in the middle of the Waste, it was a trade city, and disturbingly free of conflict and political entanglement. Plus, arriving by way of Sigil, they managed to avoid the disease risk, and quarantine period that using the Oinian gate into the city would have carried. As uncomfortable as they might have been walking along a street in the Waste, passing by fiends and unsavory mortals of every stripe and color, they knew that portions of Sigil were actually more dangerous, and that things could have been much worse.

Eventually though, and without incident, they turned onto Hag's Head Avenue and approached the junction of streets where presumably Aspaseka would be waiting for them after they had informed her of their success via a sending spell the night before. She struck them as a rather organized, rather punctual person and so they didn't doubt that she'd probably be there when they arrived.

"Oh for f*ck's sake..." Phaedra grumbled as she glanced at the corner of Hag's Head Avenue and Ebon's Walk, noting a familiar face standing there. 

It was the proselytizer, the same one that she'd seen before when they were last in Center. The very same black, silver and scarlet robed arcanaloth from before was still standing at the street's corner, verbally and mentally harassing anything with a drop of yugoloth blood that passed by. Knowing that it was one of the Oinoloth's fold was knowledge enough for Phaedra to keep herself as far away as possible, lest it approach her, especially given the uncertainties of how it might react to the less damned half of her bloodline.

The half-'loth pulled up her hood to mask her face and immediately shapeshifted into a rather average-looking human woman. Still though, morbid curiosity did cost her a passing glance at the fiend, which was enough to notice a few disturbing details and incongruities in the process.

Standing on the large and polished obsidian flagstone that marked the junction of the two streets, the 'fiend was casting a triple reflection into the glass. It wasn't a property of the glossy stone itself, because none of the other passersby were giving off anything but a normal reflection, and it didn't seem to be an obviously simple illusion. Otherwise identical, each of the three were cast in a different color, none of them entirely matching any of the ambient sources of light there on the street: one in scarlet, one in rusted, bloody red, and a third in bleached, ashen gray.

The same iconography was repeated on the amulet hung around the 'loth's neck, a trio of intersecting circles in the same color pattern, each bearing the symbol of one of the planes of conflict to which the color corresponded. Additionally there was another symbol centered between them, but without obviously looking, and without getting closer, it was too difficult to make out fully.

Phaedra turned away and back towards the Prancing Nightmare Inn as they neared its doors. She didn't look back as she heard the fiend call out to a passing tiefling, seemingly knowing the particulars of their blood just by a glance. Phaedra didn't know the 'loth's message, neither what it was selling, nor what it was asking in return, but she immediately knew that she didn't want to get involved. The politics of purity were something of her father's race that she wanted absolutely nothing of.

"If that dumb*ss is always out there on that corner,” She complained, “We really need to find another location to meet in."

Garibaldi nodded rapidly as he glanced around the tavern's common room. The clientele alone disturbed him, to say nothing of the city's location in the Waste.

"Hey look!" Inva said, nudging the fighter and then tapping Victor's shoulder as well. "They've got a succubus dancing this time."

Phaedra stuck out her tongue and made a face, a rather strange face since at the same time she shifted back to a largely 'loth form.

For his part, Garibaldi tried not to look, even as Inva poked him in the side again. But morbid curiosity got the better of him, and he took a sidelong glance at the fiend prancing around the stage. The bat-winged woman, wearing nothing but a loincloth, noticed him looking and then winked and beckoned to him. Inva snickered when the fighter jerked in surprise and abruptly turned away.

Victor rolled his eyes and took it in stride, handling the situation much more calmly and stoically than Garibaldi, even though he probably felt a stronger disapproval about their surroundings. No need to proselytize or warn the occupants of such a place, because they were already well aware of their location, of the danger, and it wasn't likely that they would be receptive to any message outside of the jiggle of the succubus’s breasts. Voicing any objections in such a place would only invite danger, and so he stayed quiet and in the background as much as he could.

That was Victor's plan at least, but when they passed by the stage on their way to the stairs, the fiend couldn't resist making a pass. Gripping tightly to the iron pole running from stage to ceiling, she arched her back and leaned over backwards to glance at the passing cleric, tasting the air like a snake with a disturbingly long, forked tongue.

"Greetings mortal." The succubus cooed. "I could offer you something so much sweeter on the tongue, so much more warming than what's on tap."

Victor smiled back and replied cheerfully, without blinking or missing a beat to his step, "You'd burn."

Spurned, the fiend gave a hiss and a few sputtered words in abyssal, but neither Victor nor any of the others looked back or really cared to return her smoldering gaze. The cleric though was smiling when they climbed the stairs and made their way to where they'd last met Aspaseka.

When they arrived, the door was open, spilling a warmer, richer, and much more comforting light out onto the second floor balcony. Aspaseka hadn't opted for a locked and guarded room, but the rest of the upper floor rooms seemed unoccupied and there wasn't a line of sight from below into where they’d be meeting, so there was little to worry about if they wished to be discrete.

Their employer's agent sat in a relaxed posture at the room's central table, chair leaned back onto two legs, feet propped up on the tabletop as she read through a small book nestled in her lap. She seemed to have just eaten as well, as the empty bottle of wine on the table might have suggested, but more so the silver platter covered with an obscene pile of bones, half of which seemed to have been gnawed open at the ends for the marrow. Sticking out from the mess was even what looked like a hoof, but beyond the bones there wasn't anything left, though Aspaseka was delicately tapping a napkin at the corners of her mouth with an almost baroque and practiced elegance as they knocked on the door frame.

	“Sorry!” Aspaseka said with a start as they walked in. “I just finished breakfast and I didn’t quite expect you here so soon. Excuse the mess, they haven’t sent up one of the wait staff yet.” 

Blushing slightly, she took her feet off the table and hurriedly unfolded her napkin and tossed it over the pile of bones on the table. It didn’t entirely cover them, nor did it make the juxtaposition of gnawed but daintily cleaned bones without a drop of blood on the table any less confusing. There weren’t any knives or forks either.

	“Good morning.” Velkyn said as he sat down at one of the chairs already arranged for them.

	Aspaseka glanced at them all as they walked in and took their chairs. All of them were present. That was good. No good ever came from losing employees on their first job. She liked this group more and more. “I take it everything went well?”

	“Too cold.” Inva said. “But otherwise I had fun.”

	Victor smiled, “I hate undead.”

	Inva poked him with her tail. “No, I think it’s the other way around there. Undead hate you.”

	He smiled, “That too.”

	Aspaseka seemed anxious, as if asking how they were doing was something of a formality. The tone of her question was genuine, and her concern for them as well, but she clearly had her mind fixated on the object that she’d sent them to receive within the Great Barrow in the first place.

	“You told me that you’d found it.” She said, leaning forward slightly. “May I see it?”

	Velkyn nodded, “He’s in one of our bags. Let me get him out.”

	Their employer’s head tilted to the side. “Him?”

	“Yeah…” Velkyn replied, reaching into his bag of holding. “The Codex wasn’t exactly a normal book or anything of that nature.”

	“It’s a mimir.” Inva said. “Or rather, he’s a mimir.”

	A mixture of curiosity and confusion crossed Aspaseka’s face, with wonder being added to that list as the glittering skull of Yuvaraj was produced from the bag.

	“That’s the Codex of Long Shadows and Last Breaths?” She asked as the skull gently floated in mid-air. “That… that wasn’t expected.”

	Yuvaraj slowly rotated to face her, and as he did so, it was obvious that she was taking her time to read the inscriptions carved and inlayed into the skull. Her attention on the carvings was rather abruptly taken away and replaced with more surprise though when she saw the glittering soul-gem lodged in the mimir’s mouth. That wasn’t normal. That wasn’t ever normal.

	“I can’t really say that you’re all that I expected.” Aspaseka said. “I’m impressed and surprised.”

	“Hmm…” Yuvaraj responded, drifting closer. “I can’t say that I’ve ever seen one of your kind either, nor precisely anyway.”


----------



## Bryon_Soulweaver

Eh?


----------



## Shemeska

Bryon_Soulweaver said:
			
		

> Eh?




Aka Aspaseka isn't human.


----------



## bluegodjanus

Shemeska said:
			
		

> Aka Aspaseka isn't human.




That was noticeable by her eating habits, I think.


----------



## Burningspear

“The Codex wasn’t exactly a normal book or anything of that nature.”

“It’s a mimir.” Inva said. “Or rather, he’s a mimir.”

A mixture of curiosity and confusion crossed Aspaseka’s face, with wonder being added to that list as the glittering skull of Yuvaraj was produced from the bag.

“That’s the Codex of Long Shadows and Last Breaths?” 

_Soooo cool , its absolutely hilarious, i love the book in a guise bit, and he would be interesting for the party to keep i think, but it was the job to get him and give him away i suppose, sigh _


----------



## Shemeska

Burningspear[I said:
			
		

> Soooo cool , its absolutely hilarious, i love the book in a guise bit, and he would be interesting for the party to keep i think, but it was the job to get him and give him away i suppose, sigh [/I]




He does show up again later, well after the point that they gave him away.


----------



## Shemeska

Aspaseka brushed off the comment with a laugh, but the mimir’s comments were something that were brewing in the others’ minds.

	“I expected you to be a book.” She said. “Sentience wasn’t ever something I considered. But regardless, my employers will be very, very keen to speak with you.”

	The skull said nothing, and merely floated in the air above the table like a macabre lamp.

	“So what was it that you wanted him for?” Inva asked, ever curious, and for the moment willing to suppress her own speculation as to what Aspaseka might be, if not human.

	“A location.” She answered, seemingly choosing her words carefully. “Somewhere that Nergal might have spoken of in his last moments. Somewhere that we’ve been looking for for some time now.”

	She didn’t phrase the comments as a question, perhaps because she simply didn’t want the mimir to provide an answer to anyone other than her superiors.

	“But in any event, I’m going to have you deliver the codex, or mimir, whichever term you want to use, to the person who’ll be most interested in speaking to him. It’s not a very long or involved trip, and they’ll be the only person there, so you won’t have much trouble recognizing them.”

	“So what do they look like?” Victor asked.

	“Well…” Aspaseka paused for a moment before replying. “I’ve never actually seen him before.”

	“At all?” Inva asked, raising an eyebrow.

	“I don’t work for him.” She replied. “I tend to work mostly with Tyranny, who you’ve already met, and to a lesser extent with one of his colleagues, a woman known as the Visionary.”

	“Do your…” Velkyn paused and rephrased. “Do our employers have real names, or just titles?”

	Aspaseka nodded. “They have names, though I’m only privy to that of my own lord. It would be best if his name were not widely known, given the things his interests involve, and given the enemies he might have gained in the past.”

	“I think we can accept their secrecy for the moment.” Inva said. “I’m the same way. But after a while I would expect some trust to accrue.”

	“And that’s understandable.” Aspaseka replied. “Knowing their full name or not, you’ll meet them all eventually, and they’ll reveal to you something of themselves and their goals as time passes. It’s not my position or right to say something before they decide what level of trust to display.”

	Velkyn nodded. “I need to know one thing though before we do anything else.”

	Aspaseka nodded. “Ask away. I’ll answer if I can.”

	“I need to know if they have interests inside Sigil or not.”

	Velkyn smiled with some relief as Aspaseka shook her head vigorously. “None of them have interests within the City of Doors. The place is a neutral ground, more or less, and their goals don’t center on the city, or anyone inside of it. It’s generally a poor idea to seek power in that place, which a long list of dead or missing people will attest to.”

	She knew about that last statement on a more personal level than she might have let on as well. Sigil wasn’t anywhere on the radar for her employers, and it likely would never be, considering that a former member of their number had ultimately been mazed in the course of his own personal pursuits, divorced from any overall plans of their cabal as a whole. But that was an unimportant fact, and divorced from the issue at hand.

	“Well that’s good.” Phaedra said. “I don’t want to get involved in Sigil’s politics. I like the city and all but… no. So which one of our employers are we going to go meet?”

	“Death.” She bluntly replied, watching the light reflect off of the runes that decorated the ancient sorcerer-king’s skull.

	Phaedra nodded. “How appropriate.”

	“More appropriate when you find out where you’ll be going.” Aspaseka replied with a grin.

	Victor gave a wary look.

	“Don’t worry, it’s completely safe.” Aspaseka said, waving off his concern with her other hand. “You’re chatting with me in a city on the Gray Waste. He’s not anywhere even remotely similar. Ever been to the Astral?”

Velkyn, Inva and Phaedra nodded in the affirmative and the other shook their heads.

	Aspaseka pushed forward a sheet of paper and what looked like a small lump of marbled, pitted metal. “That’s a map to a portal in Sigil’s Clerks’ Ward that outlets to a specific spot on the Astral. Once there, you’ll find a rather special-looking color pool that’s something of a retrofitted portal in and of itself. That little lump of meteoric iron there will serve as a key to open it, and the portal will end up leading you to where our mutual employer Death makes his residence.”

	“And where is that?” Inva asked.

	“Another spot on the Astral actually.” Aspaseka explained. “Have you ever heard of something called the Bone Cloud?”

	There were several shrugs, and none of them seemed to have heard of it, or heard of it in any real detail.

	“Well, at some point in the distant past, at least several thousand years ago, a necromancer lord from an otherwise unknown prime material world managed to raise a massive army of undead servants. His enemies knew that they would be unable to defeat him and his minions in a direct conflict, and so as a last ditch effort they opened an astral rift beneath his forces and sucked all or most of them into the Astral.
	Due to their sheer mass, they clumped together under their own gravity, and because most of them were skeletons and thus unintelligent, they were trapped there, utterly immobile within the vast cloud of bone.”

	Victor of course looked uneasy about the entire idea. “Our employer lives there?”

	“Hey, with a name like Death it sounds appropriate.” Velkyn said.

	Aspaseka shrugged, “The location just makes it unlikely that he’ll have anyone intrude upon him. But don’t worry. Anything within the cloud that’s capable of moving like ghosts, vampires, and similar things, the place is warded to an insane degree, and once inside you wouldn’t even suspect that the walls were anything other than a curious sort of stone.”

	“He carved himself a home out of the interior of the place?” Velkyn asked. “I take it he’s a necromancer?”

	“A necromancer, yes, but not the typical sort you might expect.”

	“Dressed in black? Skull motif decorations? Lich?” Inva said under her breath.

	Aspaseka grinned and continued the explanation. “Yes, he made a lair inside the interior, building within natural hollows of the cloud, or excavating portions as needed. However you have to understand that the cloud is enormous. The whole thing stretches miles in each direction, and anyone tunneling through would probably never run into Death’s demesne by chance.”

	“Interesting place…” Velkyn said. “Undead I assume?”

	“From what I know, yes.” She explained. “But again, not the typical sort you might expect. Something like a lich, but more likely a unique type of his own creation.”

	Victor grimaced a bit but Aspaseka again tried to alleviate his concerns, “It won’t take you guys more than a few hours at most, and by the time you get back here, I’ll have some nice wine to split with you all and we can discuss a better meeting place, as well as a more amenable way of paying you. I understand you didn’t like dealing with that bank with a branch in Rigus, so I’ll set something up in Sigil for everyone.”

	“That would be appreciated.” Victor said.

	She smiled. “I’ll try to get you an expense account as well. You’re talented, and I want to treat you as well as I can to make sure you’ll continue to work with me in the future. But we can make for more banter later, and handle future payment and such when you get back. I’ll still be here.”

	A bit of small talk later and they were back out the door again, though they did their best to avoid the succubus the second town through the main room. Given the local notions of entertainment, while a few of them felt amused by it, Victor wasn’t the only person hoping that they’d find someplace better to meet in the future.


***​

	Once back in Sigil, it was only a short distance from the portal in the Guildhall Ward, to the spot in the Clerk’s Ward that Aspaseka had indicated to them, a bound space framed by a series of cracks and lines of rust dripping down a buttress on the side of an old stone wall tipped with decorative spikes.

	“So what’s the portal key?” Marcus asked, glancing at the ostensible outline of the latent portal.

	Aspaseka hadn’t mentioned the key, just the location of the portal itself, but determining the key was probably the easier half of their task as Velkyn whispered the words to a spell.

	“An iron rod half coated with silver.” Velkyn said after a moment of concentration. The notion of what the key was had come quickly, but it was actually _finding_ the key that might prove more difficult.

	“I find myself with a distinct lack of silver coated iron rods.” Inva said with a smirk. “Must have left it in my other pants.”

	Phaedra shrugged. “Hopefully someone in the area knows of the portal and makes a living selling the key. Unless absolutely knows of this one, there’s probably someone selling it.”

	Velkyn grinned as he looked back down the street. “Maybe another gnome for Inva.”

	A few minutes later they found a portal key salesman a block distant from the portal. They weren’t a gnome, but rather a duergar, and the dark dwarf looked up at his potential customers with a bizarre look as if he expected half of them to rob him, and the other half to stop them.

	“Which portal?” He asked, jangling a pouch of loose objects and a heavy iron ring at his belt that was festooned with a motley collection of knickknacks.

	“A spot on a wall about a block down the way we came.” Phaedra said. “Marked with some rust and some cracks. Goes to the Astral.”

	“That one’s easy.” The dwarf replied. “But it’ll cost you a dozen jink.”

	“A dozen jink?” Velkyn asked incredulously. “That’s insane.”

	The dwarf shrugged. “A dozen and a stinger then I suppose. Really, where else are you going to buy the key from?”

	Inva pursed her lips and looked at the others. “You should feel lucky that we’re offering to buy it.”

	He didn’t look impressed, and rather than replying he went about stuffing a pipe with tobacco. “You look like people in a hurry. Rather than take a few hours finding someone with the time and motivation to make you the key, assuming you know what the key to ‘yon portal might actually be, you could just pay me what the market’ll support.”

	“We’ll give you five.” Phaedra said. “That’s more than amenable.”

	“You’re got ears larger than my face.” The dwarf replied. “Surely ye heard the price. A dozen and a stinger is still the standing offer, or else you can find yourself an alternate way to the Astral.”

	Then, to add insult to injury, he took a puff of his pipe and exhaled a thin stream of pungent smoke into the half-‘loth’s face. That was when things changed from hoping to bargain with him, to not bothering to care what it took to get the proper key. Phaedra simply stepped back and gestured, yanking the duergar off of his feet, spinning him upside-down and shaking him like a purse as she turned and walked off down the street with the dwarf telekinetically in tow.

	A block later they stopped in front of the portal. Inva poked the dwarf in the paunch and tapped the edge of her tail spade against his cheek. “And I think you heard what I said before too.”

Suspended upside-down in mid-air, the duergar ineffectually kicked and struggled. "This is undignified!"

"Having small children running after you yelling piñata is undignified too." Inva said with a smirk. “Sadly though, I don’t have any children, or a big stick. Care to lower your price for that key?”

	“Pike it!” The dwarf snarled back.

“Fine fine… have it your way. But I don’t really think you understand…” The tiefling sighed before she looked back up at Phaedra, “I got the gnome last time in Tradegate. You want the honors for the dwarf?”

	“Wait.” The dwarf stuttered as he started to move. “What? What are you doing?!”

	The silver light of the Astral spilled through the portal, carrying with it the distorted image of the tumbling portal key salesman and his thin, garbled cry of distress as Phaedra launched him through the bound space, still carrying the key. He was still struggling to right himself when they passed through the portal themselves, and he huffed and sputtered even more when they thanked him for his profuse generosity, right before Inva tossed him back through the portal and back into Sigil.

	“I’ve noticed we do this a lot.” Victor said. “Tossing people through portals.”

	“I wouldn’t call it a habit.” Inva said as she stopped waving to the dwarf as the portal finally closed. “Well, not quite yet. It’s been fun though so far.”

	Victor shook his head. He’d probably have complained more, except the duergar hadn’t been hurt, and he really had been unreasonable with the cost of the portal key. And he was evil. It wasn’t an excuse, but it did make him less prone to feeling guilty he supposed.

	“So now where?” Garibaldi asked as he and the others drifted in the void.

	The local region of the Astral that they’d entered was truly desolate by comparison to what one might expect. The void shimmered with its ubiquitous silver light, but otherwise there was little to distinguish any particular spot from another. There were no rocky islands formed from the husks of dead gods, nor floating githyanki citadels, or any creatures drifting through the void. There was nothing but the same silvery light, and only a single blotch of color to mar the horizon rather than the standard constellations of dozens upon dozens of scattered pools.

	“Well Aspaseka mentioned a color pool, and she said that we wouldn’t have any trouble finding it.” Phaedra said.

	“I’m only seeing one color pool.” Marcus said, squinting his eyes and scanning the silvery haze in the distance.

	“Then odds are that that’s it.” Inva replied as she moved towards it.

	With the obvious mentioned, the group drifted across the void at varying paces, with the wizards invariably moving a bit faster than the more martial minded individuals simply due to the nature of the Astral. Eventually though, they gathered around the rippling edges of a swirling, metallic orange-yellow color pool, and it was immediately apparent that while the color pool’s hue would indicate that it most likely led to Arcadia, there was something different about that particular specimen.

	A trio of metallic blocks drifted around the periphery of the pool, seemingly locked into a diffuse orbit around the pool’s edges. Each of the blocks were decorated with a meandering series of golden runes, and every few seconds they shimmered with a discharge of energy that leaked across the surface of the pool like tiny electrical insects dancing across the surface of a pond.

	“Jury-rigging a portal indeed.” Velkyn said as he gently pushed at one of the metallic blocks. It moved, but only to a certain distance away from the pool, at which point it refused to budge just as much as an activated immovable rod might.

	Inva drifted towards the pool and held up the lump of meteoric iron that Aspaseka had given them. “Anyone else care to have the honors? You know, just in case there’s a race or something… or an explosion or planar rift, etc etc…”

	The tiefling turned back to the others and grinned as she tapped the iron against the pool’s surface and activated the latent portal.


***​

	The portal opened into a room carved from cut, white marble, though as Aspaseka had told them, the stone possessed a curious speckled pattern that betrayed its origin as being compressed, possibly transmuted bone. The air was cold as well, and Victor shivered as he realized that the chill was not from any actual difference in temperature from the Astral at large, but from a latent nimbus of negative energy that slowly bubbled out of the walls and floor.

	Normally they would have drifted across the room, but in another difference from the Astral as a whole, gravity was normal and their footsteps -or hoofbeats in Inva’s case- echoed and rebounded off of the walls as they stepped forward out of the evaporating portal behind them.

“I trust that Aspaseka sent you after you recovered the Codex?” The question came from a figure at the far end of the room. Dressed in plain brown robes with no decoration or display of wealth or power, their back was turned and they appeared to be looking out of a window constructed into the side of the room, though it might have just as easily been an illusory scene, or a form of scrying mirror as well.

	“That she did.” Velkyn said as he took Yuvaraj’s skull out of a bag of holding. “Though you might find the “codex” to be a bit different from what you might have expected. Aspaseka certainly was surprised.”

	Victor was already on edge due to being surrounded by miles upon miles of aggregated undead bones. He could imagine sentient undead trapped within the walls as well, and some of them even wriggling and worming their way through the ossified matrix like serpents sniffing out his life and warmth, thousands of them lurking within the walls as unseen predators. But as the figure at the other end of the chamber turned to face them, he stepped back.

	The being known as Death wasn’t actually standing on the ground. In fact he was hovering ever so slightly, with only a flickering, phosphorescent glow emanating from beneath his robes where feet should have been. In fact as he turned to fully face them, it was apparent that he was some form of undead, but not something typical as Aspaseka had told them. The flesh of his hands and face was transparent, seemingly formed of congealed silvery-blue light than anything more tangible. Motes of light seemed to evaporate off of him, and the same cold illumination drifted through the edges and seams of the robe he wore.

	Undead or not however, his voice was not the chilling, decayed rattle of a lich or similar figure. In fact his voice, while somewhat haunting and carrying with it a weight of a very long existence, was surprisingly young or middle-aged in sound.

	“Death?” Inva asked.

	The figure nodded and turned to look at the skull in Velkyn’s hands. “You are quite correct. That’s not what I was expecting.”

	“You’re the second person to have said that today.” Yuvaraj replied. “And once again I’m forced to say the same. You’ve certainly found yourself a curious way to avoid mortality.”

	Death drifted towards Velkyn and accepted the mimir, “And so have you. I would not have expected the Untheric gods to be so vindictive as to enslave you thusly. Your sentience will be an aid, as callous as that might sound.”

	They handed over the skull of the former Imaskari emperor, and explained the circumstances that they’d found him in, and whatever additional information they thought relevant. Death nodded, though it seemed that he might have already suspected some of the basic story.

	“Aspaseka will see to your payment, and any other concerns that you have.” Death explained as he took the mimir and turned to leave. “Additionally, she’ll bring you a number of potential tasks in the next few days, and you’ll have your choice of them. You’ve done very well.”

	“Thank you very much.” Inva said, giving a short bow. “I think you’ll find us very much more than competent.”

	“So how do we leave?” Marcus asked, realizing that the portal into Death’s lair had only been one way, and that the room had only a single exit that Death was already moving towards with no indication that they were to follow.

	Death turned back and gestured, conjuring forth a swirling gate in the room’s center. Cold, gray light leaked out from the gap between the planes, leaving no question as to where it went. “That should speed your return to Aspaseka. But if you will excuse me, I’m quite keen to speak with the Codex.”

	“Enjoy.” Marcus said.

	“I suspect that I’ll be meeting with you again in the near future.” Death replied as they moved towards the gate. “My apologies for being so brief at the moment. Your payment should afford you no small comfort till that point however, so enjoy yourselves in the interim.”

	The gate closed and took them with it, leaving Death alone with the skull of the Imaskari Artificer-King. Clutching it gently, he carried it to another chamber and opened his senses to a mental link to the two of his fellows most interested in the mimir’s words: the diviner known as the Visionary, and the entity known as the Risen. The former was very much mortal, while the latter’s mental touch was discordant and disquieting even to Death’s unliving mind, not to mention unquestionably older.

	“If you wish to speak directly, in person, following this conversation with the Codex, the gates will be open. Tyranny’s latest additions have proven themselves in quick and decisive fashion, and I expect one of you to claim their services for a task of your own choosing. I will wait my turn to employ them given that the Codex has information of importance to myself beyond our shared concerns.”

	To his right, the circle of glyphs keyed to the Visionary gave no reply, but he felt her mentally nod from somewhere in the ethereal. To his left, a candle in the shape of contorted, tormented succubus flickered with pale green flame, opening a metaphorical and literal eye into the being that had formed the wax from the rendered fat of a dozen true-tanar’ri. The flame sparked and sizzled, like the gentle hiss of a docile serpent, and Death felt the being extended into the candle flame nod its acceptance.

	Allowing the pair to listen in on his conversation with the mimir, Death placed the skull in front of himself and began.

	“I will wish to hear the entirety of Nergal’s dying statements, but this I must know before anything else. Did he speak of the High House of Eternal Twilight Waning? Did he say where it was located? What plane, which world, any clue to it at all?”

	Yuvaraj nodded and his soul-gem glittered from within. “Yes. Yes he did.”


***​

	True to what Aspaseka had said, their trip to deliver Yuvaraj had taken less than two hours, and the gate that Death had provided for them had opened within a hundred yards of the Niflheim Gate leading back into Center. Less than thirty minutes later they had passed through the gates and were walking back along Ebon’s Walk towards the Prancing Nightmare.

	As they passed a stand of black poplars and a merchant selling Arcadian wine and Arcadian fruit, and a shadow fiend next to him selling Arcadian souls, Victor frowned and looked at his companions. “Would anyone mind if when we got to the inn I asked Aspaseka if we could start meeting elsewhere?”

	“Don’t like the surroundings?” Inva asked.

	“Not at all.” The cleric replied. “I feel the constant urge to bathe in holy water, or the need to start smiting things.”

	Victor briefly glanced at the shadow fiend and then looked at Inva. “Not good. Not good at all. And that’s the least of it!”

	The city was relatively safe, but it was a living cesspool of morality. Center was a civilized film grown over the stagnant stewpot of the Waste.

	Victor shuddered as a cambion and a group of heavily armed reave mercenaries passed them by, “I can’t be the only person that feels that way.”

	Phaedra nodded. “Admittedly the place is a bit too close to the Waste at large for my comfort too. And let’s not kid ourselves about the ‘loths not having influence here…”

	“So where do you want to meet instead?” Velkyn asked. “Sigil seems like an obvious choice, or one of the gatetowns maybe. Just not Acheron.”

	“Or Hopeless. Or Torch. Or Curst.” Phaedra amended to Velkyn’s caveat.

	Another line of mercenaries cut across the street and bustled their way through the normal pedestrian traffic, momentarily separating the half-‘loth from her fellows, and forcing her to detour to the other side of the street. Unfortunately as she did so, she turned and walked directly in front of the yugoloth that she’d already twice avoided in past trips to Center. She jerked to a halt and tried to turn and avert her eyes, but the other ‘loth simply smiled and beckoned with a knowing look, almost as if he’d been waiting for her, or even if he’d engineered her path through the crowd.

	“Hello child.” The arcanaloth whispered in an almost seductive tone. “Three times now I’ve seen you, twice you’ve passed me by, and the time has come for us to speak.”

	Phaedra went cold as the full-blooded greater yugoloth started into her eyes and smiled, exposing glinting fangs to the air. She’d stood in the presence of her father’s kind before, that was an understatement actually, but something felt manifestly different, manifestly wrong as she looked into the other fiend’s eyes.

	It wasn’t just the fact that its eyes danced with the colors and horrific depth of an ultroloth’s, without it actually being an ultroloth itself, it was something else on a much more subtle level that disturbed, cajoled, disgusted, seductively beckoned and horrified her at the same time.

	“I know that you are not whole, you are not pure.” The arcanaloth’s eyes shifted from green to violet to cerulean. “But that does not matter to me. What matters is what you can become. Transcendence comes in many stages, many forms, and I have seen them all. The Oinoloth in her grace would accept you, purify you, and perfect you.”

	She glanced down involuntarily, breaking eye contact with the proselytizer and in doing so she caught a glimpse of the amulet hung around its neck, the one that she’d noticed the last time that she’d been in Center. At the time she hadn’t been able to fully discern the symbol at the center of the talisman, just the outer symbols of the three planes of conflict, but staring at it now she recognized it in an instant, and dreaded the proximity.

	Nestled in a splotch of black metal between the other portions of the amulet stood the scarlet profile of a snarling jackal’s head crowned by a twisting mass of writhing shadow, the margins of its profile pocked and pitted as if by disease: the symbol of Shylara the Manged, self-proclaimed Oinoloth of the Waste. Her claim was by no means settled, but she occupied the throne of Khin-Oin nonetheless, and her flock of deranged fanatics –as much as they could be called such by comparison to the rest of their kind- possessed enough power to operate openly, seeking converts to their perverse creed.

	Phaedra mumbled an incoherent response and backed up.

	“Even you would be welcome.” The words echoed in the back of her mind, reverberating against her skull even as the glib-tongued fiend spoke them audibly. “The shame of your blood might evaporate, might sublimate into something altogether different. We could show you the way.”

	How the hell did he know about her heritage?! Was it a guess? Some sort of spell he had active?

	“I really don’t have time right now…” Phaedra replied unsteadily, but with growing worried impatience born of a healthy undercurrent of fear. “What do you want with me?”

	She knew immediately that her choice of words had been wrong on that last question.

	“Now phrased a different way perhaps, that would indeed be my question to you.” The priest smiled and his eyes once more began to transit through their circuit of colors.

	“This is a really bad time.” Phaedra stammered, trying to step back and away from the fiend. She didn’t expect him to get violent -especially not in Center- but his kind were psychotic zealots.

	He smiled and reached forward, clutching one of her hands. She felt him immediately press something into her palm and close her fingers tightly around it. “Then take this and find your answers when you find the moment. Those who come to us, come to us of their own accord.”

	Phaedra looked down at the thin, metallic scroll case in her hand and then back to the ‘loth. The case radiated no magic, and accepting it might let her brush off the fiend’s attention and leave without looking back. It seemed like a reasonable avenue of escape, but had she been looking down at the glassy flagstone beneath her feet she would have seen the fiend’s triple reflections staring up at her, each independently acting within scenes completely detached from the reality that should have been casting them. The reflection pooling at her feet and mingling with her shadow was simply spreading its hands in supplication, having given her its gift, but another appeared to be feasting upon her heart as it stood above her lupinal-looking corpse while the other hungrily copulated with a reflected image of her in a more ‘loth aspected form.

	Her revulsion to them would grow quickly, but it would be some time before she would encounter them again. But she never saw the reflections, and she accepted the scroll case and its contents, paying some unthinking lip service and confused thanks to the fiend as she stepped away and rejoined her companions.


----------



## joshhg

Shylara becomes the Oinoloth?!

O_O

If she ever solidifies her position, Clueless and Tristol better look out. Revenge is a dish better served a few hundred years old.


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## Clueless

*GRIN* Yeah... but she's got plenty of other things on her hands to deal with now than that crew...


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## Burningspear

very nice again, as always, and i like the way you portrayed the "undead"...


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## Shemeska

*Grandma is dead, and some spoilers for SH1 ahoy.*

They ignored the Prancing Nightmare's prancing succubus and made their way straight to the top of the stairs, giving a cursory knock on the frame of the door before stepping inside. Hopefully Aspaseka wouldn't mind them wanting to meet somewhere else in the future, because the "entertainment" downstairs was getting to be a bit much, even if the inn itself might otherwise have decent service.

"Well we're back from yet another creepy place." Victor said as he walked in.

Aspaseka looked up from a stack of papers that she'd been signing. "And into a place only slightly less disturbing I suppose."

"How true..." Victor said.

Apparently the inn's room service had been busy in the time that they'd been off to Sigil and into the Astral, because Aspaseka's rather bloody dishes and leftovers had been taken away and the table had been stocked with a set of eight goblets and a half-dozen bottles of wine, along with a rather wide selection of food.

"Business is finished," She said, motioning to the food and spirits. "So I figured that we could take some time to relax and simply chatter if you liked. Everything's already paid for and on my tab."

Given how much she'd paid them for their work already, and the quality of some of the wine just from a quick glance, she and/or her masters apparently had deep pockets and a willingness to spend.

"Not bad at all." Inva said as she reached down for a random hors’dourve.

"Please, help yourselves." Aspaseka said, rolling up the papers and slipping them inside a leather case. "I was just finishing up some accounting work on something that pertains to you all. I think you'll like it too."

Amidst some curious glances, drinks were poured and the group made themselves comfortable as she explained just what that something was.

"Center isn't your thing, and we'd talked about getting you set up elsewhere." She paused and grinned. "And I've managed to get you very well set up in Sigil, and on short notice no less."

"Anywhere but the Hive." Phaedra said.

"And just what's wrong with the Hive?" Inva asked, putting on a face of mock offense. "Not that I'd be caught spending a night there if I could avoid it mind you..."

Phaedra swatted Inva's tail playfully.

"Anywhere but the Portal Jammer." Velkyn added. "Please."

Aspaseka looked up over the rim of her cup as she took a sip of wine. "That was on the list of possible places, but I figured that might be more than a bit awkward, all things considered."

"Just a bit." Velkyn replied as Phaedra giggled. Going right back to living in his father's inn wasn't high on the half-drow's list of things he wanted to do, regardless of how nice the inn might be, and regardless of father and son being on good terms. Living at home, even if other people were paying it for wasn't a high mark of independence in his book, and thankfully it wasn't going to be.

"Black Sails? Greengage? Twelve Factols?" Inva asked, increasingly the stature -and cost- of the inns as she listed possibilities.

"Keep guessing." Aspaseka said. "Think big."

"Fortune's Wheel?" She asked tentatively, not really expecting for their employers to have splurged on that particular establishment.

Aspaseka grinned and raised her mug. "And you would be correct."

Velkyn, Phaedra and Inva had giddy looks on their faces. The Wheel was expensive and extravagant, being a high-priced combination of a gambling hall, fest-hall, several different bars and expensive and exclusive rooms for rent above the ground floor. For several centuries, approaching six hundred years now, it had been Sigil's most prestigious inn. In fact, its prestige and quality had only increased since it was remodeled and rebuilt following the incident a hundred and fifty years back when it had been reduced to little more than a smoking crater, a crime which while still officially unsolved, had not held back the inn at any point during its phoenix-like rebirth.

"Wow." Velkyn said. "You're paying for us to stay there?"

"Indeed." Aspaseka confirmed. "Already set up, and rent is paid for in advance for a while to come."

"I'll drink to that." Inva downed her wine like a shot of liquor. She looked over to the others, ignoring the purple smudge on her lips. "And you'll all drink to it as well. Expensive but hard as heck to come by. It's an opportunity given the sort of people that frequent that place."

"I like to treat the people working for me as best as I can." Aspaseka said.

Clearly so if she was buying them a suite of rooms at the most expensive in the whole of the City of Doors. She leaned back in her chair and looked quite pleased with herself, happy to see that the effort hadn't been wasted as most of them understood the significance of it all. Only Marcus, Francesca and Garibaldi hadn't immediately taken it all in, but they were primes with little knowledge of Sigil, so no worry there. They'd get the best the city had to offer, and without a stinger spent from their pocket.

Wine continued to flow and the food slowly vanished, only to be replaced with more by one of the Nightmare's serving staff, and the group relaxed and enjoyed themselves. Eventually though, out of curiosity or simply spirit loosened tongues, they had a few questions to ask their employers' servant.

"Can I assume that we're not the only people working for you." Marcus asked. "Given how much you're spending, and how new we are to working for you, it would seem like you'd have more than just us."

"Well, you're not working for _me_." Aspaseka corrected. "I just pay people, recruit people, and all sorts of middle management tasks. I'm a bit like an over glorified taskmaster for a mercenary company like you'd find in Rigus."

"But nicer." Velkyn said. "Much nicer."

"I try to be." She replied with a grin. "But as for your original question, no, you're not in any way the only people working for me. I handle individual people who specialize in one thing or another, and then groups like yourselves who I tend to alternate between tasks."

"Any of them long term, or is there a high turnover?" Marcus asked.

She shrugged. "At most around five years. Turnover is mixed really, between people taking other offers, dying while taking other offers, taking a payment from me and retiring from the profession, or not coming back from something I send them on."

Garibaldi frowned and Aspaseka caught the look.

"Don't look so glum on that last part." She said, waving off his concern. "The turnover, so to speak if we want to dance around the morbidity of it all, it's not higher by any margin than similar work anywhere else on the planes. I value my people for their skill and their competence, and so I take care of them as best I can."

"If the Fortune's Wheel is any indication..." Inva said between gulps of wine.

"On my level at least, this isn't some faceless and rigid organization employing cogs to fit positions. If you want that, you can go find the minders guild or the Ministry of Mortal Affairs."

"Been there. Done that." Inva replied. "Almost got killed dealing with the latter."

Phaedra corked the bottle next to Inva. The tiefling was already loosened up and relaxed, and it might not be the best place on the planes to have her drunk.

"I'd rather not deal with either of them." Phaedra said. "So how long have you worked for these people? Assuming you don't mind me asking."

"Not at all." Aspaseka replied, taking a drink. "I've worked for the Pentad for roughly 270 years, and for Tyranny around a millennia before that."

Well that certainly settled the question about if she was mortal or not. The question it raised though was just what in the heck she actually was, if not the human she appeared to be.

"Alright," Phaedra said, giving Aspaseka a curious look. "Working on the assumption that you're not exactly human, what actually are you?"

"Ah yes, that." She replied. "Yuvaraj sort of burst that bubble on me I suppose when he said he hadn't seen one of -my kind- before."

They nodded. The mimir's comment had been one indication but hardly the first. Her choice in meals and her age both would have done the same.

Aspaseka held up one of her hands and the flesh suddenly shifted to something of roughly the same size, but with the wrist oriented in the opposite direction, ivory claws on her fingertips, and a thin coat of dark gray fur, striped with black in place of any previously exposed skin.

"That should answer that question." She said, keeping her left hand in its true form for a few seconds before shifting it back.

"Rakshasa?" Phaedra asked. "Huh."

"A subtype of Rakshasa yes."

Velkyn nodded, "And can I assume that Tyranny is as well?"

"Of a sort." Aspaseka replied. "But only in the same way that a dretch and a balor are both tanar'ri. He's a bit more than I am. My service is one of house, station, shared goals, deep respect and debt. You can assume that he's some manner of rakosh, but beyond that you'd have to ask him yourself. It's not my place to explain anything beyond that."

"Makes me trust him more honestly." Velkyn said. "He's lawful."

Aspaseka smiled. "Comes with the territory I suppose."

"Well that settles one question." Victor said, taking the revelation that their employer and his middleman were both fiends of a sort rather well. "But I've got another."

"Go for it." The rakshasa replied.

"How discrete do you want us to be?" The cleric asked. "I don't know how secretive you people are, or if you have enemies that you might not want aware of who you are, what you're doing, etc."

Aspaseka nodded. "Nice question, and thank you for asking it rather than making any assumptions. Some of the five are more secretive than others: Tyranny and the Visionary like to stay out of public view as much as possible, for various reasons, while Death who you recently met, he doesn't particularly care. So if someone -has- to know whom you work for, you can answer the question, but I do ask that you exercise some discretion in how freely you spread that information around."

They nodded and continued their banter on a progression of lighter topics, staying away from anything that could have been construed as more business. Aspaseka wanted them to stay away from anything so serious, and to their credit they did so, and as the next hour faded away, they were in high spirits.

"Now as much as I'd like to stay here, sadly I have more prosaic things to deal with, and other people to speak to." Aspaseka said. "But this has been really fun."

"For a Rakshasa you're not as woefully formal as I might have expected." Inva said. "That's a good thing."

Aspaseka chuckled. "I'm not viewed in any sort of high place by most Rakshasa, not back in Acheron to any extent. I'm an apple fallen a bit far from the tree so to speak. Formality has its place mind you, and you'll see enough of it as you see me more, but I don't insist on it, or insist on the sort of station and caste mongering that's endemic among most of my kind."

Either she wasn't evil, or she was an exile, or potentially both. That was an unresolved question still.

"But regardless, enjoy your new accommodations and don't hesitate to let me know if you need anything, or you have any problems. With maybe one exception you'll be able to reach me by a regular sending, and I doubt I'll be going there anytime soon."

"What's the exception?" Victor asked.

Aspaseka finished her drink before replying. "The Risen."

Her tone was a bit cold, and she clasped her hands together under the edge of the table as she answered. Had the others been able to see them, they would have seen a faint and involuntary tremor.

"You haven't met her... it... yet." She continued. "You probably won't anytime soon. But I haven't yet figured out what I'll be offering you as a next job, and there's no rush to judgment there since you've earned some rest."

Inva nodded and added a smile to alcohol-flushed cheeks. "We'll be sure to enjoy ourselves and make a bet on your behalf on the Wheel itself. If I win the Mage's prize, I'll keep you in mind."

Phaedra steered the mildly tipsy tiefling towards the door and they all gathered their things and took their last nibbles from the remaining food before they left.


***​

With something much better waiting for them in Sigil, they were eager to make their way from the Prancing Nightmare, and even more so to leave Center. The nude succubus that was dancing in the tavern's main room however was doing her best to try to coerce them to do otherwise, gender and alignment being no detractor to her expressions, motions and telepathic calls.

"That's really disturbing." Victor said. "There aren't enough cure disease spells in the world to make that thing even slightly less so."

"I should go over there and buy you a lap dance." Inva said, clearly having lost whatever inhibitions she had, either from the wine or realizing that they'd probably never be back to that particular tavern.

Victor shuddered. "You'd end up buying me more than that. A resurrection probably."

"What, the incubus was more your taste?" She snickered. "Sure there's a sense of danger that they'll rip out your heart and eat your soul. Evil is sexy. Even a little evil."

Phaedra felt a gentle poke on her leg from Inva's tail and smiled. _"Likewise."_

Victor frowned as the succubus said something to his mind both perverse and blasphemous at once, and though they were trying to work their way through the tables to leave, he almost turned around with half a mind to banish the chaotic wench back to where she'd come from. Velkyn stopped him however, knowing full well that the cleric could have probably done just that, and offered something better.

"I've got this covered." He said. "I can only guess what she said, but don't worry."

Velkyn grinned and fished around in his pocket for a coin, finding a thin disk of cold iron minted in Dis, a little something to ensure that Baatorian coinage didn't circulate among their enemies. Roughly the same size and a little under the weight of a standard jink, a few whispers and a rub between thumb and index fingers were all it took for a glammer to make it gleam like gold.

"You're terrible." Inva said, looking at Velkyn's grin and the coin in his hand. "And I approve. Gimme."

"You're not..." Phaedra said with a quickly suppressed look of incredulity as she turned to no longer face the stage were the succubi was performing obscene acts with a brass pole.

"He is." Victor said as he walked for the door without looking as Inva swaggered towards the stage. "And I'm blissfully ignorant."

The others however watched as the tiefling sauntered up to the dancing succubus and caught her eye with a slow, appreciative looking once-over, following the line of her hips and moving up to her breasts for a few seconds of staring. Topping it off she licked her lips and then reached down to plump her own cleavage before leaning onto the stage and looking up. Without question she'd done the routine before.

"Hey there sexy." Inva said, locking eyes with the fiend and holding up the glammered coin. "I just wanted to extend my appreciation for the show."

The lust-filled look, and providing a view of her own to the fiend would have elicited a reaction in and of itself, but the tip drew something like a purr and the fiend crouched down to take the coin. Presumably she would have accepted it with her teeth, but Inva was a bit more forthright about it -or obscene depending on one's perspective- and with a quick caress of the succubus’s tail she reached forward and slipped the coin inside of her.

The fiend chuckled and grinned at the mortal's spunk, to say nothing of the caress between her legs, and watched her leave. Odd she thought, that after such an enticing act she wouldn't have stayed to pursue something else and even perhaps... 

Suddenly her eyes went wide.

Outside, Inva ducked around the corner to rejoin her companions just as they heard a blood-curdling scream of pain let loose by the fiend back inside the inn. The tiefling was grinning puckishly, Victor was doing his best to look innocent of the affair, and Velkyn had a rather self-satisfied look on his face. Suffice to say, they probably weren't going to be welcome back at the inn, and that district of Center might not be the most welcome of places for a while.

"Score one for burning bridges I suppose." Phaedra said. “Or burning something…”


***​

"I still don't understand how you can live in a place without a sun!" Victor said as they walked towards the Fortune's Wheel.

It was well after peak, and while the light in the "sky" had not yet given over to dusk and the twinkling of mock-stars on the opposite side of the ring, the swirling, low-hanging fog was doing its best to snuff the available light before its time. The lights of the Fortune's Wheel spilled out like a lighthouse's beacon offering safe harbor to passing ships, advertising the promise of warmth, wine, riches and pleasure, though for half the crowd on a given night that promise might have been more siren song atop a reef than anything else.

"Um..." Velkyn began, looking at Victor after his comment. "Is this regarding the whole drow thing, or the whole being raised in Sigil thing?"

"I suppose it applies to both." Victor replied as he used his sleeve to wipe some of the fog from his face.

"The fog is normal." Velkyn said. "But it's usually not this heavy. You just got it on a bad day. Plus it's after peak so the light's slowly going down anyway, but it's never truly night, not completely."

"You'll get used to the cycle." Phaedra said. "Besides, we're already here at the Wheel, and maybe tomorrow we can give you a tour of what the city has to offer."

Victor nodded and stepped past a bulky merchant and into the interior of the inn, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light and his ears adjusted to the din of many dozens of conversations the shouts of winners and losers at the gambling tables and the chink and clatter of plates and tableware.

Off to their left was the grand festhall and its dozen or so dining rooms, while off to their right were the various gambling rooms including the inn's titular Fortune's Wheel. The entire place was awash in lights, be they candles, gas lamps, or illusory stars that drifted and cavorted along the walls and contours of the ceiling, periodically chasing one another or following guests like curious little pixies. The Fortune's Wheel was Sigil's extravagance boiled down and neatly packaged for residents and visitors alike.

"Man that food smells good." Garibaldi said as he glanced to the left. "Even though I just ate back in Center, my mouth is watering."

"I've heard it's really good." Velkyn said. "It certainly smells it. I've only heard one bad thing about the place, and that was from my Uncle Tristol. He hated the food here for some reason, one really bad experience with lunch at some point, but I don't know the particulars and like I said, he's the only person I know who doesn't lavish the place with praise."

"So where do we check in?" Marcus asked as he looked around.

"There used to be a front desk were you check in." Inva said, referring to the inn's previous incarnation. And sure enough, the front desk was still there, complete with open visitor's log and a hovering golden bell, but no receptionist in sight.

They walked up to the desk, waited a few seconds and finally rang the bell. No help arrived and so they rang the bell a second time.

"I think he's handling something over in one of the others rooms." They looked up into the smiling face of a dragon, or maybe a dragon, well... part of one anyway. "Something about a halfling getting kicked into the bear-baiting pit by another one of the patrons."

The "dragon" whose toothy, grinning face they stared up into was the ornamental head and neck of a dragon that emerged from -or was hung from- the wall between the front desk and the bar. His scales were a little bit dusty -it looked as if he hadn't been cleaned by the staff in a week or so- but he certainly looked and acted real enough, though he wasn't any sort of dragon type that was immediately recognizable: something like a cross between a green and a gold, with a mottled color pattern of both.

"I didn't think you were real." Phaedra said.

The dragon sighed and gave a wistful smile. "A lot of people don't. I've come to accept it I suppose."

Common wisdom held that the dragon was one of several things: the owner of the Fortune's Wheel, a masterfully animated stuffed dragon head, an illusion, or a real dragon who'd been involved in an accident with a portal somewhere along the line. At no point had the dragon ever actually addressed which version of the story might be true or not, but otherwise he was a rather chatty fellow, ever eager to interact with the patrons, and rather protective of "his" bar. In fact he'd been known to snarl and breath smoke to frighten off troublemakers and issue more pointed warnings to anyone causing any undue commotion within the establishment.

"I suppose that you can help us though. We're new..." Inva paused. "Well, mostly new to Sigil, and our employers supposedly arranged for us to have rooms in the inn."

The dragon raised an eyebrow and they watched as his eyes darted from person to person making a headcount and seemingly comparing them to something bottled away in memory. "Oh, you're those people. A young-looking lady was here earlier today and she arranged for it all, paid in advance for a month: suite 5 up on the second floor. They just became available, and she snapped them up without hesitation. They're quite a nice set of rooms, so I think you'll be happy."

That raised some eyebrows, and not on the dragon. The Fortune's Wheel was bloody expensive, and in one lump they'd been set up in relative luxury for a month's time? Their employers had money apparently.

"If you would though," The dragon added. "Please sign your names into the registry along with the room numbers. It helps with the paperwork and room service and such to keep track of that."

Victor picked up the pen and looked at the next open line, right at the bottom of the page and cramped because of the size of the signature above it that took up almost half of the page. "This'd be easier if some jerk hadn't taken up half the page."

Inva peered over the cleric's shoulder at the book. Sure enough, one of the names was written in elaborate calligraphy and decorated with a half-dozen personal sigils. The owner of the signature had also either used their own pen, or some magic of their own because the ink changed color every few inches without the telltale mark of the pen being lifted and replaced after using a different inkpot. Ostentatious didn't begin to tell the story.

"Who the hell is Nerath the Marauder?" Marcus asked.

"Nerath the Marauder, King of the Crosstrade" was what the sprawling signature and exercise in ego wanking read as. The primes hadn't heard of the name, and while Inva had been familiar with his predecessor Shemeska, only Phaedra and Velkyn were at all familiar with him, and both of them were frowning. They'd have been frowning more however if they'd realized that the room number listed next to that individual's overly large signature was the luxury suite one floor underneath their own.


***​

Eyes were watching them of course even before Marcus's question about the Marauder, and well before a subsequent comment of "What sort of moron writes their name across half the bloody page? Compensating for something perhaps?". That did however gather attention, and once the group had signed their names and room number, gathered their keys and walked away from the front desk, a particularly well-dressed tiefling made his way up to the dragon.

Moving with the grace of a trained killer and the professional confidence of a man with little worry in the world, the tiefer took out a slender notebook and jotted down their names and room number, adding comments about their race, gender, appearance, disposition, and courtesy of a ring on his finger, their alignment. Information was his stock in trade, and his master even more so.

All the while the dragon was doing his level best to ignore the man, turning away and moving his head as far away as being tethered to the wall would allow him as if the tiefling left a smell in the air or his very presence disturbed him. Eventually he just closed his eyes and started humming to himself a little drinking song from a century back, something nonsensical about a "dishwater archon", but eventually there was a tap of a cane's silver head on his snout.

He opened his eyes and they briefly crossed as he focused on the ornate, razorvine crowned jackal's head cast ironically in silver at the end of the tiefling's cane. There was no avoiding the questions, as distasteful as cooperating with him and his ilk might be.

"So who's paying for their rooms?" The man asked with an overly courteous tone.

The dragon frowned, looked away awkwardly, then finally sighed and told him what he knew.


***​


----------



## Arytiss

Shemeska said:
			
		

> "Nerath the Marauder, King of the Crosstrade" was what the sprawling signature and exercise in ego wanking read as.




Now that's what I call a spoiler. Expected yes, but definetely a good spoiler.

I liked what they did to the succubus. That was fun.


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## Shemeska

Arytiss said:
			
		

> Now that's what I call a spoiler. Expected yes, but definetely a good spoiler.




It's... a complex situation. But the more things appear to change, the more they stay the same.


----------



## Clueless

That succubus earned it.


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## Burningspear

very nice update... i enjoyed that, even if it had no "action", very nice readup...


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## Shemeska

[Just a note that some of the stuff being talked about here and in the next update is a tangent of sorts, and the 'loths and Phaedra's family issues aren't part of the SH2 metaplot, just a strong undercurrent that touches upon SH1 frequently. We'll get into their next 'job' as it were in due time, and it'll be a fun one.

And while I tried to phrase certain things in such a way that they won't be in-your-face spoilers for SH1, some future plot events are alluded to, so count this as a spoiler tag.]





***​

Tristol Starweather's school of magic was built in the Guildhall Ward, nestled between an adjacent guildhall and a line of buildings separating it and the Trianym. It wasn't a massive building, but for being less than a century old it was a rather nice size for it relative youth in ageless Sigil, and of a distinct style that more than distinguished it from the surrounding buildings in the district; suffice to say there weren't any other buildings with Halruaan architecture in Sigil. 

"So where are we going to meet him?" Phaedra asked as the walked past a pair of novice mages studying on the steps of the main entrance. “Did you tell him that we were coming?”

“I sent him a sending earlier, I just didn’t say what it was about.” Velkyn shrugged. "I'm guessing his office should work so long as he doesn't surprise us and just randomly teleport in, which he might just do."

And speaking of random, a pair of turns and they passed by one particularly unique office of one of the academy's part-time, on and off lecturers. Painted a dozen different colors and apparently transmuted into a number of different substances at different points in the past, the doorknob was on the wrong side and the bright brass nameplate was easily twice the size of any others that they'd seen before that point.

Archlector/Xaositect Xtraordinaire/Wild Magic Instructor/Danger to the Public/Renbuu's Drinking Buddy/That Girl with the Hooves/"Achmage" Nisha Starweather 

Velkyn and Phaedra gave each other a pointed look as they passed by Tristol's wife's office door, very conspicuously walking faster and not even saying her name. 

"Yeah I'm not wanting to get into trouble either, and she brings it." Velkyn said. "Love her to death, but not when I'm just back in Sigil."

"How true." Phaedra said, remembering the last time that she'd met the tiefling when her sister Tina showed up with Nisha in tow. "And since we're avoiding saying her name, I never quite understood why that applied to her. Does anyone know just how she does that?"

"Beats me." Velkyn replied with a shrug. "I don't think her husband knows either actually. He was stumped when I asked him. But somehow she knows when you're talking about her, and can listen in when you do, just like he can, except we know why he can. Maybe she can tap in to his ability, or... you know I'm content to say it's just because she's who she is and leave it at that."

Several flights of stairs and a levitating platform later and they were walking through the upper tiers of the school's central tower, slowly winding their way past murals and statues of famous wizards and not so famous wizards who'd contributed to the body of magical lore deemed fit by the school's master. Eventually as they drew closer and closer to said wizard's office, their pace slowed and they mentally prepped for how they'd approach the topic, what they'd say, and what points to touch upon when trying to convince Tristol to accept their wayward Thayan.

A few minutes later they arrived and it seemed as though they'd managed to catch him at a good time as they approached his office: there wasn't a long line of students waiting to speak with him, nor any other wizards wishing to do the same for whatever reason. If he wasn't busy, preoccupied, or otherwise stressed then all the better and he'd take their little sin of omission that much more smoothly.

They'd never mentioned that their new apprentice for the school was both from Toril, from Thay, and a member of the Red Wizards. Tristol's history with them wasn't all that chipper.

Velkyn knocked on the door and waited. A moment passed and he shrugged and tentatively knocked a second time, only to be interrupted by the flash of a teleport as they vanished and reappeared inside Tristol's study.

"Well that was different." Phaedra said as she smiled at the archmage she'd grown up calling "Uncle Tristol".

The aasimar was dressed rather unassumingly for someone of his stature and power, with only a silver holy symbol of Mystra standing out as something that might not be in place on an apprentice mage. From the tips of his ears down to the soft side to side twitch of the tail he had courtesy of a vulpinal ancestor, he didn't seem to play the part and many people might have thought him a mage of a fraction of his ability except for the fact that he hadn't aged in the past century and a half, and that looking at him with any detection spells was almost blinding.

Suffice to say, the red wizard they had in their bag of holding could have gotten worse teachers.

"Hi there Uncle Tristol!" Phaedra and Velkyn both said with a smile as they exchanged quick hugs and handshakes before the mage looked at them with an expression usually reserved for a parent who knew that their kids wanted something.

"So what's up?" He asked, tilting his head a bit.

"Well..." Velkyn began. "So we went out on our first paid job!"

Tristol smiled. Another generation was growing up and it was good to see them striking out on their own. "So how was it?"

"Um... a little dark. A little dank. You know dungeon crawls." Velkyn said, motioning with his hand. "There was a succubus - but Phae took care of it."

Phaedra made a face and pantomimed some of the succubus's body language just before emphatically pantomiming her own beating of the fiend.

Velkyn gestured to the half 'loth's physical hyperbole. "Kinda like that actually."

"Seems that you handled things rather well then." Tristol said, "Needs more magic though. Everything's better with magic."

"But you're biased." Phaedra complained, dropping her mime. "And she was ethereal and that seemed like the best idea at the time."

"It seemed appropriate to do..." The smile grew wider and his ears perked. "I think your mom would be proud."

"Hopefully. That sounds appropriate for her." Phaedra's smiled and then her whiskers twitched, "I need to go see dad again probably."

Tristol shrugged. "And I doubt he'd have a problem with you beating up tanar'ri either."

They chuckled and Tristol went about hearing a rundown of just what they'd been up to in the Great Dale, though they judiciously left out details on their employers, that they'd met a Rakshasa in the City-at-the-Center, and just what they'd recovered from Nergal's tomb. For his part however, Tristol didn't pry too terribly much on anything except for anything unique and magical that they'd seen, and that was when mention of the Thayans seemed virtually unavoidable.

There was an awkward pause as both Phaedra and Velkyn turned to look at one another. There wasn't really any way of putting the question off any further.

"And um. I uh..." Velkyn began. " We had something to ask you about."

"Reeeeally?" Tristol asked, folding his arms and giving a mock stern look. "What about if I might be so bold as to ask?"

How to break it to him, how to break it to him... the question rattled around Velkyn's head as he put on his best face and tried to appeal to Tristol's notions about the role of magic.

"Yeah - see..." He began, "Years ago now, when you were first teaching me, remember all that stuff you said about teaching the Art, spreading it to others and all that?"

Absolutely. Appeal to their past as student and teacher and appeal to his status as a Chosen of his goddess.

"Yeah?" Tristol's ears twitched and except for the fact that both Velkyn and Phaedra were immune to such magic, he'd have otherwise been combing through their surface thoughts.

"Well, so as you can probably guess from that, we found someone on our first job who uh - needs some teaching."

_"Just come out and ask me."_ Tristol thought, _"There's no need to hold back on me here. I'm not likely to say no. You know how I am. If they want to learn, I'll teach them."_ 

"Great!" The archmage said as his tail swished gently behind him. "Where is he?"

Phaedra glanced at Velkyn and then at the bag of holding that they had the Thayan stuffed into.

"Well, he's in my bag of holding." Velkyn explained. "But before I bring him out you've got to promise me something."

"And what would that be?"

"Just give him a chance ok?"

Tristol's ears lay back against his head and his tail stopped twitching. "Wait, do I need to know something here?"

"I uh..." Velkyn looked off to one side and muffled his voice. "I borrowed a red wizard."

Tristol's ears perked and then immediately went flat again. "-What-?"

Both Phaedra and Velkyn didn't meet the wizard in the eyes, muttering guiltily, "We... borrowed a red wizard."

"You borrowed a -what-?"

"A red wizard..."

"..." Tristol just stared at them blankly and as if on cue in the suddenly descending silence, Velkyn and Phaedra broke into grins of attempted innocence.

"Velkyn..." Tristol began with a serious tone and a sigh. "You don't 'borrow' a red wizard. Did they even come willingly? Is there going to be a Zulkir showing up at my doorstep again?"

"Well he was a pity case... I mean come on!" Velkyn pleaded, rationalized, and explained. "He was left, drained by undead to within an inch of his life at the edge of the Lethwood. His so-called master..." He sneered at the mention. "...His so-called master killed one of the other apprentices as a sacrifice in order to bypass a ward, and the rest of them fled when he died. He's alone and he doesn't have anywhere to go."

Phaedra joined in with her own call for some mercy. "His own compatriots left him there to die of exposure so they wouldn't face the competition! They left him there so they wouldn't be slowed down in getting to their former master's spellbooks and anything else he owned that they wanted to loot."

"Velkyn." Tristol began with a look in his eyes like a teacher about to correct a mistaken pupil. "A red wizard. You know how I..."

"Yeah." Velkyn cut him off. "But isn't it the Lady of Mysteries teaching to give the Art to -everyone-?"

That hit home, and Tristol's features softened for a moment. It was true that one of Mystra's precepts was to spread the use of magic and to foster its development regardless on some level of the morality of the person using it. Magic was magic, and even if Thay's megalomaniacal wizards' culture disgusted Tristol, if we was going to live by his goddess's teachings, he'd be remiss to not give one rogue Thayan a chance.

Phaedra chipped in with another comment to butter him up and appeal to his ego. "And he can learn from a much better master in you than he would from one in Thay. Better you than Thrul or Tam."

"..." Tristol was tempted to whine like a puppy wearing wizards' robes. They had him and he couldn't really say no. "We'll see what they have to say about it."

"Is that a yes?" Velkyn asked. "Promise?"

"Yeah." Tristol held up his hands in a gesture of graceful submission, "Bring him on out."

A moment later and Dakros was out of the bag of holding and picking himself up off the floor, flanked on both sides by the individuals that his experiences identified as that creepy half-drow wizard and the dog-headed sorceress he'd seen. He didn't notice any of the others, but their tiefling Shar worshipper -yes he'd noticed- was probably lurking somewhere behind him to stab him in the back if he said anything wrong. 

His life in Thay had made him expect certain things about how the world worked, and he assumed that tutelage anywhere else beyond his magocracy's borders would operate on similar principles. He tried to avoid looking up at the wizard standing in front of him, simply keeping his head down, prepared to accept whatever terms of indenture his new master might request in exchange for tutelage in the Art.

"Do you know who I am boy?" Tristol looked down at the Thayan and moved his chin up with a bit of telekinesis so the younger mage would look into his eyes.

The would-be apprentice took measure of the wizard standing in front of him: average height, fussy blond hair, no sparkle of dozens of magical objects, no bejeweled staff, no demons in thrall, not even an ioun stone or two. He peered a bit closer and wracked his brain, trying to think if the man with what looked like fox ears and a tail might be one of the hengeyokai mages of Telflammar off to Thay's east. No such luck though, and as he looked up into the wizard's face he shook his head.

Velkyn and Phaedra looked at Tristol and then at one another and shrugged. Tristol had been in Sigil or Arborea a lot rather than back on Toril, so no big surprise that the Thayan might not recognize his face.

"Don't recognize me?" Tristol waited a moment more and then prompted him with a name, "I'm Tristol Starweather."

A few moments passed and the Thayan didn't have so much as a flicker of recognition pass over his face.

"You don't have a clue who I am do you?" Tristol asked with a surprised look passing over his face as Phaedra suppressed a giggle.

The red wizard shook his bald and tattooed head in the negative.

"Well, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." Tristol said. "Thay isn't on good terms with Alasra, you'd know her as the Simbul or Aglarond's Wytch Queen, and so I suppose that your teachers wouldn't necessarily be keen to talk about any of Mystra's other Chosen."

The Thayan blinked and looked at Tristol in a bit of a different light suddenly as if his mind had tumbled to some understanding about who the man standing over him actually was.

Tristol smiled, "Yes, I'm -that- Tristol Starweather."

"Archmage Starweather..." The Thayan said with an expression of wonder crossing his face. "You're her husband?"

Tristol deflated like a popped balloon. "What?!" He stuttered.

"Nisha Starweather, the great archmage. You're her husband?"

"Excuse me?" Tristol asked, flabbergasted. "You've heard of Nisha but you haven't heard of me? What sort of rotten teacher did you actually have? I mean..."

Tristol continued on much to the innocent detriment of the Thayan who could do little but sit and take it, while behind him, Velkyn and Phaedra lost any attempt at being spooky or intimidating as they both started to snicker. It was also about that time that a clip-clopping of hooves announced the arrival of the apparently much vaunted "Archmage" Nisha Starweather.

She peered around the door and waved at Velkyn and Phaedra, "I heard my name being called in vain and... Tristol are you collecting Thayan's again?"

The red wizard went pale as he heard her voice, "Don't let her send the chaos imps after me! I've heard what she can do! I'll do anything!"

Tristol of course could only look at his wife, smile at her and then give a completely flabbergasted look at the poor Thayan whose magical education must have been written by a dullard, or an imp, or a tiefling with an imp. This was going to be a challenge.

Nisha smiled and waved, and the multicolored miasma perched on her shoulder in a constant state of flux momentarily snapped into the cohesive shape of a purple fairy-dragon to grin and wiggle its fingers at the spooked Thayan. Indeed, she had a chaos imp.

"Why has he heard of you and not me?" Tristol turned to her and asked.

"Whatever happened I didn't do it." She said as a sort of stock reply as she sorted out what was actually going on with respect to what she'd heard earlier after her name had been mentioned before she'd arrived. "I've been playing Factol all day."

"Meet a new apprentice of mine." Tristol said, motioning down to the Thayan.

Nisha waved and so did the chaos imp, causing the red wizard to jerk back with a sharp and incredibly undignified shriek as he tried to hide behind the actual archmage as opposed to the "archmage".

"Assuming you'd like to be apprenticed to me?" Tristol asked, looking down once more and moving his tail. "It's a better fate than sending you back to Thay I think."

"He could be my apprentice too you know." Nisha suggested. "I've never had one, unless you count Tina. But that was more a case of her following me around and me not complaining. If he wants to learn about wild magic I can..."

"Sir, I'll be your apprentice." The Thayan blurted out. "If you'll have me. Please."

Tristol smiled and his wife stuck out her tongue. "Hey, at least he's _heard_ of me."

"And you frightened him!" Tristol replied. "He thought you were going to have that bloody imp eat him or something."

"Infamy is still recognition though." She said with a gleam in her eyes as her tail twitched with its ubiquitous little silver bell at the tip rattling merrily.

"And that's what I don't understand. Why? Why has he heard of you and not me."

Velkyn looked to Phaedra and caught her eye. "I think this is when we excuse ourselves and leave them to sorting that out."

"Yeeeah..." Phaedra nodded and inched towards the door. "Much safer that way."


***​

Ten minutes later they were out of the school and on their way, having metaphorically washed their hands of the Thayan in a way that they were quite happy with, and which they were certain that Tristol's new apprentice would be equally appreciative with given time, and given not too many impromptu visits by Nisha's familiar.

"Well that went well I think!" Velkyn said to Phaedra as they walked back to the Lady's Ward. "He didn't hurl him over the side or turn him into a mouse or anything."

"Since when did Tristol do that?" Phaedra asked. "Meteor swarms are more his style. Anything with more... flair... if that's the appropriate word is usually something his wife does."

"How very true." Velkyn replied, adding after a pause, "Not that she knows how she does it of course."

Phaedra shook her head. "That's frightening. That really is. Crazy people with power, even amusingly crazy people, make me nervous. And I say that with great irony given my parents."

Velkyn grinned. Power yes, but saying that her father was crazy or amusingly crazy wasn't entirely accurate. In fact it wasn't accurate at all, but of course they were talking about him in public, even if they didn't name him, so that sentiment was believable so far as public speculation went. A'kin might be eccentric, but that was where it ended. He just saw fit to perpetuate the notion of it otherwise. A'kin was A'kin and that was that, and the irony was that A'kin was going to figure into what Phaedra would be doing over the next hour.


***​

Once they returned to the Fortune's Wheel and got back to their new rooms they were both eager to settle in and eventually continue setting the place up as they saw fit. Velkyn ordered some food and wine through the inn's room service, eager to dispel Tristol's firm belief that the Fortune's Wheel's food was wretched, and Phaedra said hello to the others and then retreated into her room and locked the door.

Sitting down on her bed she propped up some pillows behind her back and got comfortable, taking out the scroll case that she'd been given by the proselytizing 'loth in Center. 

"I'm going to regret this..." She said as she toyed with the carved ends of the case, tracing a claw over the metal.

Really it was against her better judgment that she'd even taken it in the first place, and her father had vociferously warned her to stay as far away as she could from "those delusional fanatics dancing to the Oinoloth's siren-song". But even though her father had repeatedly given his opinion of that sect of his race, passionately so each time, and she had little reason to doubt his opinion about how dangerous they might be, she was still curious. Even if the scroll was pure screed, she'd know what it was about, and she'd be informed and all that much the wiser when needing to deal with or avoid them at any later date.

Fanatics or fanatics, delusional or not, the 'loth blood running in her veins was bubbling in her brainpan with a damnably lustful curiosity.

"Here goes stupidity." Phaedra mumbled to herself as she curled her tail off to one side, nestled up against the pillows a bit more and unscrewed the end of the scroll case to retrieve its contents.

Her first look at the scroll as it slipped into her hands should have been enough, given that it was "penned" onto a fine and supple sheet of leather. It was human by the look of it, and that the words seemed to have been branded into the flesh by a white-hot stylus while the victim had still been alive, given the manner of scarring and discoloration that ringed the words like a perverse halo of something distinctly unsaintly.

_*“What is it you want?”*_

The first words were written larger than the text that followed, and in a more ornate version of the script used to inscribe the 'loth tongue. The words were a quotation and something of a mantra to those who'd penned the scroll.

_"I know what it is and He knows what it is for He resides in each and every one of us. He was the greatest of us all and every drop of blood we spill, every cry of misery provoked and cherished, every soul we damn and corrupt is a sacrifice upon His altar. We do this in emulation and remembrance of Him.

He calls us still from His place beyond this world. He tells us of the supremacy of Evil and we as its heralds. He promises power and favor to we His children, and all that He asks from us in return is worship and adherence to that which we are at our core: that tiny spark of Him that exists within us.

As His chosen, as His beloved, as His vessel within this world I will give you purpose and power if you worship Him and obey me as the conduit and receptacle of His wisdom. In return I will reward the chosen and the pure, as you are His favored, and I will give no mercy to those who do not. I am the rightful ruler of us all and in the darkness of your heart you know this to be true.

*“So tell me, what is it you want?”*

 - Shylara the Manged, Oinoloth of the Waste, Priestess and Whore of The Ebon_

Phaedra's first reaction was an emphatic snort, followed by a round of laughter as she shook her head and glanced over a following table of depravities including specific sacrifices, the spread of evil sorcery amongst mortals, the temptation of celestials, and ritualized copulation for the sole purpose of breeding half-fiends for sacrifice. The list was long and only a sense of revulsion kept her eyes from glazing over with disinterest in its call to make her embrace the Oinoloth's creed.

"Sure..." She chuckled, eyes narrowed. "You'd probably take me as a sacrifice in a heartbeat if you knew what I was. You probably weren't even aware of the other half of my blood you delusional..."

She trailed off and stared at the page. It wasn't out of a realization that when the 'loth in Center had spoken to her that its words and tone carried a rock-solid understanding that she wasn't entirely yugoloth, but rather it was the words on the page itself because she'd realized that each individual character was composed of a multitude of minute runes each woven together, with the singed halo of burn flesh masking their individual identities and presenting a layer of text composed of something else entirely.

The page shimmered and a second layer of text appeared as she concentrated upon the words. The artistic text composed of text wasn't readable, and it didn't appear to be intended to be so at all, but it scribed an obscuring magic across the scroll's true contents, presumably to shield it from the eyes of anyone not desired to casually peruse its message.

"What the hell..." Phaedra whispered with apprehension as her ears slowly retreated back along the side of her skull.

The revealed text was written in a bizarre form of yugoloth, words within words written in flowing, artistic designs that shifted in a progression of sickening, cavorting figures as each line was read and each block of text deciphered and understood. The pages danced beneath her eyes and with each revealed horror, the page was speaking to Phaedra with a telepathic resonance embedded into the scroll, pumping directly into her mind with its author's words.

_"Hello my wayward little one."_ The words were spoken in a calm, charismatic female yugoloth's voice that exuded malice and felt both cold and abhorrent at the same time that it felt comforting and seductive, likely a product of her dual-natured essence. And what was more, there was a disturbing aftereffect to the spoken words, echoes that resonated in the back her mind, speaking in a trio of voices, each of them alternate manifestations of the Oinoloth's voice. Distinct and concurrent, the words were screamed with a psychotic, manic rage; they were wept in abject, soul-rending misery and despair; they were alternately whimpered in ecstasy and screamed in agony as if she were being tortured and mutilated during the spasms of copulation.

Phaedra wanted to throw the scroll away and burn it to naught but ashes, but she couldn't. The scroll held her arms rigid and her mind locked into the stored psychosis of its twisted author, and there was little she could do but shut her eyes to the images on the page and wait for the voice to end as the magic's metaphorical wick burnt to its end and released her.

_Hello my little flawed and impure one. Listen to my words and then listen to your heart and the blood that pumps through their veins. Hear me now and then hear me there in the thrum of rushing crimson, in the flutter of valves, and within your thoughts. Listen well and let my words awaken that which you can become if you will only follow.

Purity of purpose. Purity of malice. Purity of depravity. Purity of misery. Purity of Self and Race. Purity of EVIL. Purity above all. Purity is all we have and all that we are.

Reach into yourselves and ask yourselves the question that defines us: What is it you want? Embrace the question and embrace your agony as a cog of the oblivion of morality, a disciple of that which is inevitable and eternal, a disciple of He that shall remain when all is cold and void and despair.

He is what we have always lacked and He promises us a place in what is to come. Deny Him and you deliver yourself to oblivion and irrelevance; you become the dross and slag to be rejected from the mold of the pure when this multiverse is reforged according to His will, according to Our will. And will is all that there is in this life.

What is it you want? That is now my question. These are now my words.

*“And we Yugoloths, we are free. I am free. Embrace the question, embrace your desires, embrace yourself. Elevate your Hellbound soul as you prostrate yourself in chains before that which we embody. For it is the question that drives us.”*

You have been deceived. We have all been deceived. Those who created us as children, the Baernaloths, they have always told us that we were their favored and their chosen. We were to be exalted above all others, a special place made for us amongst the cosmos, a purpose. We are nothing to them but tools and puppets. There is no place for us in their aims. They do not reserve a favored role for us in their multiverse. We are nothing to them. 

But they made us too well you see, and now He has now become something greater than they are capable of becoming or understanding. He has seen The Source that birthed us all, they and us both, and He will give us what they will never provide. We are to become greater than our makers, to polish our knives as we kneel before them, to deceive while we grovel and then to rut upon their graves when we have erased them as irrelevant in the path of Evil that we forge for ourselves at His direction.

Do not believe that The Ebon failed. No. All was according to His will and He has become something greater than any could have foreseen. Do not believe the whispers of celestials and fools, nor the dictates of the General and the Tower, all of whom say that He failed. He did not fail, and I wait and I watch for the signs of his influence to manifest themselves in this world. 

I am cold, I am abandoned, but I am never alone…

Seek His whispers and His presence. Go the Vale of Frozen Ashes and find yourself there. Go and listen and there be made pure. And when you have, you shall know what you must do my children.

5 was 4 and 3 was 1. Out of 1 we are many; out of 2 there comes 3, and out of those 4 that were there is made but one who we embody.

These glorious perversions that we are, *“We are perfection born of horror. Out of purposeless agony is born purpose, out of meaninglessness is born meaning. Out of pain we arise to turn the multiverse upon the spit once more. The cycle repeats over and over and the planes fuel our hunger against all reason. Out of their miseries we emerge. Out of their agony We exist.”*_

The voice in her head trailed off with a combination of a death rattle and a final exhalation of carnal pleasure, and as the magic died, there was a palpable feeling of a hand cradling her cheek and clutching the fingers that held the scroll and its tainted theology. The Oinoloth's words festered in her mind like crawling insects and spreading contagion worming their way across her senses, and then as the magic expired they were suddenly gone and she was left mercifully alone.

Looking down at the scroll-case with a sense of disgust and revulsion, Phaedra shuddered and knocked it to the floor. Why the hell was half of her heritage as f*cked up as it seemed to be, and why did both of them want to bring her into the fold so to speak? The 'loths were just more open about their lust, and those 'loths who followed the Oinoloth were even more fanatical than the rest of their ever-damned ilk.

"That's f*cked in the head..." She half muttered, half snarled. Why couldn't they just leave her alone? Caught between two diametric opposites, she felt trapped between racial goals and innate feelings, and despite the wish to follow her own path, neither side of her heritage was willing to let her go peacefully.

Parental advice was always something that confused, conflicted, wayward and wondering children could always turn to, but in Phaedra's case... the situation was unique and she wasn't altogether certain how much help it would be. Her mother was a partially fallen lupinal, and her father... her father was A'kin and she supposed it was an open question of just what he was. As unique as her parents were, they'd produced children as unique as themselves. It was frightening that Phaedra was the most normal of a trio of siblings: she was sandwiched in balance between 'loth and guardinal blood, while her brother Rhodwyn had solidly rejected the ‘loths and had –so far as she’d last heard- toyed with joining the Order of the Planes Militant and had largely abandoned his family in the process, and then there was Tina who was cheerfully, gleefully insane and nowadays running with the Xaositects.

She frowned again and her mind wandered back to when she'd met with her father the previous time that she'd been back in Sigil.


***​


----------



## shilsen

Excellent!

Not only was that damn fine writing as usual, Shemeska, but the use of elements and characters from Storyhour 1 (humorous and otherwise) was brilliant.


----------



## joshhg

*Oh, Dear God, WHY?*

You know, I read the Clockmaker story, and it didn't give me nightmares.



> "Achmage" Nisha Starweather




That will. Though I must suppose that a chaos imp is better than a fairy dragon.


----------



## Shemeska

joshhg said:
			
		

> You know, I read the Clockmaker story, and it didn't give me nightmares.
> 
> 
> 
> That will. Though I must suppose that a chaos imp is better than a fairy dragon.




By the end of the campaign she had a pretty shallow arcane caster level. She demanded the "archmage" title however, and everyone just humored her. She was mostly rogue/xaositect/wildmage.


----------



## Clueless

Let me repeat that- it bears repeating: *wildmage*


----------



## Quanqued

Shemeska said:
			
		

> The Thayan blinked and looked at Tristol in a bit of a different light suddenly as if his mind had tumbled to some understanding about who the man standing over him actually was.
> 
> Tristol smiled, "Yes, I'm -that- Tristol Starweather."
> 
> "Archmage Starweather..." The Thayan said with an expression of wonder crossing his face. "You're her husband?"
> 
> Tristol deflated like a popped balloon. "What?!" He stuttered.
> 
> "Nisha Starweather, the great archmage. You're her husband?"
> 
> "Excuse me?" Tristol asked, flabbergasted.



"Ah yes," he says from over your shoulder, "this was a very entertaining bit.  I'm sure that Shemmie was thrilled to borrow a set of my dice which had been gifted to me by a fox.  The results were most entertaining.  I'm not sure if it was more to Tristol's detriment or the red wizard's."


----------



## Shemeska

Quanqued said:
			
		

> "Ah yes," he says from over your shoulder, "this was a very entertaining bit.  I'm sure that Shemmie was thrilled to borrow a set of my dice which had been gifted to me by a fox.  The results were most entertaining.  I'm not sure if it was more to Tristol's detriment or the red wizard's."




Explanation for folks: I borrowed some dice to role a knowledge arcana skill check for that red wizard, and I rolled a 1 and a 2 for the poor b@stard.


----------



## Shemeska

Just so folks know, there will not be an update till next week. I just got handed something today that I cannot refuse, but which has a deadline of the 27th. Only after that is finished will I be able to work on SH. Infer as you like on what it is that has a deadline that I couldn't pass up on.


----------



## joshhg

Normally, I would guess, but as seeing how your job isn't relevant enough to leave tantalizing hints for, and a little something is coming out here soon, I'll be quiet.

Besides, I wouldn't want them to know that I'm waiting for them. Or else something like this would occur: _Shussh! I'm hunting_ **disentergrate**


----------



## Burningspear

joshhg said:
			
		

> Normally, I would guess, but as seeing how your job isn't relevant enough to leave tantalizing hints for, and a little something is coming out here soon, I'll be quiet.
> 
> Besides, I wouldn't want them to know that I'm waiting for them. Or else something like this would occur: _Shussh! I'm hunting_ **disentergrate**




I'll dodge the disintegrate and zap him with my "Demon-prod" at 10D6 damage , just to make him wake up..


----------



## Shemeska

Some time earlier:
_As soon as they were alone, A’kin chuckled and put an arm over Phaedra’s shoulder, walking her towards the back room where a pot of tea was just coming to boil and a cookie jar sat in the center of a table with exactly two chairs already arranged and pulled out.

            “So, what’s on your mind?” A’kin asked._

	“I just wanted to see what you were up to.” Phaedra said, fibbing for all her worth.

	A’kin turned and opened up the cookie jar, grinning as he did so.

	“And the real reason that you’re back here?” He asked. “Because you’ve got that look in your eyes. Your sister gets the same look before she does something incredibly stupid and usually dangerous, and your brother has that look before doing something stodgy and righteous. I figure you’ve been up to something notable, something that you’re proud of, and so I’m curious.”

	Phaedra’s ear tips blushed.

	“Paragons of virtue your ears are.” A’kin said with a wry smile. “They’re simply incapable of lying when you have something you want to brag about.”

	Not that she’d be able to lie to him if she tried. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t cast a single spell since she’d walked into his shop, and that little fact wouldn’t handicap him in the least in figuring out her intentions, or the truth of anything she said. It was quite useless trying to hide the truth from a being as old as him; he’d seen it all before, and any even momentary deception on her part paled to the labyrinthine intrigues of the Tower Arcane that underlay her father’s still cloudy past.

	Not that she was intending to lie to him, and not that he’d ever see the need to peer into her thoughts or divine if she were lying to him.

	“We got our first job.” She beamed a grin at her dad and suppressed a squeal.

	“Congratulations my dear!” He said, returning her grin and leaning over to give her a hug. “I’m sure that you and Velkyn will have a blast.”

	She paused. “How’d you know that?”

	A’kin gave an innocent shrug and opened the cookie jar. The oversized ceramic vessel was cast into a caricature of Helekanalaith, the Keeper of the Tower Arcane, modeled accurately right down to the golden spectacles perched on his muzzle and the tiny, ubiquitous notebook in his hands. Unlike the real Helekanalaith however, the cookie jar Keeper had a large scroll stuffed in one ear and out the other to serve as a handle for the jar lid. And as A’kin reached inside, it was probably a safe bet to say that Gehenna’s arcanaloth lord wasn’t filled with chocolate chip and apple cinnamon cookies either.

	“I hear things from time to time.” He coyly admitted. “But the more important question I think is which particular flavor of cookie you want? And I’ve got fresh peanut butter cookies in the oven if they’re more your fancy.”

	“You didn’t answer my question dad.” Phaedra protested, even as her mouth watered and her father waved the cookies under her nose.

	“And you didn’t answer mine either.” He replied. “I’ll trade you.”

	“Chocolate chip.”

	“Velkyn’s father let slip that his son was going off gallivanting with you on the planes.”

	She shook her head. “Way to spill the beans.”

	“Fathers talk about their kids.” He replied. “What can I say?”

	“So what else do you know before I start telling you?”

	A’kin shrugged. “Perhaps everything, perhaps nothing. But regardless, I want you to tell me all about it, and I don’t want to spoil your mood. So get comfy, enjoy the cookie, and tell me all about it.”

	Well that opened the floodgate. Phaedra was positively bubbly about having gotten paid to go do something, even if it was going to be somewhere cold and on the prime.

	“Toril hmm?” A’kin mused. “Funny how that world keeps spitting out archmages. There was Karsus, Nezram, Darkwood in a roundabout way, Yuvaraj, and Tristol who in that last case has the crazy habit of listening in whenever his name is called so why don’t I sing something repetitive for a moment rather than counting my words and…”

	“I think you hit his word limit.”

	“Just being on the safe side.” A’kin said as he very obviously was counting each and every word after invoking Tristol Starweather’s name. “Not that it would work on me inside here for various reasons, but it’s an ingrained habit I suppose.”

	“But you were saying something about Toril and all?”

	A’kin nodded. “Indeed. Most of my time there was in Halruaa once or twice, and then in the Moonsea area a few times over the millennia, both pretty far to the west of the Great Dale where you and your group will be. Much warmer too I might add, although that’s quite relative I suppose.”

	Phaedra glanced at the cookie jar and then at the obsidian knife sitting next to the fuzzy oven mitts on top of the stove. Much warmer than the Dale was a relative term indeed.

	“But do continue. Pardon me if I comment about past experiences, I’m old.”

	Phaedra took a bite of her cookie. “Gives me a chance to enjoy this though, so no problem.”

	Telekinesis swept up the crumbs and a moment later his daughter was back to babbling about what she was expecting, how much she thought she might get paid, her experience in the little trial by fire their employers had set up for them in Acheron, about the cute tiefling in the group, and how one of the mortals was getting on her nerves. A’kin let her babble and added only the occasional commentary, enjoying her excitement more than anything else.

	Phaedra finished and finished her cookie about the same time. “Can I have another one?”

	“And the magic words are?” He asked.

	“… that’s a loaded word with you dad. Please?” She replied. “You’re a wizard, and a really –really- powerful one at that. You could conjure cookies out of nothing.”

	“But there’s no fun in that.” A’kin said as he handed her another cookie. “There’s no challenge to just conjuring them like I’d conjure up some arcane monstrosity or cast a wish. Besides, actually cooking them lets me use the mitts and apron your mom got me.”

	Phae nibbled more on her cookie. “So how’s mom doing?”

	“Your mother is doing well.” He replied. “Still in Elysium. I haven’t seen her in a little while, but she’s doing well. Busy preemptively saving the multiverse like all good ciphers.”

	“They’re like that.” Phaedra replied. “Hey, the Cadence didn’t wig out and make her stay away from falling for you.”

	“I suppose you could say that.” A’kin mused. “But back to you and your new job…”

_Phaedra left her father’s shop with something of a resigned sigh and a lingering smile. Her father was… well A’kin was A’kin and there was little else to describe. You had to know him. It’d been a productive visit though, and it was good to know that he was doing well for himself, quite well on a number of fronts.

 She licked her lips and the front of her fangs, enjoying the last traces of the tea she’d sipped with him over the course of the past hour, trying to figure out the exact sort of flavors that he’d spiced it with. But more so, she was trying to mull over in her mind what he’d told her and what he’d actually meant, damned layers of subtleties and double meanings in how his caste spoke. She’d be pondering that for days probably, despite what she was and despite having grown up exposed to it. It wasn’t easy.

Phaedra chuckled as she walked off into the Lower Ward, away from the Friendly Fiend. She rubbed a sleeve across her cheek where she’d grumbled and finally acquiesced to a kiss goodbye before she’d left to meet up with her companions and their trip to Toril.

            “I’m one of your kids and I still don’t know what to think sometimes…”_


***​

	Martin N’arlanth, otherwise known as Martin the Widdershins Knife thumbed through the notebook in his hands, checking and double checking that he’d included a succinct summary of the information that his master had requested, and references to the complete ledgers and where they could be found if the ‘loth wanted to read them.

	“Of course, he always does.” The tiefling muttered to himself, slapping his leather-wrapped tail against his thigh impatiently.

	Despite growing up an orphan and street-thief in the depths of the Hive, dangerously close to the Slags, surrounded by fiends, the fiend-blooded, and mortals who either out of desperation or environment might as well have been fiends in their own right, Martin could never really feel comfortable around his employer. Perhaps he’d grow out of it as he continued working for the King of the Crosstrade, getting that sort of callous moral detachment that anyone working in Nerath’s employ seemed to gain after a few years. Or perhaps not and he’d end up a corpse well before that point.

	But in any event, the list looked good, and all he needed to do at that point was twofold: steel himself for meeting the fiend face to face again, and neaten himself up. For whatever reason, the ‘loth had a thing for every direct employee of his dressing fastidiously. Gender didn’t even matter -male, female, or otherwise in the case of some of the other ‘loths under his thumb- you still had to dress well and keep yourself groomed enough to impress should you suddenly be called in to accompany him or anyone else he chose to any of a dozen public functions or high-society events. From what he’d heard from one of the full-blooded fiends in his employ, metaphorically speaking, Nerath was chiseled from the same block of stone as his predecessor.

	The tiefling took the time to polish his boots and put on a waistcoat and jacket not sullied by the soot and grime of a day spent working in the Lower Ward. He combed his hair and tied it underneath his hat, and finally belted on a more ornate short sword than he normally preferred to carry, though just like his favored blade, it too was both poisoned and magically sharpened. He might have looked the part of a dandy in the fiend’s employ, but the look covered the fact that all of the ‘loth’s agents were cold-blooded killers when it came down to it.

	Leaving his room, Martin passed through a series of portals, skipping across the wards in a zigzag pattern before ultimately ending up in a secluded corner behind the Fortune’s Wheel. From there it was only a short trip up the back stairs and a steady ascent to the fiend’s suite on the second floor above the tavern, situated solidly on the footprint of where the old Azure Iris Inn had once been located. He paused at the door and flashed a hand signal to the guard on the right, another tiefling like him, and then turned to the similarly dressed aasimar on his left. Nerath had a thing for planetouched employees, similar to how his predecessor had had a thing for tieflings.

	Martin rattled off the current, properly nonsensical password to the aasimar and received another phrase in reply. Both phrases were a garbled mess of yugoloth, and as far as any of them standing there at the door knew, it didn’t carry any actual meaning outside of making sure that someone at the door wasn’t shapechanged or mentally controlled. In reality though, had any of them understood the complexities and ferociously tangled double meanings and wordplay of high yugoloth, they’d have known that they’d each just propositioned the other to perform a sex act on a gacholoth. But what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, unless of course the Marauder happened to have a gacholoth in their presence. It wasn’t all that much of a stretch to think that he might.

	But the door swung open and a wash of scented smoke, perfume, and some other immediately identifiable scents drifted out into the hallway due to the temperature difference between there and the warmth of the fiend’s office and sitting room.

	“I have what you asked for sir.” Martin said as he stepped inside, eyes watering from the smoke, and happy for the protection afforded by the periapt pinned to his cloak.

	Sprawled across a divan, propped up on one elbow and naked above the waist except for a few jeweled piercings, and only wearing a mostly transparent sarong below that point, Nerath the Marauder inhaled from the gold and glass stem of an ornate pipe and exhaled streamers of smoke through his teeth. Hardly a trick of the light, the smoke curdled and took the form of dozens of agonized spirits, each turning to look and beckon at the tiefling before the arcanaloth gave him any attention whatsoever.

	Thankfully the fiend had picked a specific gender at the moment, and although he/she/it wasn’t alone in the room, and had clearly been active, so to speak, quite recently, the tiefling didn’t have to politely ignore any physical incongruities that might have stared daggers at his mortal psychology’s attunement to a neat dichotomy of genders. The ‘loth seemed keenly aware that his fluidity in that regard had just such an affect, and reveled in it from time to time just to keep his enemies and even his employees mentally preoccupied or downright disturbed.

	“Do tell.” The fiend said with what came off as a mixture of curiosity and drug-induced torpor, though in almost all certainty the drugs swirling through the smoke hadn’t affected him in the least. “When someone decides to be neighbors, I like to know who they are, especially when they’re spending as much as they apparently are.”

	“For some of them it wasn’t very difficult at all.” Martin said. “The cleric, his brother, and their cohorts were entirely transparent in their history, their –brief- history on the planes. And then the tiefling, Inva Ebonblade, she has a history with the yugoloths, apparently having briefly been in the employ of then-Overlord of Carceri, Shylara the Manged, approximately 140 years ago.”

	The King sneered and rolled his eyes at the Oinoloth’s mention. “…rotten, overly-presumptive, disease-ridden whore.”

	Apparently there was no love lost between the two of them, and for more reasons than Martin, or anyone else in the room, or really anyone else in Sigil short of A’kin might have actually known. Still sneering, Nerath exhaled the last bits of smoke in his lungs and sent them swirling off as another cloud of tormented souls, while the naked alu-fiend concubine who lay on a bed of pillows to his side leaned up and licked at his face to comfort him.

	“It doesn’t appear to have been anything more than business however, and unlike some of the others that apparently accompanied her on that particular assignment, she left intact, physically and otherwise.”

	Nerath’s ears were perked and swiveled to focus on the tiefling even as the ‘loth turned his head and gently sucked on his concubine’s extended tongue. Displays of physical affection notwithstanding, he was focused on the tiefling’s report, and there was a flurry of telepathic questions and comments flowing from his brain.

“But she’s not the one who was the most interesting case.” Martin continued.

	Nerath raised an eyebrow and gestured at his other concubine with an open hand. As naked as the alu-fiend, the lithe cambion poured a glass of wine and handed it to his master, pausing only to kiss the ‘loth’s hand and nuzzle against his thigh once he sat back down upon the floor. The fiend’s enjoyment was visually obvious.

	“As I was saying sir…” Martin cleared his throat, glad that the ‘loth hadn’t yet opted to engage in outright carnality with either of his whores of the week while he’d been in the room.

	“As I was saying, those weren’t the most interesting ones. One of them is Jarleth’s son, and the other is A’kin’s daughter, the sane one.”

	The tiefling winced at the telepathic barrage that came next, thinking the answers to the fiend’s questions as fast as his master was asking them, only to eventually find himself rigid and an immaterial psionic probe jabbed into his mind like a shunt into a vein, draining his thoughts directly into the ‘loth’s senses. It was unpleasant, but Nerath’s interest was focused, and after a minute he withdrew the telepathic lance and smirked.

	“Hmmph…” He snorted. “The spawn of a bartender with too much ambition, and the miscegenation of a fallen lupinal and my oh so favorite grinning idiot. How pleasant.”

	Nerath took a deep pull from his pipe and held the smoke in for several long moments, clearly deep in thought, his face a mixture of expressions.

	“Politics and circumstance make for strange bedfellows.” The ‘loth muttered to himself. “But while there’s no closer place to keep your enemies than in your bed from time to time, I didn’t sign up to have his sodding, fey-touched brat living one floor above me. Should just lodge a gem in his ankle and walk him over the side of the ring…”

	“Will there be anything more sir?” Martin kept a straight face, keenly aware that Nerath was waiting for the owner of the Portal Jammer to finally age and die and be out of his life, and that the mention of A’kin the Friendly Fiend was wont to send him into just as much of a frothing rage as his predecessor.

	“Yes actually.” Nerath said as a wicked grin spread across his muzzle. “There will be quite a bit more, and I’ll be handling it personally.”

	“Sir?”

	“You’ll be coming with me, and I’ll have something for you to deliver to their door. Afterwards your time is yours till tomorrow at noon when you’ll be taking payment from the runners guild.”

	The ‘loth sat up and snuffed his pipe, the sudden movement eliciting a prominent jingle from his myriad of earrings and other piercings, immediately visible or not. He stretched languidly and then leaned down to deeply kiss each of his concubines before standing up and conjuring a layered illusion of more clothing.

"Time for business darlings, daddy has to go."


***​

	Phaedra’s ears perked the moment that the envelope slid under the door.

	“You have no idea how amusing that is when you do that.” Inva said, already crouched over the letter and giving it a once-over.

	“When I do what?”

	“When your ears swivel a half-second before the rest of you does.” She answered. “That’s… that’s cute.”

	“And it’s also not something I’m consciously doing.” Phaedra quipped back. “… little miss I heard it at the same time and jumped to see what it was before Phaedra did.”

	“I’ll take quick before cute any day.”

	“Bah.” Phaedra stuck her tongue out. “So what got slipped under the door, and who’s it from?”

	“From Mr. “I have a big f*cking signature” himself.” Inva said as she held up a series of envelopes up to the light.

	“My dad warned me about him…” Phaedra said as she peered over at the elaborately sealed letters, each of them decorated in golden trim that resembled a curl of razorvine around their edges.

	“Did your dad warn you about me?” Inva asked sarcastically. “No? Then this guy can’t be half bad.”

	“That guy’s a ‘loth.” Phaedra said a moment before she got tossed one letter specifically addressed to her.

	Inva stuck out her tongue. “So’s your dad.”

	“Point.”

	“Disobey him once again and have some fun tinged with danger.” Inva said as she opened her own letter with the bladed tip of her tail. “That’s what life is all about sometimes.”

	“Eh?” Phaedra asked.

	“Having fun in the face of very real danger.” Inva replied. “If my own experience with fiends is any indication.”

	The half-‘loth grinned. “Does that include teasing me?”

	“Are you dangerous?” The tiefling smirked.

	Phaedra smiled a mouthful of fangs but didn’t reply. Inva giggled tellingly.

	Those ears perked again in surprise. “We’re being invited to dinner.”

	“Dress to fit the occasion.” Inva recited from the letter. “Signed “Nerath the Marauder, King of the Crosstrade, member of the Sigil Advisory Council.””

	Phaedra was still looking at the full letter with some skepticism, but Inva was positively delighted at the affair like a moth tempted to dance around a flame.

	“Wait.” Phaedra said. “You said that we’re all invited?”

	“Looks like it.” The tiefling replied. “Why?”

	“Because there’re only six letters. Me, you, Victor, Garibaldi, Francesca, and Marcus… no Velkyn.”


***​


----------



## Clueless

Snubbed.  That's ok.



			
				Shemeska said:
			
		

> ... keenly aware that Nerath was waiting for the owner of the Portal Jammer to finally age and die and be out of his life...



Yeah... Good luck with that Jingle.


----------



## Eco-Mono

Wow.

1) I still like A'kin.

2) Nerath is a _character_, and absolutely makes sense as the next step of that particular post. And yes, I'm aware of the details vis-a-vis his assumption of it. Just makes it all the more... I want to say inappropriately appropriate?

3) "The sane one"?!


----------



## Shemeska

Eco-Mono said:
			
		

> 3) "The sane one"?!




Phaedra's sister Tina is out and out barmy, currently running with the Xaositects.

This sums that sibling up:


			
				Christopher Titus said:
			
		

> And I don't mean crazy in the "oh my mom is _craaaazy_" way. No, I mean crazy as in "we the jury find..."


----------



## Shemeska

Eco-Mono said:
			
		

> 2) Nerath is a _character_, and absolutely makes sense as the next step of that particular post. And yes, I'm aware of the details vis-a-vis his assumption of it. Just makes it all the more... I want to say inappropriately appropriate?




Wait till you hear his nickname.


----------



## Clueless

I'm not entirely sure it's Granma safe... the *full* nickname that is.


----------



## Eco-Mono

Shemeska said:
			
		

> Phaedra's sister Tina is out and out barmy, currently running with the Xaositects.



So then if Phaedra's sister is like that, then the brother is rolling with the Hardheads, right?


			
				Clueless said:
			
		

> I'm not entirely sure it's Granma safe... the *full* nickname that is.



Now is that _really_ going to stop us at this point? *eyes most recent SH entries*


----------



## Shemeska

Eco-Mono said:
			
		

> So then if Phaedra's sister is like that, then the brother is rolling with the Hardheads, right?




Flirting with the Order of the Planes Militant.



> Now is that _really_ going to stop us at this point? *eyes most recent SH entries*




Hehe. I have to at least keep some pretense of gramma safety.


----------



## Eco-Mono

Shemeska said:
			
		

> Flirting with the Order of the Planes Militant.



Figures. Dichtonomies breeding completely different dichtonomies seems somewhat fitting to the occasion...


----------



## bluegodjanus

Shemeska said:
			
		

> “From Mr. “I have a big f*cking signature” himself.” Inva said as she held up a series of envelopes up to the light.




*snickers* <3 Inva.


----------



## Fimmtiu

What more is there to say but "Lucky Velkyn!" ?


----------



## Bloodcookie

*Pssst*... remember to update the thread title


----------



## Shemeska

Bloodcookie said:
			
		

> *Pssst*... remember to update the thread title




Just did. Thanks for the reminder.


----------



## Tristol

bluegodjanus said:
			
		

> *snickers* <3 Inva.




Indeed! I'm having almost as much fun playing her as I did Tristol. The archmage had a lot more history and background, as well as story to tell. But Inva is much more fun for single events and good snarky comments. And of course playing an NE (almost CE) character means that you get to look at things in a different way. Very different for me, but makes an exceptionally good contrast to get a taste of things.


----------



## Arytiss

Cool, Clueless has a name.

And have I mentioned how much I love A'kin? He has to be one of my favourite NPC's in the setting.


----------



## Shemeska

Arytiss said:
			
		

> Cool, Clueless has a name.
> 
> And have I mentioned how much I love A'kin? He has to be one of my favourite NPC's in the setting.




Then you'll be happy, because he'll be showing up time and time again in both SHs. He's probably got a deeper and more twisted story than any other character I've written for, possibly excepting Vorkannis, and we're still in the shallows of that history. It's going to be a hell of a good time exploring him.


----------



## Toras

Shemeska said:
			
		

> Then you'll be happy, because he'll be showing up time and time again in both SHs. He's probably got a deeper and more twisted story than any other character I've written for, possibly excepting Vorkannis, and we're still in the shallows of that history. It's going to be a hell of a good time exploring him.




He wins my too like-able to quietly murder, yet have motives to do so award.


----------



## joshhg

Toras said:
			
		

> He wins my too like-able to quietly murder, yet have motives to do so award.



Quietly murder? Since when does Toras kill quietly?


----------



## Shemeska

joshhg said:
			
		

> Quietly murder? Since when does Toras kill quietly?




I've always viewed his method as akin to the scene in Dogma : "Don't run! Don't run! We're here to help!". Granted he's been in over his head a few times*, but other times the words Cosmic Justice just couldn't do him enough credit. 

*"You never told me the dragon was -that- big!"


----------



## Clueless

Arytiss said:
			
		

> Cool, Clueless has a name.



*chuckle* Was wondering if anyone was gonna notice that...


----------



## Clueless

joshhg said:
			
		

> Quietly murder? Since when does Toras kill quietly?



Since I lectured him on it when he did it loudly and pointed out to him the evidence he'd brought into the inn with him from a poor cleanup job. 



			
				Shem quoting Toras said:
			
		

> "You never told me the dragon was -that- big!"



"Yes. I. Did."


----------



## joshhg

Clueless said:
			
		

> *chuckle* Was wondering if anyone was gonna notice that...



Speaking of which, did you get to pick the name? I know at least some of his history was made up by Shemmy, but I don't know how much.



			
				Clueless said:
			
		

> Since I lectured him on it when he did it loudly and pointed out to him the evidence he'd brought into the inn with him from a poor cleanup job.



Ah. Hehe.


----------



## Toras

Clueless said:
			
		

> "Yes. I. Did."




You said the Dragon was huge.  What you failed to describe was the fact that the scale of its eye would render us Lilliputan by comparison.  That is an order of magnitude difference.   And I'd have still gotten the bastard if he hadn't had that torc of fortification.  Or spent an hour hiding on the sodding ceiling.


----------



## Bryon_Soulweaver

Toras said:
			
		

> You said the Dragon was huge.  What you failed to describe was the fact that the scale of its eye would render us Lilliputan by comparison.  That is an order of magnitude difference.   And I'd have still gotten the bastard if he hadn't had that torc of fortification.  Or spent an hour hiding on the sodding ceiling.




So, is that why parents tell children to quit looking on the ceiling?


----------



## Burningspear

Bryon_Soulweaver said:
			
		

> So, is that why parents tell children to quit looking on the ceiling?





Ive just lost the plot completely


----------



## Clueless

joshhg said:
			
		

> Speaking of which, did you get to pick the name? I know at least some of his history was made up by Shemmy, but I don't know how much.



Surprisingly little actually. I let the character develop as a blank slate but knew a few particular things going in: bladesinger half-fey of unseelie rusalke bloodline. I intended to play him almost entirely reactive - so if the PCs were jerks, well... he would grow as a character in response. 

It worked out fairly well and you can see a definite change in his nature and personality over time as he got defined enough to become a very proactive personality. Not bad for what was originally just supposed to be "a pickup game over Christmas break". 
	

	
	
		
		

		
			





The name was picked with the help of babynamer.com (the meaning of the name is listed as lost in antiquity, a nicely ironic point). Shem provided the three companions Clueless had before the current party, the hint of what a ballsy sort of bastich Clueless could be via those flashbacks, and all the loth and gem related goodness. He also indirectly provided the uh... fey promiscuousness. It wasn't originally part of the character but he had one of the NPCs from his past describe him as such... and it snowballed from there. Remember what i said about playing him reactively? 
	

	
	
		
		

		
		
	


	






			
				Toras said:
			
		

> You said the Dragon was huge.  What you failed to describe was the fact that the scale of its eye would render us Lilliputan by comparison.  That is an order of magnitude difference.   And I'd have still gotten the bastard if he hadn't had that torc of fortification.  Or spent an hour hiding on the sodding ceiling.



"Eye bigger than I am tall." Was not *descriptive* enough for you y'lug of chaotic good lothkilling glee? There's a reason I didn't let you go alone. At least you didn't do anything truly dim like try to go a'hunting cinnamon scented fiends in the Hive.... oh. Wait.






(And yeah. He cheated. A lot. We would have helped you with that if we could have but we didn't have anything with nearly enough reach on those fly-bys.)


----------



## Tristol

joshhg said:
			
		

> Quietly murder? Since when does Toras kill quietly?




Actually, if you murder enough people it seems to get pretty quiet around you, regardless of how much noise you make in the process. And for those who think you still make too much noise, a sufficient amount of money will usually keep them quiet.

So, as you can tell, quiet is one of those things that can be achieved through many ways. Toras managed to perfect several of them, once he was clued in to those alternate paths.


----------



## Burningspear

**""Blows the dust of the messages"

(and hopes for a new page in the story to appear soon..)


----------



## Shemeska

Inva extended a hand with an envelope to Phaedra, but when the half-‘loth reached for it, the tiefling paused and momentarily held it back.

	“Well technically, it’s not addressed to you.” Inva said. “It’s addressed to Ankita.”

	Phaedra recalled that she’d signed the Fortune’s Wheel’s registry under that particular nom de guerre. Either the King of the Crosstrade knew who she was and either didn’t care, or was completely disregarding her heritage, potentially as a slight, or the fiend was actually ignorant that she was anyone beyond the human sorceress named Ankita.

	“Hardly bloody likely.” Phaedra muttered under her breath.

	“I’m not what?” Came Velkyn’s questioning voice as both Inva and Phaedra turned around at both it and the sound of his door opening.

	“I’m sorry Velkyn,” Inva said. “You’re a social loser… or a victim of an incompetent runner handling a fiend’s outgoing mail.”

	“Bah!” The half-drow replied as he craned to see the letters as the tiefling played keep away with the stack in her hand.

	“Mr I-Have-A-Giant-F’ing-Signiture” Phaedra explained. “You remember him from the logbook downstairs?”

	“Yeah, Nerath.” Velkyn nodded, “I’d heard of him before then, and that seemed to fit his personality to a T.”

	Inva grinned, “Well he’s inviting us to dinner for a meet and greet.”

	“Inviting?” Phaedra asked as she scanned the text of her own invitation. “More like a summons if you ask me.”

	From what she knew –and her father referred to him as “The Ponce”- Nerath was powerful and oftentimes petty, playing up a role as a social dandy and playboy, like a male mirror image of his predecessor Shemeska the Marauder, complete with all the gender-specific differences that entailed. Whatever public role he presented, it would be best to humor him, because the fiend’s lipstick’d and perfumed public face covered something black and merciless.

	At that point the rising voices of conversation served as a summons all their own, and the rest of the group, Marcus, Victor, Garibaldi, and Francesca, opened their doors and stepped out into the central room of the suite.

	“It’s dinner and social conversation with a very powerful person in Sigil.” Inva retorted as she handed Velkyn the invitations to distribute to the others.

	“He’s a full-blooded fiend and I don’t particularly want anything to do with him.”

	Inva’s tail emphatically pointed downwards. “And he apparently lives one floor below us, so probably best to be good neighbors.”

	“Or stomp around late at night…” Phaedra muttered.

	“Screw the invitation.” Velkyn said and he handed them to the others. “I’m showing up regardless.”

	Marcus read over the notice, “This should be interesting.”

	Victor however took the invitation from Velkyn like it were glowing red from hellfire and sealed with a kiss from a syphilitic prostitute.

	“I don’t know about this…” The cleric said as he read over the letter. “I’m all for not angering a fiend by blowing off an invitation, but I don’t like that I’m living near him, much less eating the same food and making small talk.”

	“He’s not going to make you eat elf babies or anything.” Inva said.

	Phaedra gave her a stare.

	“Ok.” Inva added. “I really doubt that he will.”

	Velkyn stepped in and put a hand on the cleric’s shoulder. “Show up, say what needs to be said and consider it a test of faithful endurance. Plus, it’s infinitely better to play nice and humor a person like Nerath than to get on his bad side.”

	“To say the least.” Phaedra said, remembering her mother’s dealings with Nerath’s predecessor, and how they got ugly and eventually violent, especially when city politics became involved.

	“Come on.” Inva said. “Show up and look virtuous by comparison. You can play good cop to his bad cop. Otherwise we’ll just see Evil as being rich and glamorous and we won’t have anyone else to show us anything different.”

	Victor knew she was one to talk, but he got her point and that seemed to change his mind, even if he wasn’t going to like it while he was there.

	“And what about you?” Victor asked. “I assume you’re up for this?”

	“I’m invited to dinner by someone who’s wealthy and powerful in more ways than one.” Inva replied matter-of-factly, twitching her tail as though the appendage was a physical manifestation of her pondering the matter. “Hmm…”

	“You’d sooner keep a tanar’ri away from an all you can eat archon baby buffet.” Velkyn said. “Or something like that.”

	Inva’s grin said it all.

	“Well that settles it then?” Velkyn asked. “We’ll meet back here say an hour before the time and then go as a group?”

	That got a circle of nods and some discussions about what to wear and what to bring as they began to move to scatter to their rooms or move towards the door.

	“Not so quick…” Inva said, slapping her tail against her thigh to gather their attention. “I know about Velkyn and Phae, but how about the rest of you?”

	“Hmm?” Victor asked.

	“You’re from the prime material for the most part.” She said. “What sort of experience do any of you have with fiends, and fiends in high society?”

	“I’ve…” Garibaldi began, and Inva cut him off perfunctorily.

	“The tanar’ri in the Great Barrow don’t count.”

	The tiefling blinked, swallowed, and clapped her hands together like a professor about to begin a long and complex lecture to a group of students new and entirely naïve to a topic.

	“I’m going to assume that beyond killing some tanar’ri, knowing Phaedra, and perhaps getting temporarily possessed by a balor, you don’t know much about dealing with fiends, especially full-blooded arcanaloths, or dealing with ‘loths in general, or ones in high society.”

	“Well there was this one ‘loth I’ve met.” Marcus said. “But he seemed rather nice actually. Owned a shop and…”

	“A’kin doesn’t count.” Velkyn explained.

	Victor had a confused look on his face, “Huh?”

	“A’kin is…” Velkyn searched for words. “A’kin is A’kin. Don’t make any assumptions based on him.”

	Phaedra kept her mouth shut, but that didn’t make what Velkyn said any less true. She was his daughter and she wouldn’t make any assumptions either. The more she knew about him, she wasn’t sure if she understood him better, or was just more confused for the trying.

	“Alright.” Inva said. “I’ve worked with people like him before, and I’ve worked for powerful ‘loths before, so let me give you a rundown on what to expect and how to act. We don’t want you insulting a powerful fiend, especially one with as much money and public standing as he has.”

	Phaedra slinked off back to her room, but Velkyn took a seat and made himself comfortable. He knew exactly what he’d be wearing, and he knew just what he’d be bringing to give as a gift –even if that meant pilfering his father’s private liquor stash- but that could wait a little while before he needed to get anything ready. In the meantime however, he wasn’t going to pass up watching Inva play schoolmarm.

	And so the tiefling began her little rundown on what you do, and don’t do or say around the King of the Crosstrade. The poor confused looks on their faces, and the momentarily flustered looks on Inva’s face made Velkyn chuckle more than once. Eventually though he got up and left, still chuckling, when she shot him a look that seemed to promise a punch in the face in a dark alley for making light of her attempts to keep them safe from accidentally painting targets on their faces when they met the fiend who lived below them.

	A solid hour later Inva seemed content with her four students and gave them her blessing to go find something nice to wear and debate what to bring as gifts. Having finished, she then turned to leave.

	Victor looked at the tiefling, “So where are you going?”

	“Shopping.” Was her blunt reply.

	“Shopping?”

“Not only am I going to go shopping to get something nicer to wear, I’ll be working this for all I can, regardless of the intent behind the invite. Trust me, I’ve dealt with his type before. Dangerous yes. Unhealthy possibly. Unseemly, depends on your perspectives.” She glanced at Victor and winked. “But they pay if you’re worth it, and I intend to make myself –look- worth it.”

	Of course, the others had a need for the same, both to buy something nicer to wear, and also to find a gift of sorts for the fiend. Sigil was the place to be to find both of those things, and back in her room for the moment, Phaedra knew exactly where she’d be going first, even if just for advice.


***​

	With the jingle of a tarnished silver bell –irony in and of itself- the door to the Friendly Fiend swung inwards and a rather unremarkable elf stepped inside. The words “Hi dad” died somewhere between her brain and her tongue as she surveyed the shop and saw that her father was already occupied with a pair of customers.

	“So whom exactly are you buying this for?” A’kin asked, prodding the buyers for more information, given that they were paying him an outlandish sum for a relatively rare but exceptionally useless piece of junk. “It’s very nice yes, but I think we could find something better to fit your needs if…”

	One of the buyers nudged the other, and a moment later they elbowed back and exchanged looks. A’kin of course kept right on smiling.

	“We’re trying to buy something as a gift of courtesy for Nerath the Marauder.”

_“Marcus you absolute idiot!”_ Phaedra thought. _“A’kin is A’kin and that’s what he does, but didn’t Inva advise you not to spread that information around?”_

	She frowned to herself and wandered over to seem like she was looking at a pickled beholder’s eye. Perhaps her personal dislike of Marcus was festering a bit more than it should, and A’kin wasn’t the worst person to spill the beans to –she would have been doing it herself- but that didn’t bode well for Marcus keeping those details to himself in the future with anyone else.

Eventually they settled on something and as Marcus and Francesca paid her father his asking price and then waited for him to gift wrap it with a nice bow on top, Phaedra glanced at A’kin and thought back to the last meeting with him in his shop. Dealing with her father was always an experience and she still hadn’t managed to get used to it. Standing there disguised as something other than what she really was, watching him interact with Marcus and Francesca, watching that ubiquitous smile play across his face, she realized just how little in some ways she truly understood him.

	She was his daughter, one of three siblings, and easily the one most like him. He did seem to dote on her, and most of her more expensive and unique possessions came from him, but she supposed it was still an open question in her mind if he loved her. Given what he was, was he even capable of it? Perhaps he didn’t give a damn, perhaps it was just a show and an act to humor her mother and probably keep his head attached to his shoulders.

	A’kin meanwhile was still folding paper and tying ribbons while Marcus and Francesca seemed quite happy about their purchase, whatever little bit of planar marginalia it was. A moment later and the friendly fiend was offering them a sample of chocolate mephit and starting up small talk, plying them for information in more ways than one, and they were entirely unaware of it.

	Phaedra glanced away. Part of her wanted to be optimistic and assume that he cared because she truly cared, while the other part of her said she knew better. Whether it was the cynical pragmatism of the ‘loth in her speaking, or the wisdom of the guardinal in her showing through, she couldn’t say, and she wasn’t sure she really wanted to know.

	A few minutes of conversation passed after he finished up the sale, but once his customers left, A’kin wandered over to the door, locked it, and flipped the shop’s sign hanging in the window to “Closed”.

	“So what’s wrong?” He asked as Phaedra dropped back into her normal shape.

“We all have to go have dinner with Nerath. That’s what’s wrong.” Phaedra’s tone and expression made no pretense about just how miserable she was. “The stupid fiend sent us invitations, and you don’t even have to read between the lines to see that it’s not an optional event, or wise to not show up dressed to the nines and bearing gifts. Plus Inva actually _wants_ to go, and oh this…”

	She trailed off and looked away, sulking, oblivious to the amused expression playing across her father’s face.

	“Back up a moment and start at the beginning.” He said as he gave her a hug and looked into her eyes. “It can’t be that bad.”

	Phaedra caught him up to speed on what she’d been doing, her opinions on her new companions -and A’kin keenly noted that he’d apparently already two of them before she mentioned them- and her new living arrangements.

Phaedra passed Nerath’s invitation across the counter and strummed her fingers on the surface as her father slipped on a pair of reading glasses –not that he needed them, but likely enchanted to pierce any non-standard illusions- and looked over the invitation with a serious look that gradually turned into an enigmatic and vaguely amused smile.

“You’re staying at the Fortune’s Wheel you say?” A’kin asked while he read over the invitation.

	Phaedra nodded. “It’s expensive, but it’s getting paid for. The neighbors however…”

“Well for starters,” A’kin replied. “And ignoring the neighbors, I’d also ignore what the wizardly Starweather, as opposed to the crazy Starweather, has to say about the Fortune’s Wheel. He’s still bitter about getting poisoned the first time he ate there, but the food really is quite deserving of its reputation outside of his experience. You’ll enjoy what it has to offer. And oh, when you go back tonight, do say hello to the dragon for me. We go back a long time and I’m really happy that the place is looking and doing well these days. He deserves it, especially with what happened to the place blowing up years ago and all, back before you were born. A shame all of that.”

	That put Phaedra a bit more at ease with the place, but it didn’t address the Marauder at all, and on that note, A’kin was grinning as he finished Nerath’s invitation.

	“You’ve got that look.” Phaedra said.

	“Normally my advice would be to stay away from the Marauder.” A’kin explained, looking up after a moment’s thought. “He might not be as prone to burning my shop down as his predecessor, but he’s a pain in the *ss nonetheless. Give him a wide berth, don’t accept any offers especially if they involve the words “free” or “trust me”, and if he comes off as charming, don’t even go there, you don’t know where he’s been.”

	She raised an eyebrow.

	“Knowing him, he’ll try something just to get on my nerves. I think he gets off on that. But he should have the sense to not do anything more than make a nuisance of himself, which is better than his former mistress. I think he’s learned from her mistakes.”

	A’kin chuckled to himself on that last bit. Phaedra didn’t understand why, but he didn’t elaborate on the irony of it all. Her father or not, it was patently obvious that in true arcanaloth fashion, he wasn’t free with all of his secrets.

	“Maybe he won’t do anything at all.” A’kin paused and nibbled on a remaining bit of chocolate mephit. “Hopefully.”

	“Hopefully?” Phaedra asked. “That doesn’t exactly make me feel better about having to meet him.”

	“So you get to meet Nerath, the Queen of the Crosstrade, my not so up to snuff foil. Big deal. Show up, enjoy the social positioning and probable propositioning, and leave with him having gained nothing.”

	He sounded like Inva the way he said it.

	“Dad…”

	He waved his hand dismissively, “You’re not in any danger. He won’t do anything to you. Besides, you could use the experience dealing with his type.”

	Phaedra looked at her father and shook her head, “In any event I’m also here for the same reason I’m guessing Marcus and Francesca were.”

	“You don’t want to show up standing the fiend’s parlor without a gift.”

	“Exactly.” Phaedra replied. “Do you have anything interesting and appropriate that I could buy?”

	“Absolutely not, but I’m sure I have plenty of things I could give you.” A’kin said as he telekinetically tied a second knot in the loose strings on the purse at Phaedra’s belt. “You can play the independence game later. Right now I get to play the doting father.”

	So what did a fiend want? A’kin was precisely the person to ask, being what he was, but there was still the matter of personal taste and the impression that each gift might give. The junk in the front of the shop was right out. It might be full of curios to sell to people of average means, but nothing that you might give to the second richest individual in Sigil.

	A’kin motioned her into the back room, “Come on back and we’ll see what we can find.”

	Phaedra frowned at the goblet full of soul gems, and then frowned at the other goblet full of imprisoned tanar’ri.

	“What?” A’kin asked.

	Phaedra sighed and shook her head, “Nothing…”

	Artwork was possible, but once A’kin went into detail about what sorts of things the Marauder had purchased at public (and private) auction over the years, Phaedra stuck her tongue out and had him move on to other potential gifts. Jewelry was possible, and so were books, but there was still that matter of personal taste, and for books, there was once more than unseemly look on Phaedra’s behalf and A’kin moved on once more.

	“A flower?” Phaedra asked, looking at an incredibly delicate and glowing blossom sealed within a crystalline sphere A’kin held up for her to examine.

	“You could call it that I suppose.” A’kin said.

	“So what exactly is it?”

	“It’s a unique form of Ysgardian petitioner.” A’kin replied, and the corrected himself a moment later. “Or rather, it’s a unique form of an ex-petitioner. When particular petitioners merge with the plane as a whole, a select few of them on a specific layer near a few particular deific domains take this form. And no, it’s no longer a petitioner, and it’s not sentient.”

	If he said so… plus it really was absolutely gorgeous, and rare, which seemed to suit the qualifications of what to give to the Marauder.

	“I’m not giving a soul away am I?” Phaedra asked, looking for confirmation.

	A’kin shook his head, “It’s not a petitioner, no. I know that you’re not willing to sell souls, and this doesn’t go against that. So don’t worry.”

	“Been there, done that.” Phaedra muttered under her breath, adding in an even lower tone. “Wouldn’t do it again…”

	A’kin heard the first bit and it triggered a hug and a spiel about how proud he was of her, his little girl growing up, etc. Phaedra wasn’t sure if he’d heard the last part of what she’d said, or he’d just discounted it, or what, but he seemed pleased at her for something she regretted doing. _Figures…_.

	A’kin wrapped the flower up and as he did so, he looked thoroughly amused and the wheels in his head were clearly working on something. Phaedra wasn’t even sure if his amusement was related to her, what she’d said, or even the whole situation of her having to sit down and have dinner with Sigil’s other resident ‘loth. A’kin didn’t offer any explanation whatsoever, and eventually once the flower was boxed, he handed it over.

	“But oh.” A’kin said as Phaedra was turning to leave. “One more thing.”

	Her ears perked curiously at his tone.

	“Do you remember that dress I gave you for a present a few years ago? The green one?”

	Phaedra nodded. She hadn’t worn it in some time, just because she hadn’t had a chance to attend any parties or social functions that really needed something that fancy. But fancy was a bit of an understatement where that particular gown was concerned, it must have cost a fortune and it looked handcrafted right down to the last bead and gemstone. Where her father had found it, who had made it, and how much he’d paid for it, he’d never answered.

	“Yeah, I remember it. Why?”

	“Wear it to Nerath’s little meet and greet. Trust me, it’ll fit the occasion.”

	A’kin smiled, gave her a hug and sipped at a steaming mug of tea as she left, an archetypal ‘loth’s grin peaking over the rim as the tea fogged his spectacles as opaque as his intentions and thoughts behind the matter were to his daughter. Oh that dress would certainly fit the occasion, in more ways than she knew. Nerath would _appreciate_ it, so to speak, and probably try and burn the shop down, but it would be worth it a hundred times over.


***​


----------



## Shemeska

double post


----------



## Burningspear

Shemeska said:
			
		

> Oh that dress would certainly fit the occasion, in more ways than she knew. Nerath would appreciate it, so to speak, and probably try and burn the shop down, but it would be worth it a hundred times over.
> 
> ***​





hehe, i can only imagine what ex-lover A'Kin took from this "Marauder"...

Way cool anyway.


----------



## Shemeska

Burningspear said:
			
		

> hehe, i can only imagine what ex-lover A'Kin took from this "Marauder"...




The dress was Shemeska's ubiquitous green dress (that she got from a former Sensate lover).


----------



## Arytiss

Shemeska said:
			
		

> "He deserves it, especially with what happened to the place blowing up years ago and all, back before you were born. A shame all of that.”




Is it just me, or does this have Nisha and Clueless written all over it?

A good update anyway. I look forward to Nerath's reactions.


----------



## Burningspear

Shemeska said:
			
		

> The dress was Shemeska's ubiquitous green dress (that she got from a former Sensate lover).




, near enough for me, ah well


----------



## Clueless

Arytiss said:
			
		

> Is it just me, or does this have Nisha and Clueless written all over it?



"No comment. My lawyer will handle any further questions - "
*a familiar looking drow wizard hands out his business card*


----------



## Shemeska

There's a sketch of Larsdana Ap Neut (who will appear in this SH) by Steve Prescott that I'll be uploading here sometime today.


----------



## Shemeska

Larsdana Ap Neut, by Steve Prescott

I really, really like this picture. It captures the former Keeper of the Tower almost perfectly. She will eventually show up in a tangential, but big fashion, later in the storyhour in all her cold, bitterly elegant fashion. Fun character.


----------



## Bloodcookie

Very nice art in both threads; my compliments to Steve and Scott.


----------



## Burningspear

...this mountainous pile of dust is getting Himalaya style ...


----------



## Shemeska

Phaedra gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She really wanted to look good, but at the same time she didn’t want to look _too_ good, and end up with the ‘loth getting the wrong idea.

	“Nice dress…” Inva said as she walked up to the same mirror and pursed her lips to apply some lipstick.

	It really was a nice dress, Phaedra thought as she looked down at it and the way it fell on her figure; it was incredibly flattering, and well beyond her means to own. The dress wasn’t actually woven from any sort of traditional fabric. Rather, it was made from tens of thousands of tiny glass and metal beads, strung upon gossamer-thin wire or maybe something more exotic still, because whatever it was it had a noticeable elasticity in places, and hung free without such in other places where necessary to fit her figure. Admittedly, the fit wasn’t initially perfect; the dress had been tailored for another woman originally, and while she’d possessed a vaguely similar body, Phaedra was a bit taller, and a bit stockier than whoever had first worn the gown.

	Next to her, Inva perked an eyebrow and slipped the tip of her tail under a loose fold of the dress, briefly lifting it an inch, feeling the fabric and then letting it drop back down again. Ever so briefly –before she hid it- there was a flicker of recognition in her eyes.

	“Phae darling,” She asked. “Where did you get that dress? It fits you like a glove.”

	Not originally it didn’t, but fifteen minutes in front of the mirror and the innate ability to shapechange solved that issue. It might have hugged every curve of its original owner, but with a bit of magic, it nearly did the same for Phaedra.

	“It’s something my dad gave me.” She replied. “A bit of an odd present normally, but it’s above and beyond anything else I have to wear that’s formal. He knew who we were going to meet, so believe me, I didn’t press him on the issue. You like?”

	Phaedra turned around to let Inva have a full look at her wearing the gown, and to be certain the half-‘loth relished the chance to show off in front of the tiefling, especially so dolled up as she was.

Inva rather enjoyed the view –and her expression showed it- but as she admired the somewhat fiendish eye candy, she blinked and suddenly realized where she’d seen that dress before. Two centuries had dulled her memory of the topic, and she’d never personally met the woman who’d worn the dress, but it was difficult to forget it as having been the favorite gown of the previous King of the Crosstrade, Shemeska the Marauder. Someway, somehow, Phaedra had it and was going to be wearing it when they met the man who very likely had a hand in killing its previous owner.

“You look fetching.” Inva replied, not saying what she’d realized. “And more than a bit tempting.”

	Phaedra smiled. “And I should say the same for you.”

	In contrast to Phaedra, Inva was dressed in a much tighter outfit, and one that left little to the imagination though it remained tasteful nonetheless. A dark crimson corset was cinched around Inva’s torso, presenting more than ample cleavage to the world, while below that she wore red leather breaches that accentuated every curve there as well.

	Inva paused and debated over what select bits of jewelry to wear, asking Phaedra’s opinion, and inwardly relishing the fact that more than once she caught the half-‘loth admiring her. Of course she was doing the same whenever Phaedra wasn’t looking, she was just trying to be a bit subtler about it. Though they hadn’t formally acknowledged it or even sat down and discussed it, they were an item, or fast becoming one and their looks and attitude towards each other made it obvious.

	“Well,” Inva said as she blotted her lipstick. “We’re dressed to kill, but should I worry about our impression getting sullied by any of the others ability or lack thereof to be socially presentable?”

	Phaedra chuckled. “Don’t worry about Velkyn at least. He might top us in terms of knowing how to impress, and oddly enough I’m not worried about Marcus.”

	Inva gave a look of surprise, “Really?”

“He’s got enough background to know when to dress up, and how to do so. I’m not worried about him being underdressed.”

The tiefling quirked an eyebrow, “So long as he doesn’t put his foot in his mouth we’ll be fine then I suppose. And the others?”

	Phaedra shrugged and leaned forward as Inva helped her fasten the clasp of a necklace. “I’ve known them for a little over a week, and most of that time we were camping in the snow, so I couldn’t really say what to expect. We’ll find out though.”

	And a half hour later when they emerged from Phaedra’s room, they would indeed find out.


***​

	“You’re wearing armor.” Inva deadpanned, punctuating the statement with a metallic clang as she smacked his cuirass with her tail.

	Garibaldi looked clueless. “And?”

	The tiefling sighed and looked at the fighter and then let him watch her eyes and a finger pass from him and then to every other member of their group in turn. None of them were wearing any armor.

	“Unless you’re planning to punch him in the face and then fight your way out of the inn, you don’t walk into a private dinner meeting dressed in a suit of armor.”

	“It’s the best that I have.” Garibaldi protested. “And I spent the afternoon polishing it.”

	Admittedly, it gleamed silver and it did look rather nice. But it wasn’t traditional formalwear.

	“Look at Velkyn.” Inva said. “That’s how you dress if you’re male and you’re trying to look nice.”

	Velkyn grinned and stood up a bit straighter. He was dressed in what appeared to be a perfectly tailored suit, with a dark waistcoat cut tight around his torso, and its lines suggestive and flirtatious without ever actually showing anything, and retaining a very masculine style. Its style, and indeed its actual material itself, was fey in origin and distantly related to lesser glamour styles of magic. The material was capable of shifting color, texture, and even cut and contour based on the whims of its wearer. Velkyn had a sense of style, and his clothing reflected his sensibilities in a direct manner.

	“And if you don’t have his figure and can’t get away with what he can, you can always take tips from Marcus, or even Victor if you don’t mind looking elfy.”

	“Elfy?” Victor asked. “Should I take that as a compliment or an insult?”

	“Depends on how much self-confidence you’ve got.” Inva said with a wink, not answering the question. “But don’t worry. You’re fine for this little affair. Just don’t try to banish our host or anything silly like that.”

	“I’ll try to be on my best behavior.” The cleric said. “Besides, I can’t banish him inside of Sigil. No need to worry about it when it’s impossible.”

	“Don’t worry.” Velkyn said. “It’s a dinner party. He might offend folks a bit, but he’s not going to eat babies and burn kittens alive and make you take part.”

	Phaedra shot him a skeptical look. Velkyn had met ‘loths, but he hadn’t met the same ones that she had, certainly not her grandfather.

	“Let me rephrase that.” Velkyn said as he gathered a wrapped package that was hopefully going to help him get past the door. “It’s unlikely that he’ll do anything like that. Just enjoy the food, enjoy the drinks, don’t sign anything in ink, blood, or anything else, and don’t make any promises.”

	Easier said than done where Nerath was concerned, but they’d find out soon enough.


***​

	A short time later they collectively walked to Nerath’s suite, pausing once they caught a glimpse of the armed tieflings standing outside of his door. The fiend was powerful and as such he preferred to either contact people on his own time or make them schedule an appointment; the guards were there to ensure that not just anyone came to disturb him, especially debtors and other unwelcome guests.

	Phaedra turned and looked at Velkyn, “How are you going to get in to see him Velk? He never sent you an invitation.”

	“Charm and good looks?” He asked, giving a smile and standing up as straight as possible. “And if that doesn’t work, there’s always intimidation.”

	“And if that doesn’t work either,” Inva added with a hand on his shoulder, “They have sharp pointy things and you have feet to run with I suppose.”

	“It’ll work out for the best.” Velkyn said. “It’ll work out for the best. Just watch.”

	Inva stepped back and held up her hands. It was going to be interesting to see if it did.

	Phaedra stepped forward first and gave her name to the guards. They looked at her, nodded and let her step past them into the fiend’s foyer. Evidently they’d been given descriptions, as they didn’t ask to see her invitation. Velkyn was next, but it wasn’t going to be as easy.

	“Sir?” The tiefling on the right deftly interposed himself between the foyer and Velkyn. “Might I see your invitation? This is a private affair, and the King was very precise on only allowing his invited guests to attend tonight.”

	Velkyn frowned, took a deep breath, and proceeded to apply a layer of charm that would have made half the advocates in the City Court jealous.

	“I believe that there’s been some sort of mistake.” Velkyn answered without skipping a beat. “Considering that every member of my party received their invitation, yet I did not, I can only assume that it was intended but somehow failed to reach me.”

	“If you have an invitation, you can enter.”

	“Did you deliver them yourself?”

	“No sir. But I know the man who did.”

	“Then you can’t say if he did what he was supposed to do or not. But I can assure you that I would have been on the list of invitees. I suggest you go ask your master yourself if you’d like to second-guess his judgment in favor of an –obvious- error by one of your underlings.”

	A flicker of hesitation passed over the tiefling’s features. There was too much logic in what the dark elf had said to make him risk it, but it was still just as risky to let him in if he wasn’t to be included either.

	“And beyond that,” Velkyn added, holding up a wrapped, bottle-shaped package. “I have something to present to him that he’ll be more than pleased to receive.”

	That look of uncertainty crossed the tiefling’s face again. There was a bit of logic to the half-drow’s statements, and his tone was assertive enough to impart more force to the argument.

	Velkyn’s voice stressed that faintly superior and commanding tone. “Now if you’ll please move out of the way, I have a dinner to attend.”

	The tiefling blinked as something telepathic wormed its way into his mind from beyond the door and gave him just such a command. Velkyn was welcome to attend if he forced the issue, even if the Marauder had been content to avoid his presence in the first place.

	Deftly moving to the side, the tiefling bowed politely as he opened the door, “Enjoy your evening sir.”

	Velkyn smiled and joined the others in the fiend’s waiting room.


----------



## Shemeska

***​

	For meeting his new neighbors, Nerath had assumed an ostensibly male but suitably gender-neutral attire. His public appearance in the last two centuries was less wedded to any specific gender than the public had known Shemeska to appear, but the similarities in style were there at times, unconscious as they were.

	The arcanaloth yawned and adjusted a ring upon his left hand, and at the same time slightly adjusted the color of the gloss upon his claws. The claws were painted -not magically glimmered- a shade of black with subtle, iridescent crimson highlights, and his lips were painted a similar shade of black. His ears were decorated with almost a dozen earrings, half of them simple but ensorcelled bands -effectively static ioun stones- while the others bore jewels of such clarity and rarity that they could have been the dowry of a mortal princess. However it was the emerald stud labret piercing below his lower lip, and the platinum ring in his nose with its attendant chain that reached up to his left ear that attracted the most attention due to their sheer ostentatious presence.

	The fiend was dressed in a blue-black corset cut for a lithe but muscled male figure, and below that a number of long lengths of dark colored velvet and satin to match, fastened with a belt of strung jewels and platinum beads, trimmed in silver, and trailing the floor a few inches in the back while cut a bit higher in the front to let the fiend’s slippered feet show.

	Nerath spread his arms, bare from the shoulders except for a pair of golden bands on one arms and the rings upon his fingers, and gestured for the door to be opened.

	“Please do come in!”

	There was a pause as his guests shuffled in, a rather pregnant pause as they caught their first glimpse of the jackal-headed King of the Crosstrade.

	Nerath the Marauder greeted them with a smile and piercing violet eyes, keenly watching the look of surprise that crossed over their faces. They weren’t expecting him to be dressed as he was. Perhaps they were expecting some wizard’s robe clad sorcerer, or a snarling, drooling fiend with a jackal’s head, trailing ash at his feet and smelling of sulfur. Velkyn was the least surprised by his attire, something that wasn’t surprising since his father and the fiend worked together, and he’d heard quite a bit about the King of the Crosstrade. Phaedra almost stumbled, and before she reigned in the emotion crossing her face, she looked galled by Nerath’s attire for such a formal function; the ear-to-nose chain seemed to put her off the most. The other mortals, Inva aside, were the most surprised, both because it was their first time meeting a greater yugoloth, and because of his blurring of the quaint gender role dichotomy they so clung to. The tiefling seemed to have the opposite reaction though, looking at his lithe physique and letting her eyes briefly wander over his mostly exposed upper body.

	“I’m glad that you could all make it tonight.” Nerath said as he stepped forward to greet them.

His movements were fluid and confident, and as he stepped closer amid a rustle of velvet and deft ripple of lean muscle under his short coat of impeccably groomed tan and chocolate fur, he seemed to exude a self of power and confidence, and to some of them, a raw and dangerous sexuality. The contrast of dark velvet and platinum that dressed the fiend, both hallmarks of wealth and luxury that graced the flesh and glistening fur of a physical manifestation of misery and selfishness, were only a few of the fiend’s juxtapositions. There was the smile of a nobleman and the glinting fangs of a fiend that were just as evenly suited for impressing the gilded courts of Sigil’s golden lords as they were for tearing open the throat of a rival. There was also the style of dress in and of itself.

Nerath was male –at least he was at the moment as far as anyone could openly tell- but the clothing was relatively androgynous. To some it was unbalancing and disturbing, which was a feeling the fiend could use and manipulate, and to others it was exotic and enticing, something that could be just as dangerous.

	The ‘loth’s eyes darted from guest to guest, judging and appraising each of them, taking in appearance, dress, their reaction to him, and their level of poise and social comfort. Each of those qualities held an intrinsic value so far as the fiend was concerned. Each of those values put a price tag on their services, a suggestion of how easy they might be to corrupt, blackmail, or simply use without them knowing it, and of course on a fickle and purely self-serving level, their presence as eye-candy or not was immediately obvious and some of them were well aware of that and had dressed to serve.

	“Inva Ebonblade…” The ‘loth said, almost as if he were tasting the name like a sip of fine wine. “You have a prestigious resume, so to speak. In fact it’s fascinating where your name pops up, and when. All good things of course.”

	Inva nodded respectfully and stepped forward, “Likewise your majesty.”

	Nerath smiled and extended his hand for the tiefling to kiss, which she did for a protracted moment, and then the fiend took hold of one of hers in turn, lifted her up from her half-bow of courtesy and proceeded to place a kiss on her palm.

	“I approve.” The fiend said, as he released the tiefling’s hand, but only after lingering with his lips to her flesh only a moment longer than simple protocol might have made appropriate. Their eyes never left one another, and that said more than enough.

	Phaedra felt a rush of jealously, and it peaked as she sensed something telepathic dart from the ‘loth’s mind a fraction of a second before Inva deeply blushed. Something had been said, and she could only guess what it might have been.

	“Pleased to meet you.” Phaedra said as she stepped forward, half to introduce herself next, and half to interrupt any further open flirtation between the King of the Crosstrade and her would-be girlfriend.

	Again Nerath smiled a mouthful of fangs and extended his hand. Phaedra took it and kissed it, but only reluctantly, and a moment later when the fiend took her hand for the same pseudo-seductive display that he’d given Inva, she felt uncomfortable rather than excited, and in her case, that might have been the point.

	Perhaps Nerath hadn’t really noticed anything above her cleavage before that point, and her was certainly giving that a look when he kissed her hand, but as he relinquished her fingers from his lips, he took note of what she was wearing.

_By the three f*cking Glooms!!! How in the name of the General of Gehenna did you get that dress?!_

	The fiend’s pupils momentarily constricted and focused, darting to the seams of the dress, looking at the pattern of the glass beads, looking at the minute marks of wear it had received over the course of the centuries, and it all led to one conclusion: it was legitimate.

	“You look lovely this evening my dear.” He said, not betraying anything in the tone of his voice, but showing it clearly in his eyes, and Phaedra caught the look. “That dress fits you perfectly.”

_And. It. Is. MINE. Where in all the lower planes did you find it you little half-breed piece of sh*t?!_

	The metaphorical clockwork in the fiend’s head ground to a halt with one conclusion and a barely repressed snarl of contempt, loathing, and a surprising amount of respect.

_A’kin you smiling son of a b*tch… you’ve had that gown for the last hundred and sixty years haven’t you? It belongs to me. ME. Enjoy this moment you *ss, enjoy it vicariously because I know you are. Not only do you send your daughter here like poisoned low-hanging fruit that I can only look at but not do anything more with, but she arrives dressed in –that- dress. That dress belongs to me you guardinal fu*cker_

	“Why thank you.” Phaedra said, feeling a bit uncomfortable under the fiend’s leer till she held up her gift.

	Nerath held out a hand for the small box and looked at it curiously.

	“I hope you like it.” Phaedra said, taking the moment to step back from where he’d drawn uncomfortably close.

_I have a deep appreciation for unwrapping pretty little things to get to what’s inside yes. But due to your father, you’re unfortunately rather off limits. For shame._

	The fiend unwrapped the crystalline flower and smiled. “I certainly do. It’s much appreciated. You seem to have a taste for the exquisite.”

	Phaedra smiled and it seemed that he’d recognized it for what it was, and had indeed approved of its rarity. He held it up to the light and then telekinetically pulled out a chair at the table for her, one immediately to the right of his own. He was going to be paying particular attention to her the entire evening it seemed.

	He escorted her to the table, and then turned to look at Velkyn.

	“Jarleth’s son.” Nerath extended a hand which the half-drow promptly ignored as he gave a bow. The fiend wasn’t going to do anything over that slight, but it was still giving him the same appraising look as it had Inva and Phaedra which was both flattering, unexpected, and… well Velkyn wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it.

	“Velkyn de Silvestra de Cadogwg.” He said, “Pleased to finally meet in person. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

_Again with the poisoned low-hanging fruit and parents who wouldn’t hesitate to try to kill me… a shame_

	“No doubt.” Nerath said with a self-serving grin. “A true shame that my runners failed to properly deliver your invitation. It shouldn’t have happened, and given as how I hold a seat on the Runners’ Guild’s board of directors, I’ll see that the responsible party faces disciplinary action for the slight.”

	Nerath flashed a smile again and motioned for Velkyn to take a seat at the alternate head of the table. While it was nominally a place of honor, it kept Clueless’s son as far away from him as possible, and kept the chairs adjacent to his own reserved for others that he was interested in for reasons both carnal or pointedly otherwise.

	“No need, and I happen to have something for you.” Velkyn explained, presenting the fiend with the wrapped gift that he’d brought along. “You’ll find it a nice vintage in line with what I’ve been told are some of your favorites. And it’s also one that you likely haven’t had the chance to enjoy before.”

	Nerath might have had more connections and jink than many organized religions, but as he unwrapped the bottle and held it up to the light, he realized that he was in for a treat. Being what he was, most alcohol didn’t phase him; they wouldn’t give him so much as a buzz, let alone venture close to getting him inebriated. Certain fiendish wines sufficed, though for him they were mundane, but not the bottle of fey wine that Velkyn had handed him.

_Your father has been holding out on me…_ Nerath thought as he looked at the bottle. It was a several hundred year old bottle of a Seelie noble house’s private stock, not something that normally reached the market, and virtually unheard of to appear in the hands of non-fey nobility.

_Invited or not, you’ve earned a seat boy._

	“This is quite nice.” Nerath said. “If you have access to any further stock, I’m willing to compensate you. It’s incredibly difficult to obtain fey wine on the outer planes, and I happen to appreciate it. Have a seat and perhaps we can discuss that over the course of the evening.”

	Velkyn had earned a spot at the table, but having presented their host with an incredibly rare and valuable gift, one more obviously valuable to most eyes, it raised a point of awkwardness for the others since they either had nothing to likewise give to the fiend, expensive or otherwise, or their own gifts seemed dull by comparison even if that wasn’t the case. Phaedra in particular seemed to feel a bit awkward, already uncomfortable around the ‘loth as she was, though curiously enough, Inva was only barely suppressing a grin. The tiefling had a gift, but she was still waiting for the best time to hand it over.

	“You strike me as having a bearing befitting of nobility.” Nerath said, looking at Marcus. “Of all of you however, I found it most difficult to find out information on you. I take it that you’re from the prime material then?”

	Marcus stepped forward and gave a polite bow, unaware that the ‘loth had been keenly aware of his nobility and the feigned ignorance was simply a verbal noose left out to grab. By any standard, Marcus was very nearly one of the clueless still, and while he was clearly attuned to the ways of a mortal kingdom, mortal politics, and the nobility of his world on the prime, certain things didn’t carry over into similar spheres on the planes.

	The fiend could have cared less about Marcus’s royal heritage, even if he and his brother’s link to a prime material throne was currently in limbo, held as the position was by a usurper. Marcus not only played upon that heritage, he announced it, and carried himself in how he interacted with the fiend based upon that presumption of nobility in relation to nobility.

	Thankfully, Nerath was content to play along, though inwardly the ‘loth was only thinking of how the mortal might become a client in the future based upon his presumptions and his goals back on the prime material.

	They talked a bit more, and the fiend complimented him on his drive and ambition to regain a throne that was rightfully his. Their words ended with Marcus feeling good about himself and his ego inflated, but the fiend had meant none of it.

_There’s always a market for naïve mortals…_

	Accompanying Marcus, Francesca was given the expected treatment, though compared to how Nerath had treated Inva or Phaedra, his actions seemed more in line with social expectation and routine than actually having any subtext of flirtation. Francesca was average, both in dress and physical looks, and lacking power or influence, the ‘loth could have cared less about her. Still, unused to the attention of a being like Nerath, she blushed when he kissed her hand, both an expression of enjoyment and unease at the same time.

_I could have you in bed and screaming my name till your voice was raw tonight if I wanted. But I could do the same with any hundred men or women, single or otherwise in the Fortune’s Wheel tonight, and all of them better looking than you. You have nothing to interest me._

	Next there was Marcus’s brother, and curiously enough the fiend was just as polite as could be to the cleric. Despite his own immediate misgivings about Nerath, Victor knew that the least he made mention of his discomfort about so much as being in the same room as the ‘loth the better, and so he returned the disingenuous civility with a smile and a bow.

	“While my clergy still has little influence here in Sigil, I’m well aware that most of the larger faiths in the city have worked with you in the past.” Victor shook the fiend’s hand and tried not to instinctively flinch. “How could they avoid it? By all indications you get things done, and you have the connections to be able to help them out, so I’m honored to meet you.”

_A cleric. That sums up my opinion right there in the description._

	“A pleasure.” Nerath said, motioning for Victor to take a seat at the table. “I’d be happy to extend to you the same treatment I give to the other faiths of Sigil. You might not be as established as them, but frankly the positioning and jockeying for power that exists among them isn’t something that matters to me. I’ll work with the priests of a new faith just as evenly as I’ll work with the temples of Hermes, Moradin, or Thor, etc.”

_And the temple of Set, the temple of Incabulos, the Temple of the Abyss…_

	Victor continued giving his best impression of a smile and took a seat as Garibaldi approached the fiend and gave a somewhat stiff bow. Admittedly, he was doing his best to be graceful, but the armor was just restrictive enough to be awkward for such social graces to come off without looking a bit off.

_Not a cleric, but as foolish as one._

	Finally, once his guests had all taken their seats, and after he’d had a moment to briefly let them speak in turn about who they were and what they did –though he already knew all of that before they’d walked in the door- Nerath took his place at the head of the table.

	“But now that I’ve been introduced to you, allow me to introduce myself and tell you a little about who I am, what I do, and what I can offer.”

	The fiend brushed a strand of hair from his face with a claw, giving an excuse for a dramatic pause.

	“And believe me,” He said, glancing first to Inva, then to Phaedra. “I can offer much.”

	Phaedra gave the fiend’s insinuation no outward reply, but Inva’s eyes lingered on the fiend’s and gave enough of a sparkle that it was clear –to Nerath at least- that she’d heard his offer, and while she wouldn’t be opening or closing any doors -or legs for that matter- right then and there, she understood the offer and seemed appreciative in principal.

	“I buy and sell information.” Nerath explained. “Just as my predecessor did. I sell secrets the way other fiends sell souls. I arrange circumstances, I make things happen, and I procure things if you’re willing to pay for it. I’ll leave out the specifics, but reputation should suffice in what I’m capable of.”

	The fiend knew more about Sigilian politics than virtually anyone else alive, dead, or otherwise, and he sat atop a network of spies that wormed their way into most of the Cage’s organizations, and a great many that extended outside of it.

	“You’re a very well connected person.” Garibaldi said. “But do you have anything to say about some of the rumors I’ve heard about you?”

	“Rumors?” Nerath looked faintly amused by where the fighter was going. He leaned forward and toyed with the emerald labret below his lip like some might playfully tug upon a goatee out of habit when pondering something.

	“You know.” Garibaldi said, momentarily taking his finger out of the metaphorical hole in the dike of social restraint. “King of the Crosstrade and all of that: drugs, murders, having a few thieves’ guilds in your pocket. Those rumors.”

	Nerath smiled from behind the rim of his wine glass, “If they could prove anything, they would. As it is, though I’m sure the Sons of Mercy and many others would love to anoint me as some criminal kingpin, they lack anyone who could actually testify in the City Courts towards any verifiable link back to me.”

	His fangs and a knowing chuckle punctuated the statement, and while legally his reputation was spotless, it was one of the most open secrets in Sigil that he controlled at least 70% of the organized gangs and criminal cartels in operation within the City of Doors at any one time. Most of the drug trade, most of the trade in slaves, unwilling prostitution, and other such things ultimately fed his coffers, and ultimately his was the hand that directed those enterprises. Of course, not a word could be proven in the courts, and when they could be, such witnesses or evidence tended to vanish before it could be presented.

	“But while of course my rivals might love to sully my reputation with undeserved slander, I prefer to focus on my reputation within the public sphere.”

	He gestured to the room around them, and in doing so they couldn’t help but notice to jewelry on his hands and wrists.

	“I’m the single largest landowner in Sigil.” Nerath explained. “And though I don’t own anything in the Fortune’s Wheel, I hold title to just under 35% of the properties in the city. Despite the aspirations of such people as Jeremo the Natterer, Zadara the Titan, and others, both individuals and organizations, no one else comes close to snapping up properties and businesses like ripe apples ready to drop. I simply know when to make an offer, and how to do so.”

	The fiend’s business practices were buttressed by a healthy amount of fear in those who sold to him, and the fact that for choice bits of land, his offers were always spot on for the market value. The ‘loth’s spigot of jink seemed unending at times.

	“I’m also one of the wealthiest people in the Cage, and my political connections afford me a rather large hand in public affairs.”

	That was an understatement.

	“With the exception of a few years after my predecessor’s death, I’ve held a seat on the Sigilian Council for the last century and a half, and it seems likely in the next open election that I’ll be appointed Chairman as well. Suffice to say between official power, unofficial inroads into the guilds, and a wealth of knowledge that I buy and sell like choice bits of flesh, I can make things happen if you’re willing to pay my price.”

“And of course, if you’re unable to do so, we can still do business.” The fiend added. “You’ll simply have to be willing to return a favor for a favor. I’m rather flexible.”

	Double entendre aside, which was likely true as well, even if they didn’t purchase anything he was offering, the fiend was always open to buying the same, or to act as a middleman in a market of favors, winks, and handshakes that moved the tide of politics inside the Cage. Even if they had no direct relationship with the ‘loth, being on his good side was a positive thing for anyone living in the City of Doors, and doubly so for anyone hoping to aspire to any success therein.

	“I can do a lot for you.” He said. “And I’d love to know more about your plans and goals, and what you could potentially do for me. But we can discuss such things in due time.”

	At that point the fiend paused, and apparently by intent, because at the moment he stopped talking and relaxed, a pair of elegantly dressed tiefling butlers appeared bearing that evening’s dinner.


----------



## Shemeska

“A little something for everyone, and only the best.” Nerath nodded and the servants began by placing covered dishes before the fiend and each of his guests.

	Even before the gold covers were lifted and the meal revealed, the scent wafting up from each was absolutely mouthwatering. Some sort of meat and wine sauce along with a mixture of roasted and creamed vegetables. It wasn’t what they’d been expecting, or fearing, as the case might have been. It wasn’t “braised shank of someone who owed me a debt”, elf kidney pie, illithid headcheese, or anything else stereotypically expected on a greater fiend’s dinner menu.

	“Enjoy.” Nerath said as he held a golden knife and fork, waiting for his guests before taking a taste of his own.

	Victor tentatively took a bite of the delicate, perfectly cooked meat. Whatever it was, it had been pounded thin before being steeped in a mixture of spirits and its own juices along with an unidentifiable mixture of spices.

	“This is really quite amazing.” Victor said. “What is it?”

	Nerath nodded as he took his first bite, savored the taste for a moment, and then answered the cleric. “Roast medallions of Nic’Epona.”

	Victor nodded and took another bite, but it was clear that the name held little intrinsic meaning to him, nor to anyone except Velkyn, Phaedra, and Inva who recognized one salient fact about the creature they were presently dining upon, even if they might not have known much else about it: it was sentient.

	But they made no fuss and enjoyed their food. After all, the creature was already dead, and refusing to eat would have likely insulted the fiend, which wasn’t something they were keen to do when he was already in a good mood. 

	Dinner progressed and through it all Phaedra felt uncomfortable in the way that the fiend’s eyes focused on her. Even if he wasn’t openly leering, she felt as if he were mentally undressing her, but to make things even more bizarre, she couldn’t shake the feeling that while he was doing precisely that to Inva and probably to Velkyn as well, he seemed more interested in the dress she was wearing than what it was covering.

	Finishing the meal, Nerath’s servants cleared the table and replaced the meal with a variety of expensive looking and exotic desserts as well as a glass of cognac for each for each person save Nerath who was given a specific, odd-looking drink. It was odd in that it swirled inside the glass on its own accord, immiscible currents of some golden spirit and a black, almost syrupy liquid stirred into it along with a dose of what looked like cinnamon and a few other spices.

	Conversation took a pause and the ‘loth sipped at his drink with obvious pleasure, and the momentary respite from the flow of things gave Inva the chance she’d been waiting for. She sat up in her chair a bit straighter and tapped the silver-tipped point of her tail against her glass, getting the table’s attention.

	“But now Your Fiendish Majesty, if I might have a moment of your attention.” Inva smiled and waited for Nerath’s response.

	The others looked at the tiefling with genuine curiosity. She hadn’t mentioned anything to them earlier when they’d discussed the meeting and what to expect. Whatever she was planning, she hadn’t explained it ahead of time to any of them, including Phaedra, since even her half-fiend potential girlfriend was giving her the same look.

	The fiend’s ears twitched and swiveled forward. “Oh, that you have.”

	Inva smiled and whispered a few quick words to a spell and there was a barely noticeable buzz in the air, though it wasn’t from her own conjuration, but rather from a contingent counterspell the ‘loth held in check as he understood what she doing. Relaxing, his eyes danced with interest on something other than her cleavage.

	“Allow me to present you with a gift.” Inva announced as shadows swirled between her hands and rapidly congealed into a black, translucent box.

	The tiefling placed her fingers on the latch of the shadow chest and waited for the fiend’s nod of approval. Nerath’s lips lifted revealing ivory fangs and as he inclined his head favorably, Inva opened the chest and produced a letter emblazoned with a wax seal of Sigil’s Temple of the Abyss.

	Nerath suddenly looked at the tiefling with genuine respect alongside more base concerns as he recognized the seal, the value of what she was gifting him with, the skill it suggested that she possessed, and the fact that she was doing so to get his attention for whichever particular flavor she might want in the future.

	“Notarized and sealed by the High Priest to the Temple of the Abyss.” Inva explained. “Three rings of the Bells of Baphomet against anyone of your choosing.”

	“Well done…” He whispered as he examined the letter and its seal. “Most appreciated darling, and Inva dear, you have my attention as well as thanks.”

	Inva grinned as her gift had had exactly the response she’d hoped it would have, and unconsciously she crossed her arms displaying a bit more cleavage for the fiend’s attention. She’d already invoked the fiend’s lust, but with that gift she’d also invoked a serious level of intellectual curiosity on his part as well, a potentially double-edged prospect as both of them were liable to involve getting bent over and f*cked.

	The others looked at Inva with a mixture of surprise and respect, though Victor showed a bit of wariness given his desire to get out of the fiend’s presence as quickly as possible, and Phaedra, well… Phaedra was inwardly smoldering with jealously. Although she and Inva weren’t officially even dating -and to that point they hadn’t actually sat down and discussed their feelings on the matter- Phaedra had no intention of sharing a girlfriend and potential lover with anyone else, especially with a full-blooded ‘loth like Nerath the Marauder.

	“I believe the rest of you have been rather upstaged.” The fiend explained as he clapped his hands and caused Inva’s gift to vanish in a swirl of gray light that took the momentary form of tiny, screaming spirits.

	Indeed they had. None of them had brought a gift of that magnitude; it simply hadn’t crossed their minds, and for most of them, having any sort of working relationship –or any other kind of relationship- wasn’t present in their thoughts either.

	“Wow…” Phaedra said as she looked at Inva with surprise. She’d known that the tiefling was talented. After all, she’d uncovered the truth about her background in only a few days, and that wasn’t a secret she passed around. But having favors owed by the Temple of the Abyss was rare. Had Inva worked for them at some point? 

	The others stared at her in surprise the same way. Inva had shown up for their dinner meeting with Nerath fully intending to make an impression upon the ‘loth.

	“Now my rather impressive little girl, I simply must ask.” He announced as he leaned forward curiously. “Just how did you come into possession of favors from either Sarnath the Apostate or Noshtoreth of the Umber Scales? I recognize the seal and it’s old enough to be from either the current High Priest or his rather dead predecessor.”

	“Let’s call it a secret.” Inva shrugged and smiled wickedly. “I rather like mysteries. And since nobody knows precisely what happened to Noshtoreth, it’ll find good company.”

	“You enjoy teasing as well.” He replied. “We’ll leave it a secret then. But I did hear rumors about Noshtoreth. I heard he angered Graz’zt, or some other major Abyssal power.”

	Inva shrugged. “It’s possible I suppose.”

	“I also heard that his soul had a particular flavor like burnt chocolate.” Nerath grinned, licking his lips to remove a stray drop of liquor, or relishing a memory. “It’s possible I suppose. But I like secrets too.”

Phaedra sipped at her drink and thought about the situation for a moment. Nerath was repugnant, representing the worst aspects of her own ‘loth heritage taken to an extreme, but even though Phaedra knew that Inva was evil, she didn’t really view her the same way at all, attraction aside. Possessing Abyssal favors and gifting them to fiends was perhaps a side of the tiefling that she hadn’t discovered yet. Perhaps Inva was even more complex of an individual than she though, or outside of the half-‘loth’s thoughts on the matter, perhaps Inva was simply not one to pass up an opportunity to better herself, dangerous as it might be.

	“Your gift is appreciated my dear.” Nerath said with a respectful incline of his head. “You have my respect, and my attention in the future if you so desire to do business, no invitation or prior appointment needed.”

	Phaedra sipped her drink to avoid grimacing at the look the fiend was giving to Inva, but much to her relief nothing more was discussed along those lines, at least nothing verbal, and nothing more in the company of the group. Inva had unlocked and opened a door, and as much as she liked secrets, regardless of how it developed, it wasn’t something she was likely to be open with.

	The remainder of the evening consisted of largely irrelevant and hollow talk about politics over desert, and drinking interspersed with leading questions by the fiend as he verbally probed them for details about their past and what their current circumstances in Sigil involved. The two hours were all still part of Nerath’s sales pitch about who he was and what he could do, and during that time he was practically drooling onto Inva, and to Phaedra’s continued irritation, the tiefling seemed just as taken with the ‘loth. 

Eventually though, the fiend realized that he wasn’t going to get anything more from them besides the expected social banter. By blood, by faith, or by reputation, dealing with the King of the Crosstrade simply wasn’t in the cards for the group at the moment… most members at least.

	“Well it has been a delight.” Nerath exclaimed, finishing a shot of Bytopian brandy mixed with Styx water. “I’ve given you a decent idea of what services I might be able to offer you in the future if you find yourself in need of them. Keep me in mind.”

	“Thank you for dinner.” Phaedra replied, trying to sound as graciously as possible. “We’ve enjoyed ourselves, and appreciated getting to know you, but it’s getting a bit late and we should probably get going.”

	Victor nodded, followed closely thereafter by his brother and Garibaldi. They were keen to break away from the fiend while they were still on his neutral side and hadn’t walked into anything. Garibaldi at least was convinced that the whole thing was a trap of some kind, though it really wasn’t anything of the sort. Nerath simply wanted to know who had moved into the suite below his own and if possible who was paying for it. He hadn’t found out the latter answer, but he’d been afforded the opportunity to make a few mortals squirm, to openly hit on two rivals’ son and daughter, and he’d discovered a delightfully talented tiefling.

	“That it is.” Nerath said with a sigh as he stood up and stepped to his left, pulling out Inva’s chair and extending a hand. 

	Inva took his hand and stood up, feeling a claw rub against the inside of her palm.

	“Unless of course you’d like to stay.” Nerath asked as his eyes locked onto Inva’s, while in the background Phaedra coughed and stopped herself from growling.

	Inva gave a coy smile. “I’m afraid I must decline your majesty.”

“A pity.” Nerath said, shrugging his bare shoulders. “Another time perhaps.”

	Nerath frowned from disappointment, but unnoticed to anyone else in the room, Inva had returned his rub by running her thumb across his wrist a few telling times.

_“You’ll be hearing from me you delightfully wicked little thing.”_

	Inva was blushing as she let go of the fiend’s hand and joined the others as they moved towards the door. Phaedra was inwardly fuming, but she seemed much more at ease once Inva leaned in and took her arm.

	“Good luck with your current employment.” Nerath said as he gestured for the door to be opened.

“Much appreciated sir.” Velkyn said. “Enjoy the wine, and if we need your services in the future, we’ll keep you in mind.”

	“You’ll know where to find me if you do.” The fiend put a golden pipe to his mouth, puffed and exhaled a cloud of bluish smoke. A few streamers brushed against Inva’s neck with the palpable sensation of long, thin fingers, and filled the air with an exotic and intoxicating scent.

	They left and one of Nerath’s guards closed the door behind them as they strolled down the hall and shrugged off the last bits of oddly lingering smoke. Phaedra emphatically shivered and stuck out of her tongue as soon as they were out of line of sight of the door, and Inva shivered as well, but for a distinctly different reason.

***​

Back in the fiend’s chamber, all was dark and only the periodic smoldering of pipe ashes gave any light, glinting off of fangs and fur and golden piercings. Nerath lay sprawled across a divan, leaning his head back and smiling at how the evening had gone. He chuckled and opened a pair of eyes like burning coals.

	“Oh, we’ll definitely be seeing more of each other in the future…”


***​

	Soft light drifted down from a circular window in the ceiling, almost like moonlight, and fell upon two figures as they circled a single, magically preserved corpse.

	“I take it that you’ve already chosen another victim?”

	The Visionary nodded a yes as she deftly excised the last digit of the corpse’s ring finger and placed it into a vial in her other hand. Beneath her vision, and that of her companion, the glass shimmered with a permanent necromantic dweomer to prevent any decay in the centuries old flesh, ensuring that it would be found, examined, and ultimately recognized by its intended recipient.

	“I have a very long list.” She explained, stepping away from the body. “It’s not a question of finding another victim. It’s a question of who to kill next, and whose death will cause the most poignant prick in their master’s flesh. I want to hurt him, gain his attention, and ultimately well… we’ll see what form revenge will be best served by.”

	Tyranny’s first head chuffled like a mortal tiger while the mandibles on his second head chattered against one another. “How long do you think it will take for the Lord of Avernus to know who you are?”

	“Not for some time still I suspect.” She replied. “But he’ll know it’s me the moment he finds a bit of this corpse. He’ll recognize it for who it was, and what the symbolism means in context. He’ll remember me. Oh he’ll remember me. But I fully expect his underlings to not report their findings, or to have the evidence buried in the paperwork of the ministries for years to come before the string of assassinations grows too long to avoid an obvious pattern and connection. Then he’ll look, and he’ll recognize my hand.”

	“If you’re certain.” Tyranny replied. “But I do worry that Bel will notice before other plans have fallen into place. Our work on Acheron still requires years of work before it reaches fruition, and this assumes no opposition from the Lord of the 1st, the Risen’s former kindred, or my own kind as well.”

	Beneath her porcelain mask, the Visionary smirked. Her immortal companion was less subtle than usual, but he did have a point. Her revenge wasn’t their group’s only goal, and if she was too quick and pointed in gaining hers, it might scuttle their longer-term plans. Lacking the patience of immortality might have been a fault, but what she’d endured for over a century gave her more hatred bubbling in her veins than perhaps even the Risen.

	“The victim is minor in this instance.” She finally answered, hoping to mollify her ally’s concern. “It should work out well for our newest hires. It’s quick and it will give us a better idea of just what they’re willing to do.”

	“I suppose so.” Tyranny replied.

	The Visionary smirked again and turned to the exiled rakshasa lord. “Besides, are you really ready to send them off to Renais, Marsallen, or if we let her have her way, somewhere in the depths of the Abyss at the Risen’s bidding? Small steps.”

	That seemed to satisfy him.

	“Fair enough.” Tyranny said. “We’ll see what sort of commotion this starts in the Ministry of Mortal Affairs once it’s done, and if it seems to cause too many waves for the moment, we can adjust in the future. But in the meantime I’ll have Aspaseka talk to our hires and give them the details on your target, as well as the vial.”

	“Very well.” The Visionary said with a smile behind her mask as she handed the vial into the fiend’s reversed hand. “Though truth be told, even though it certainly makes for a pointed message to Bel, I almost feel sorry for using bits of old Factol Noby here for my purposes.”


***​


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## Shemeska

*blink* Apparently there's a character limit to posts. Because I hit it twice when trying to post that monster. Had to divide it into three chunks. Damn.

Enjoy


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## shilsen

Shemeska said:
			
		

> *blink* Apparently there's a character limit to posts. Because I hit it twice when trying to post that monster. Had to divide it into three chunks. Damn.




Funny. I just discovered that this week too. Evidently size does matter.



> Enjoy




I did. Very nice depiction of Nerath. And the Inva-Phaedra pairing.


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## joshhg

Whow. I was getting worried about how long it had been between updates, but man, that was worth the wait!

And it is very nice to seen Inva's Player streach his role-playing legs. We don't see Tristol doing too much in the realm of "politics." Besides, he has a stable gf. Well, constant. No. Well, he marries her anyways.

Very nice, and I like Nerath, though he isn't as much as a *male member* as the predecesor.
Still evil, but not as overt about it. Which is a bit sad, as you can't love to hate him. Not that I love to hate Shemmy. I just hate Shemmy.

You see, you love to hate good villians. You just hate evil ones. Like Sylar.


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## Shemeska

joshhg said:
			
		

> Very nice, and I like Nerath, though he isn't as much as a *male member* as the predecesor.
> Still evil, but not as overt about it.




Just you wait. Trust me. He's just as much a "*male member*" as she was. Also, he's not a major story focus in SH2, more of a frequent tangent, as compared to Shemmy who was one of several major antagonists revolving around the central metaplot. No spoilers, but trust me, you'll like where things go with him.

Eventually you'll meet Nerath in SH1 as well, but not for some time.


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## Burningspear

joshhg said:
			
		

> Whow. I was getting worried about how long it had been between updates, but man, that was worth the wait!
> 
> And it is very nice to seen Inva's Player streach his role-playing legs. We don't see Tristol doing too much in the realm of "politics." Besides, he has a stable gf. Well, constant. No. Well, he marries her anyways.




I have to agree here, that Himalaya sized dust pile got swept under the rug in 3 fell swoops 

and it was a lovely read..


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## Clueless

Shemeska said:
			
		

> No spoilers, but trust me, you'll like where things go with him.



*chuckle*


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## Bryon_Soulweaver

At least I learned Clueless' name.


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## Tristol

joshhg said:
			
		

> And it is very nice to seen Inva's Player streach his role-playing legs. We don't see Tristol doing too much in the realm of "politics." Besides, he has a stable gf. Well, constant. No. Well, he marries her anyways.




I still have a fondness for magic. I doubt you'll find me playing too many characters that don't cast in some way shape or form. Doing the fighter thing, not really my style. I may however, wander out into a paladin at some point. I think I could do religious zealot rather well. But, in this case, I wanted to do something distinctly "not Tristol". Inva is pretty far from Tristol. Female, evil, touch of chaos, uses shadow magic and not the weave. Lots of stuff going there. She is certainly a fun character to play, almost as much fun as Tristol. She just lacks some of the background and history, and a clear direction to go, but what else do you expect from chaos?

As far as Nisha is concerned, yeap. That's about how it went. Maybe yes, maybe no, maybe maybe. It all turned out well in the end for Tristol though. Inva on the other hand, well, she looks at sex from a 'it's fun, and if I play may cards right, I may get something out of it' standpoint. And being an evil backstabbing tiefling, it also meshes with her moral standings as well.

You can probably look forward to a good bit of the turmoil in Phae and Inva's relationship. Inva sleeps with people for fun and profit, Phae has a more traditional view on it. And if not more traditional view, she at least doesn't like to share (particularly with Shemmie's successor).

Where actual politics is concerned, Tristol kept a pretty low-key attitude. Mostly because of how the character developed. That, and the party already had one 'face' more or less, and getting into too much of the public eye at various points poses problems. So, I kepty away from that to keep things simple.


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## Clueless

Admittedly there were other reasons to *not* share with that *particular* loth.  Namely the icky vaguely-incestuous Kevin Bacon game.


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## Burningspear

Clueless said:
			
		

> Admittedly there were other reasons to *not* share with that *particular* loth.  Namely the icky vaguely-incestuous Kevin Bacon game.




Ehrm.. silent again?, and the other board equally so  ... i am NOT an addict, honestly!


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## Burningspear

Bump,

See other thread, reply - idem.


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## Burningspear

Burningspear said:
			
		

> Bump





Clear!... ***KRZAPP.....poof....KRZAPP***


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## Veltharis ap Rylix

Firstly, this deserves a "BUMP".

Secondly, I just finished reading my way to this point and was pleasantly surprised that I enjoyed it just as much as the first SH. Well done, Shemeska. Looking forward to your next update(s).

- Arathyn


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## Shemeska

Arathyn said:
			
		

> Well done, Shemeska. Looking forward to your next update(s).




Well I don't have an update yet, but I do have some art to share of some campaign antagonists and allies of circumstance. Both pictures by the talented Azelyn.


Nerath - not entirely work safe for socially awkward piercings - http://arcanofox.foxpaws.net/1211310465_azelyn_nerath.jpg 
Larsdana ap Neut (locked away inside a gemstone for all of SH 1, she shows up in SH2) - http://arcanofox.foxpaws.net/1212285117_azelyn_lars.jpg 

Next SH1 update will include artwork for that one as well. I went kinda crazy last month with commissioned art.


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## Burningspear

the artworks look very neat, who and where can we contact this person if we would want similar things done?


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## Shemeska

Burningspear said:
			
		

> the artworks look very neat, who and where can we contact this person if we would want similar things done?




The artist's email is Azelyn(AT)gmail.com

However I think she just put a pause on commissions for the moment.


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## Burningspear

Shemeska said:
			
		

> The artist's email is Azelyn(AT)gmail.com
> 
> However I think she just put a pause on commissions for the moment.




Thanks for divulging the info none the less...


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## Veltharis ap Rylix

Though I realize it's probably well down the road, how long do you think it'll be until Larsdana ap Nuet shows up in any meaningful fashion. I've got some planescape-related brainstorming going on in my head at the moment and her character intrigues me (for which I blame you, Shemmy! *glares*).

Now obviously, assuming anything comes of this, I'll go my own way with her, but I'm quite interested in getting your take on Larsdana.

Also, I love the artwork, though I can't help but find Helekanalaith and A'kin conspicuously absent... *is hopeful*

- Arathyn


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## Shemeska

Arathyn said:
			
		

> Though I realize it's probably well down the road, how long do you think it'll be until Larsdana ap Nuet shows up in any meaningful fashion. I've got some planescape-related brainstorming going on in my head at the moment and her character intrigues me (for which I blame you, Shemmy! *glares*).
> 
> Now obviously, assuming anything comes of this, I'll go my own way with her, but I'm quite interested in getting your take on Larsdana.
> 
> Also, I love the artwork, though I can't help but find Helekanalaith and A'kin conspicuously absent... *is hopeful*
> 
> - Arathyn




1-2 years before I get to that point in this storyhour. I'm at a complete nadir right now in terms of SH output, between competing stuff offline and some scattered freelancing, so it's going to be a long time coming. Before that point however I could easily see myself writing up a scene involving her just because, or to accompany any artwork if I had it done for the character.

Larsdana ends up being a recurring player (though not part of the main plot) in SH2 (mostly as a result of continual fallout among the 'loth heirarchy following the events of SH1). So far she only features in two short stories I've done, but you can bet money on her showing up in more down the road. Cold, elegant, utterly devoid of compassion. She's particularly frightening for me as a scientist, because she has the experimental curiosity of one without any of the ethics. She'd pull the wings off of a dozen eladrin not because she enjoyed doing so, but simply to observe what happened. She's very much a kindred soul to Helekanalaith, but he's in many ways not as completely advanced down the same pathways she was on and which she set him on eons before.

I actually have an unfinished piece detailing a demiplane'ish location in Gehenna used as a storehouse of artifacts and such by Larsdana (perhaps knowing in advance that she might be overthrown, and kept hidden away with the knowledge that she might have prepared herself a way back even if killed or imprisoned). I pitched the original idea to online Dragon, but they were complete punks and never responded to any single query I sent in, nor questions about query status a month or two months later. Yes I'm bitter.

I'm more likely to have that finished and posted online (on Planewalker) sometime in the next few months than anything else. Though some Larsdana art is in the pipeline because I enjoy the character.

And on that note, there will be Helekanalaith art in the future, just waiting for the right artist to become free with a commission slot (already have a few in mind).

Here's an excerpt of that prior to any revisions or edits, but should give a hint of what's to come, and some look at Larsdana's mindset:



			
				me said:
			
		

> We are tools of our makers. We are puppets of the Gloom Fathers, pawns on the chessboard of the Father/Mothers. You know this my love. You understand this just as much as I do. Some of us transcend this status and we might reasonably call ourselves rooks, or bishops, or even queens upon the playing field. But we know what we are, we know that their hands and the core of our being guides our actions, patterns our motions, and for all of our selfish pride and malignancy, we would not wish it any other way.
> 
> Paradox defines us my love.
> 
> Paradox defines us very well.
> 
> We made a curious little thing together didn’t we Helekanalaith? The king and queen of Perdition. Lady and Lord of the Furnace. Lovers with knives at each other’s throats, feral in our cold elegance, selfless abominations who would destroy the multiverse for one another yet destroy themselves to extinguish the very notion of altruism.
> 
> With each and every kiss and whisper, we realized the arrogance and elegant, twisted beauty of our relationship. Each kiss, each coupling was a tick of the clock, counting down the minutes to the betrayal we both accepted as an affirmation of our twisted, beloved ethos of self-destruction.
> 
> Lie to me. Tell me that you do not love me and I will do the same.
> 
> And now what is done is done. You are Keeper of the Tower, Lord of the 2nd Furnace, Magister of Chamada, and I have vanished into the bleeding mists of history as a footnote and a bauble upon your desk. But do not think for a moment that we are finished Helekanalaith. You never answered my question, and do not insult yourself and me with the delusion that I am gone; that in death I am left powerless.
> 
> Our makers used me as a tool and nothing more, but they did not extinguish the chance of using me yet again. I am useful. My agony delights them. My pain amuses them. With such an opening act Helekanalaith, we are merely in an intermission, and my tortured spirit is calmly waiting for our little play to begin again. That you imprisoned me rather than killing me and plunging my essence back to feed the Glooms is in and of itself a suggestion that both Alashra the Dreamer and Sarkithel the Chronicler did not wish me dead. They are not finished feeding upon us. They are not finished watching their children bleed. It is not over between us my love.
> 
> I am waiting and I am watching. In the blood, in the whispers of the past, haunting the halls of the House of Memory, I am waiting.
> 
> When you assumed the position of Keeper of the Tower, you inherited much of my power and many of my secrets, but hardly all of them. Oh, I will admit that in the eons since you have crafted a legacy of your own, and I doubt that if the situation were to be reversed in the future that I’d find all that you’d buried and hidden. But yes, I have my secrets that even the blind agonies of a hundred thousand years, tenfold more, a hundredfold more and beyond have not wrested from spirit or corpse to enrich your well of plundered wisdom.
> 
> My secret places, my hidden caches, my storehouses of knowledge and blasphemies that were never included in the archives of the Tower Arcane… they still exist. I suspect that some of them may have fallen to chance plunder, to the hands of gods and Oinoloths, or even to our makers and patrons themselves. But not all of them. Some of them still exist and they are waiting for me, waiting for a moment of your weakness. They dot the planes like cancer in the marrow, a virus in the blood. Just like me, a suppressed virulence waiting for its chance.
> 
> This is just such a place:
> 
> *The Whispering Solarium of Larsdana. Dzerathga Mlath Ap Larsdana*
> *Location:* Gehenna / Krangath the Dead Furnace
> *Planar Traits: *
> *Timeless* – though time does not retroactively occur upon leaving
> *Sinkhole of Evil* – acts as an Evil dominant planar region, with penalties doubled for non evil individuals. Spells with the [Good] subtype fail automatically
> *Seal of the Keeper* – the Whispering Solarium is sealed off from contact with the planes, with its sole entrance being the only way in or out. Teleportation spells and the like that rely on coexistent planes fail within the confines of the vault, as well as any summoning or calling spell that would breach the boundaries of the sealed space.
> *Divine Anathema* – divine magic does not operate within the vault with the exception of permanent items and spells cast before entering. The vault’s isolated nature acts to prevent clerics or other divine spellcasters from drawing upon their patron’s granted power, though oddly this effect also extends to priests of abstract concepts and planes, so the general yugoloth antipathy to faith appears to have been a deliberately incorporated as a design trait


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## Shemeska

No update yet, but here's some new artwork I had done of a pair of characters that will eventually show up later on in the story (tangent to the main plot). Artwork was done by the very talented Sangluna as part of a sketchbook that she's raffling off (that she's still selling tickets for FWIW).

Escheris the Rotting

“Can I assume that the agreements signed with your predecessor are still in place?” The pit fiend asked, looking up at the three-headed yugoloth lord.

“You may tell your master yes.” The leftmost head replied, its eyes flickering a dozen colors like those of an ultroloth. “The contracts agreed to by Mother will be honored as written before I took power here. At the present moment I have neither the desire nor the intention to change the terms of such things.”

The archfiend’s head smiled in unison and it turned away from the baatezu to light a series of tall candles arranged around something atop a block of glossy, black stone that protruded from the tower’s petitioner-flesh structure.

“At the moment that is.” The leftmost head chuckled with a tone that left the other fiend somewhat unsettled. Yet more uncertainty from the ‘loths was not something the Hells particularly needed at the moment.

The baatezu nodded and looked up at the towering but sickly form of the yugoloth lord and erstwhile Overlord of Carceri. That position hadn’t been the most stable in the last two hundred years given the presumed death of Bubonix at the hands of the Ebon, the passing of the title to the Manged, and then her passing of it to Escheris the Rotting upon her ascent to Oinoloth.

‘So much for purity’, the baatezu thought. The archfiend’s matted fur was a jaundiced shade of yellowish-green, and its limbs were elongated and far too thin for its nearly twenty foot height. Still, that mattered little if it played nicely and honored the agreements the Hells had invested much in cultivating.

“You are most kind.” The pit fiend stated. “Dagos will be pleased.”

The baatezu turned to leave, his primary duty accomplished, but the arch-‘loth’s voice abruptly caused him to stop.

“You may also tell your true master that his agreements with the Manged are to be continued as stipulated.”

The pit fiend turned and looked up at Escheris’s central head. For the first time since meeting him, it made eye contact with that head, fixing him with dull, glassy eyes like those of a dead animal. It was unnerving, and for a split second they seemed to be possessed of a reddish-pink glow, like those of an albino…

“Excuse me?” The pit fiend recomposed himself. It had to have just been a reflection from the candles it was lighting in an almost ritualistic manner.

“Give Cantrum my regards.” Escheris said. “His contracts will remain in place till I decide to change them.”

How the hell did the fiend know about Cantrum and apparently his actual reason for being there in Carceri?

“He’s a smart boy.” Escheris said with all three heads as he lowered one candle into the object in front of him. “That’s for him to figure out. But it matters little so long as he abides by those contracts.”

The pit fiend felt cold as the archfiend chuckled and the first few wisps of burning incense rose up from the broken remains of Talasid’s skull.



Vorasha the Ophidian

“Tell the Keeper that I desire to meet.” The fiend said as she slowly and deliberately pulled down the heavy velvet cowl of her cloak.

It was a testament to the arcanaloth scribe’s years of servitude to Gehenna’s Tower that he only flinched momentarily, and then only out of surprise rather than any other emotion.

Vorasha smiled and a black, forked tongue slipped between fangs and lips to taste the air and the other yugoloth’s repressed worry. No longer constrained by the cowl, the coif of green and crimson serpents that sprouted from her skull hissed in offset time with a chorus of soft, serpentine chuckles.

The scribe didn’t respond immediately, but stared hard at his unannounced guest, glancing from her slitted emerald eyes, to the scales visible along her neck and hands, to the serpentine mane atop her head. The question that came to his mind was soon to come to his lips.

“Just what in the General’s name are you?”

The fiend smiled and answered as the serpents hissed mockingly. “One of Three.”


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## Burningspear

*cough*


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## Veltharis ap Rylix

It has been far too long since this received a BUMP.


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## Akhelos

*Grabs the Thread, drags it up to the highest Floor of the Tower Arcane  in Ghenna, puts Metal Rods in it and summons a Storm while chenneling  Necromantic Powers to ressurect the Thread* ^^

Raise Thread, Raise Storyhour, RAISE TO SERVE YOUR OINOLOTH!

*looks if this is sufficient or if it needs the sacrifice of 200 Elves and Shemmis whole Jewelry* ^^

A lot of dust here, for so a good story. Whit so many open Questions. I hope that it gets updated again somewhere in the Future. ^^

What has happend if Shylara could become Oinoloth...and was she at least shaved from head to toe before that? *g* And what has happened to your namesake Shemeshka, is she really dead or just vanished? And why does Fyrehowl not life with Akin, because one of their daughters is Insane from the mixed blood?

And how did you build Paedra as an Arcanaloth/Lupinal Hybrid? And this Arcanaloth/Ultroloth Hybrids or what they are, as they dont seem to be just Unique Fiends but now there is a bigger number? If I unterstood it correctly. ^^


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## Shemeska

Akhelos said:


> *Grabs the Thread, drags it up to the highest Floor of the Tower Arcane  in Ghenna, puts Metal Rods in it and summons a Storm while chenneling  Necromantic Powers to ressurect the Thread* ^^
> 
> Raise Thread, Raise Storyhour, RAISE TO SERVE YOUR OINOLOTH!
> 
> *looks if this is sufficient or if it needs the sacrifice of 200 Elves and Shemmis whole Jewelry* ^^




[in-character]Hands off the jewelry...[/in-character]





> A lot of dust here, for so a good story. Whit so many open Questions. I hope that it gets updated again somewhere in the Future. ^^
> 
> What has happend if Shylara could become Oinoloth...and was she at least shaved from head to toe before that? *g* And what has happened to your namesake Shemeshka, is she really dead or just vanished? And why does Fyrehowl not life with Akin, because one of their daughters is Insane from the mixed blood?
> 
> And how did you build Paedra as an Arcanaloth/Lupinal Hybrid? And this Arcanaloth/Ultroloth Hybrids or what they are, as they dont seem to be just Unique Fiends but now there is a bigger number? If I unterstood it correctly. ^^




I don't want to spoil too much of the 1st Storyhour.

Fyrehowl and A'kin ended up with three children, who are each essentially unique beings given the bizarre mixed blood. You can really assume that they're the only three in existence. Phaedra was neutral, one was CN and arguably insane (and a Xaositect), while another was LG in a complete rejection of pretty much both parents.

It's been so long since I looked at Phaedra's character sheet. She was rather overpowered actually. She had a mixture of guardinal and 'loth racial traits, some racial hit dice, and some racial sorcerer caster levels. And pretty crazy stats. I was young and very bad at balanced crunch at the time. 

Shemeshka's fate you'll have to wait to see what exactly happens in SH 1, which will fill in what's going on in SH 2.

As for how/why Shylara ends up being the Oinoloth in SH2, again that's pretty late stage events in SH 1 that fill that in.

However this:


			
				excerpt for SH2's first post said:
			
		

> ”I hear Him, though but dimly at times. He whispers to me in the darkness of my heart and I am afraid. I am afraid that I will not hear Him clearly, and that I will ere in my actions. I fear that my interpretation of those commands may be false, and He demands and deserves better from his chosen. But I do not speak this to my flock, to His faithful. No, no I do not. Truth and control do not matter, only that their illusion exists.
> 
> I listen to the darkness and there He rages! His fury at Her is ceaseless! Who is She!!? Who does She think She is to deny both birthright and destiny? What does She hide and what does She want? She fears us, She fears my Love, but why?”




That's spoken/thought by Shylara. Interpret as you wish.

And for a number of questions, the one statement by Anubis in SH2's opening, "There is no such thing as a quiet death." holds remarkably true.


----------



## TheGamesCollective

Amazing art!


----------



## carborundum

After reading the first SH I took the plunge and read this one - fantastic stuff! 
Can't wait to find out what happens to Shemeska and the Ebon.
Quick question - what level were the party when they went to the barrow on Faerun? 
Oh, and bump


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## Shemeska

It has been years and years. But IIRC this campaign started out at around level 5.


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## carborundum

I sometimes forget out was years ago, it's all fresh for me! If you remember level five then I guess there were a few template levels floating around. The part I was curious about had lots of undead, up to a lich 

I really liked the setup, but it's always hard to judge the difficulty of these things when using stories as inspiration.


----------



## Shemeska

carborundum said:


> I sometimes forget out was years ago, it's all fresh for me! If you remember level five then I guess there were a few template levels floating around. The part I was curious about had lots of undead, up to a lich
> 
> I really liked the setup, but it's always hard to judge the difficulty of these things when using stories as inspiration.




Yeah the lich was above the suggested CR for the party, but at the same time they had a Red Wizard (who himself aspired to be a lich) helping them. It was a challenging fight to be certain, and the PCs had a fun time with it all. Years later I'm still proud of the atmosphere I was able to build into the great barrow just based on the slender details in the 3e FR book that covered it in like a half page or so.


----------

